Chapter Two

The morning after the Harvest Ball, Cay carefully applied cosmetics to conceal the signs of weeping and exhaustion under his eyes.

As he came down the stairs, he heard his husband's voice in the dining room. His heartbeat accelerated as though in the presence of an enemy. He paused on the landing, clenched his fists, and breathed deeply, waiting for calm.

Adrio was saying, "Of course I've read about physical natural philosophy. I've seen demonstrations of experiments—the magnifying lenses and so forth. But do you really think you can study it for a lifetime?"

"For a hundred lifetimes."

The second voice belonged to Cay's sister, Kell. Adrio paid her tuition to the University of Valette—something they would never have been able to afford without him. Cay stood on the stairs and listened to the sounds of the two people he loved most in the world eating breakfast. The clink of a cup in a saucer, the rustle of cloth. And then Kell went on, "The study of the natural forces, things like friction, inertia, and magnetism—it's how the world works. Professor Curio says the study of natural forces will someday explain everything in the world."

"Everything?" repeated Adrio, a smile in his voice.

"Don't laugh," said Kell. "You see it as a game, something your fine friends do for entertainment at parties. ‘Let us gather round and look through lenses at the wriggly things in the cheese!' But between the studies of mathematics and natural forces, someday we will know enough to explain the stars, the oceans, and everything. How the world began, and how it will end."

"How terrifying," Cay said, coming into the dining room.

He avoided looking at Adrio and came around the table to where Kell, her brown hair messily braided, was plowing her way through a full breakfast of eggs, ham, and praji. He kissed the top of her head. "Good morning, you little rodent-faced brat. What are you doing here?"

"I had a fluxions exam this morning, and then I was hungry."

"Fluxions at the crack of dawn?" gasped Cay. "Have you been to a physician?"

"It's almost eleven o'clock, and you know perfectly well what fluxions are."

As a child, Kell had been sunny-natured, curious, and brilliant. After their exile from Muntegri, she'd retreated into numb silence. That had been the worst time: they'd stayed with cousins who didn't particularly want them, and she'd felt unwelcome as well as grieving and haunted by memories. She'd crept around silent and hollow-eyed, barely able to groom herself or speak. He remembered cutting mats out of her hair. He was heartened now to see her eating and smiling, with light in her eyes as she spoke of her studies at the university.

Cay was glad she and Adrio loved each other. Adrio was not university-educated, but he, too, had a curious mind, and he read books on all sorts of topics. They often talked about intellectual pursuits. And Kell, habitually wary and quiet with people she didn't know, was lively and chatty with Adrio. It was one reason Cay hadn't told her his marriage was so strained. Adrio was her brother too. He never wanted her to feel she had to choose between them.

He sat beside Kell and poured a cup of tea, and she handed him a praji.

"Remind me about fluxions?"

"Maths."

"Oh."

She smiled at him. "Imagine if Mother could have gone to university! She'd have been so happy."

Cay returned the smile, his lips pressed together against a wince. Kell wasn't to know he usually avoided this topic with Adrio. "She would certainly have done all the maths," he agreed.

"Your mother enjoyed studying mathematics?" said Adrio.

Cay turned to Adrio for the first time since he'd shouted last night. He seemed untroubled as he lounged in his chair, graceful and lazy as a big cat. His hair was loosely tied back at his nape, his long-fingered hands wrapped around a teacup. He glanced slyly at Cay out of the corner of his eye and then turned his attention fully on Kell.

He was too smart to be so handsome, too beloved to be so unkind.

Kell said, "Oh, she was brilliant. She could add up father's accounts just by running her finger down the columns."

"So could you," said Cay. "You were doing mathematical puzzles when you were ten."

"Mother made those puzzles for me. She figured them out first." Kell smiled at Adrio. "I especially miss her in my mathematics classes. She would have loved them."

Cay surreptitiously began to crack his knuckles under the table.

"Did your father like maths too?"

"No, he and Cay didn't really join in the maths."

"So Cay takes after his father?"

Kell fell silent and cast Cay an apologetic glance.

Cay shrugged one shoulder at her. "Adrio and I once went to one of those parties with the philosophical experiments," he said. "It was awful, actually. They cut a dog so we could see its blood through the magnifying lenses."

"What did you see in the blood?" asked Kell, picking up the changed subject.

"I couldn't bear to look," Cay confessed.

"Why don't you ever talk about your parents, Cay?" Adrio asked, pleasantly.

"Adrio did, though," returned Cay, in the same bright tone. "What did you see in the blood, Adrio?"

Adrio gazed at him from beneath drooping lids. Cay glared back. Kell's eyes flickered between them.

After a moment, Kell said, "He was a good father, but he was busy. He had a shop to run, and orders to fill. He didn't spend as much time with us as our mother did. I got to see water from a rain cistern once through lenses and saw lots of little animalcules moving around in there. Did the dog's blood have moving things in it?"

Adrio relented and smiled at her. "I don't know if they were animalcules, but you could see little spots. Our hearts were hyacinth petals for the dog, though. We bought her and gave her to a friend down in Lodola."

"Oh, good. It sounds like she deserved a better home."

Cay had fallen in love with the dog and asked Adrio to rescue her. It had been their first public outing after Adrio had moved Cay to his own suite, and Cay had been so furious and miserable he'd barely been able to speak to his husband, except for begging for mercy for the dog. He'd also wanted to keep her but had been afraid to ask for so much. The memory was humiliating.

He said, "Can you stay this afternoon, Kell? I've hardly seen you since the term started."

"I really can't." She mopped her plate with a praji and finished her tea. "I have to go study my Principles."

"Whatever Principles are, I'm certain you already know them backward and forward."

"I do, but there's a debate this afternoon on the Principle of Levity, and I can't miss it."

"What is the Principle of Levity?" asked Adrio.

"The opposite of the Principle of Gravity," said Kell, grinning at him. "Professor Curio says the nature of some objects pulls them toward the center of the earth, which is gravity, and the nature of other objects pulls them toward the heavens, which is levity. Things like smoke and steam."

"And cottonwood seeds," said Cay.

"I guess so. Do they fly?"

"Apparently. Everyone at the ball last night was wearing fluffy white cottonwood motifs." He returned her smile. "A fashionable illustration of the Principle of Levity."

Adrio said, "Cay, we are talking about the laws that make the world, not fashion."

His tone was mild. Kell must have thought Adrio's teasing was kind, for she laughed.

"Are they real?" asked Adrio. "These Principles?"

Kell shrugged. "It's a theory. Have you seen smoke-balloons demonstrated? They fill a cloth bag with smoke from a fire, and it goes up. Why does smoke go up, but the unburned wood goes down?"

"I've never thought to wonder," admitted Adrio.

"The Principles are an explanation for observed phenomena. But Professor Redond from Harodj says that's all nonsense. She says both heat and cold are invisible liquids which go up or down as they are governed by the Principle of Pressure. And others believe the world is made of particles, and energy is created by collisions of the particles, which explains both falling and floating."

"Which do you believe?"

"I'm not sure. That's why I have to go to the debate." She picked up her bag and headed for the door. "Thank you for breakfast."

"Wait. Kell, take the rest of the praji to snack on." Cay glanced at Adrio for permission, and he nodded.

"I'll have Lirano bag them up."

"Oh, wonderful. I'll be the envy of my dormitory," said Kell.

"Sister Kell, next time you come, bring me a book on the Principle of Levity," Adrio suggested.

"I will bring you ten. Thank you, Adrio."

When she was gone, Cay and Adrio were alone in the breakfast room. Cay sat in silence, unable to think of a single thing to say.

"I learned so much about your parents today," said Adrio.

"Why do you care?" demanded Cay.

"Naturally, I am interested in my husband's family."

"Oh, naturally," snapped Cay.

"I've asked you about them before. You never wanted to say."

"They're dead." Cay's voice was still harsh from last night's tears. "What else?"

Adrio hesitated for a moment and then, in the same reasonable tone, went on, "You told me Kell didn't like to talk about them because of her grief. But today, she brought them up, unprompted. Could it be you didn't tell the truth?"

"You don't give a damn about me, so why are you pumping my sister for information about our parents?"

Adrio snorted softly. "You've stopped being a daisy in a field," he said.

"Aren't you relieved?"

"Yes."

Adrio stood. Cay did not rise respectfully, as he would have just yesterday. Instead, he remained insolently in his chair, sipping tea.

"I'm going to the palace today," Adrio said.

"Of course."

"I'll be in meetings with my solicitor all day."

"Fine."

"Don't expect me back for supper."

"I rarely do," said Cay.

Adrio nodded, lips tight. "Until later, then," he said before striding out of the room.

It would be a long marriage if neither of them was going to pretend to care.

Not long after the dog's blood party, Cay had attempted to befriend the stray cat.

The gray tom's territory extended across the roofs of several houses in this neighborhood. Cay had seen him leaping the narrow gap between houses; he'd once glimpsed him in the alley below. He'd lost half his tail in some mishap, but this disability did not prevent him from hunting mice and starlings. He noisily coughed up their bones and washed their blood off his face on the ledge outside Cay's window. At night the cat howled, again and again, and the eerie hollow sound seemed to resonate with Cay's loneliness and misery.

Desperate for company, Cay had begun leaving his window open, a dish of his leftover dinner on the sill. Eventually, the cat began coming to eat. Then on cold or rainy nights, he would venture inside, a warning glare keeping Cay at bay while he explored. Cay called him Mandru, an old Muntegrise word for a vain man. Mandru still did not permit Cay to touch him, but now he regularly made himself at home in Cay's suite, giving Cay someone to talk to.

Mandru wasn't exactly a secret—the servants were surely aware of him—but Cay didn't know if Adrio was.

After Kell and Adrio left, Cay was alone in the house but for the servants and Mandru, who had assumed the loaf-of-bread shape on Cay's bed. Cay lay curled on the bed, head on his folded arms, far enough from the cat to escape danger. "Do you think I should leave? Does he want me to leave?"

Mandru blinked at him.

"If I abandoned him, he could divorce me after a year. The scandal would be bad—it was bad enough when he married me. If I jilted him, it would be much worse. He would be dishonored."

Mandru had no opinion.

"If he wanted me to go, he wouldn't keep displaying me at parties like a new hat. Would he? He wouldn't be paying Kell's tuition. All he'd have to do is cut her off." Cay rolled onto his back, combing his hands through his hair. "If he wanted me to go, he could tell me to go."

His sudden movement, or the frustration in his voice, must have alarmed Mandru, who slid off the bed and disappeared under it. Cay glared at the ceiling.

"I could go whether he wants it or not," he whispered. It hurt to say; hurt like an abscessed tooth to even think about leaving Adrio forever. And pulling Kell from the university. And, gods, starting over again, penniless and alone again, in yet another new city...

He was exhausted just thinking about it.

He didn't want to go. He wanted the life he'd had, with Adrio, only a few months ago. How could he repair his broken marriage, make his home a home again, instead?

A tap on the door. Cay sat up, aware that his curly hair stood on end, and called, "Come."

It was Lirano, the housemaster. "A visitor is here."

"My lord is out."

"He says he wishes to speak to you, Lord Cay."

"Really? Who is it?"

"He says he is the envoy from Muntegri, my lord."

"Oh!" Cay raised his eyebrows. How rude had he been to the man? He honestly couldn't remember. He'd been so furious with Adrio last night he'd been in no mood to entertain his fellow Muntegrise. "Thank you, Lirano. I'll see him in the parlor."

"Shall I bring tea, Lord Cay?"

"Yes. Good idea."

He combed his hair, washed his hands, and arrived in the parlor just as the tea did. "Good afternoon, Master Fierar," he said to the man who stood waiting there.

"Lord Cay," said the Muntegrise man, bowing.

Last night, the man had worn a semblance of Lucenequan formal clothing. Today, in plain Muntegrise leathers, he looked like the Fourth Circle man he was: fit and muscular, with a direct gaze and a square stance. In the years before the coup, it had been the style for those politically aligned with the Grup to affect a military style, whether they had ever held a weapon. On Hob Fierar it looked as natural and as earned as the calluses on his hands and the scar on his chin.

"I am honored by your visit," said Cay, waving a hand toward a chair. "I am afraid my lord is away, but I hope you will join me for a light meal?"

"Thank you," said Fierar, perching on the edge of the chair. "I consider myself lucky to find you at home. I wished to offer my apologies, for I believe I offended you at the ball last night."

"Oh, no," said Cay. "Please don't give it another thought. These pastries are our chef's best approximation of Muntegrise praji. Will you try one? You'll find they're not quite right, but they are not bad."

They ate and chatted lightly. Fierar described the house he had been granted here in Valette by the queen—how it was small but gracious, and how the queen had been so attentive to him. He seemed to think a process of reconciliation was possible, and Cay nodded, pretending to believe it too. He recommended a few places in Valette Fierar might like to go, including a shop that could make him clothes for court. "Therescu and Sons Fine Tailoring. I got a job doing piecework for them when I was eighteen, with the snow of Muntegri still wet on my shoulders."

Fierar asked cautiously, "Does your husband know you worked at a shop?"

"I doubt there's a soul in Lucenequa who doesn't know it. I mended the breeches and petticoats of many nobles and made deliveries. I'm afraid they all remember me well."

"Nobles often take no note of tradesmen and servants, I believe," observed Fierar. "They might not have recognized you?"

"You would think so," agreed Cay drily, "but recognize me they certainly did."

The wealthy folk of Valette hadn't just been shocked that Adrio had married a tailor's assistant. They'd been shocked he'd married the tailor's assistant several of them had attempted—and failed—to seduce. Cay had refused disrespectful propositions and formal offers of patronage, which one might think would give him a reputation for spotless virtue. On the contrary, his relationship with Adrio only confirmed, in some minds, that he'd been angling for a noble marriage all along.

He'd first encountered Adrio while delivering new linens to the Valette palace of Ondrei Rege, Bai of Noresposto, on a chill afternoon in winter. Naturally, he'd headed for the back entrance, as was appropriate for a servant, but he'd been unable to reach it because three young men had occupied the walled yard behind the big house. It was cleared of snow, and the men were sparring with practice swords, two against one. Cay had paused to watch, impressed with the speed and grace of the man who held off his two attackers. It was a whirling melee, almost too swift to follow, punctuated by grunts and gasps and the clacking of the wooden swords. All three men were sweating in the cold air. Cay could not have passed them if he'd tried, so he waited and watched.

The man who was assailed by his friends was alight with joy. Handsome too, with fine high bones, curved lips, and dark liquid eyes beneath slanted brows. He was mesmerizing in motion: bold and fluid and concentrated. He was overmatched, but he held them off with wild whirling delight. It was a pleasure to watch. At some point, his tawny hair loosed itself from its clasp at his nape, and he tossed his head to get it out of his eyes. Apparently, this gave one of his attackers the opportunity to dart in and mightily thwack him in the abdomen with his practice sword.

He dropped his weapons, coughing, and the fight immediately came to an end; the two attackers were suddenly solicitous about their opponent's health.

"All right, Adrio?"

"Yes, and damn you for hitting so hard," he wheezed, straightening with apparent effort. He laughed, pushing damp hair back out of his face, his chest and throat shining with sweat. Cay, lurking near a wall with a bundle of linens in his arms, subconsciously smiled as well.

That was when their eyes met.

Adrio immediately straightened, the laughter falling from his face. He suddenly looked like a nobleman in an ancient painting, his head high and haughty, the lines of his face remote and fine. His shoulders seemed strong enough to carry the armor of centuries past.

Cay recalled himself.

"Pardon, masters," he said politely, bowing low. "I am seeking the kitchen entrance, but I am in no hurry."

"No trouble," said the burliest of the men. "Have you a delivery there?"

"Yes, sir, from Therescu and Sons, for the Lord of Noresposto."

"Very good," said the burly man, gesturing for him to pass. "My housekeeper is expecting you."

Cay skirted the three men. He rapped on the kitchen door and delivered the linens to the servant within and returned through the yard, bowing again. The handsome man's dark eyes followed him as he left.

"It was a bit of a scandal when we married," said Cay, with considerable understatement. "But it's blown over now."

Fierar sipped tea, his face lively with interest. "His reputation survived the blow, I take it."

"Of course."

"Of course. Adrio Santauro, Heir of Lodola, is known to be a man of unimpeachable character. And though you are a commoner, there is no smudge on your name. I suppose the scandal could have been much worse if..."

He paused and sipped tea. Cay sat still, belatedly wary.

After a moment, he prompted, "If?"

"Well. Every soul in Lucenequa may know you were a tailor, but they don't know the rest of it, do they? I rather imagine Lord Adrio doesn't, either."

Cay widened his eyes. "I have no idea what you mean, sir."

"I think my meaning is clear," said Hob Fierar, "but I'm happy to explain further. I have comrades who patrolled the Muntegri Road through the mountains the year of the coup. Some of them remember you well. They remember what you did in Lehoia Pass that summer. Wouldn't it be a scandal if those details were known? A scandal so great even Lord Adrio's fine reputation might not survive."

Cay sat frozen, staring at the man, who resumed eating. After a moment, he said, "How openly you work against the queen who invited you here."

"I am openly visiting my countryman. No one need know more about my work, unless you tell them. Which, for the sake of Lord Adrio, I think you will not."

"Lord Adrio knows everything about me."

Fierar sipped tea. "I don't believe you. He would be regarded as a very great fool, or possibly a traitor, did he know. And he might be... annoyed... at having been tricked." He put down his plate and brushed crumbs delicately off his fingers. "But please do not be alarmed, Lord Cay. As I said last night, I, and Muntegri, want your friendship."

Since Fierar was not fooled by Cay's innocent mask, he dropped it. "The Grup, you mean. It is not synonymous with Muntegri."

"It is now, or will be."

"Exactly what do you want?"

"Oh, nothing much. I know your husband is often at the palace. Any bit of information about what is happening there might be useful. How much money is allocated to the army, for instance, and for what. Movements of troops, movements of supplies, training..."

Cay's cup rattled in its saucer. He put it down and folded his hands in his lap. Silence stretched between them for the space of five heartbeats. Then he managed to say, "I don't think my husband knows anything about any of that."

Fierar smiled. "Do you know where the Heir of Lodola is today? He is at an inn, in a private room with several others, one of whom is the daughter of the Minister of the Army."

"Lucca of Olega?"

"Correct. Among others. What on earth could they be discussing?"

"Truly, sir, I have no idea."

Fierar shrugged. "I expect you know a great more than you pretend. And what you don't know, you have the means to learn." He stood. "Your husband has a reputation for being a man of upright character. An honest man. Spend a moment, please, imagining his response if he knew you are not. And, of course, such information would affect your sister, as well, would it not?"

"Sir," said Cay, hating the pleading note in his voice, "my sister was a child when we left Muntegri."

"Thirteen," agreed Fierar. It was appalling how much he knew. "You should find out what your husband is up to. For Muntegri's benefit, but also for your own. And your sister's."

"Adrio and I don't talk about such things."

"Show an interest. Men love to talk about their business to attentive young spouses."

Cay tried to imagine seducing Adrio into giving him information and closed his eyes with horror. "Master Fierar," he said hoarsely, "I assure you, it is simply not possible—"

"Oh," added Fierar as an afterthought, "and any information that might pertain to the Chende escapees."

"The what?"

"The man or woman who is stealing Chende prisoners out of Muntegri and bringing them over the mountains to Lucenequa."

"Sir, the Chende travel where they will. No law forbids them from coming to Lucenequa or staying here. They are no concern of the Grup."

"The queen wishes to reestablish relations with her neighbor Muntegri. The diplomatic process can hardly go forward if one of her subjects is committing acts of trespass, espionage, and sabotage across the Muntegrise border. No. I want to know who it is and how he does it. The prisons are guarded. The Road is guarded. The passes are full of vicious, cutthroat Chende clans, little better than animals. And yet, somehow, prisoners are escaping into Lucenequa. Who and how, Lord Cay. I want names. Be sweet to your husband tonight and give me names tomorrow."

Cay clenched his fists hard enough to dig his nails into his palms.

It was unthinkable. Help the Grup? Betray whoever was assisting the Chende refugees? Spy on his husband? Unthinkable.

Through a mouth gone dry, he said, "Actually, I think I might have heard an interesting rumor."

The sneer of triumph on Fierar's face was unmistakable. "Go on."

"It wasn't from Adrio. Adrio knows nothing of such things, I assure you. But at the Harvest Ball last night, someone said something. Someone said the Chende fly over the mountains. They don't take the Road or the high passes. They fly."

Fierar narrowed his eyes at Cay. "Do not toy with me, Lord Cay."

"I'm not." He groped for inspiration. "They said the Chende have smoke-balloons. Smoke-balloons, you know, employ the Principle of Levity."

"What in damnation is the Principle of Levity?"

"The opposite of the Principle of Gravity," Cay replied helpfully.

Fierar scowled. "How are the balloons not seen? Surely they would be plain against the sky."

Why hadn't he thought of that? Cay groped for an answer. "Perhaps, as well as Levity, there is another Principle affecting ..." He trailed off uncertainly. "Visibility."

Fierar looked furious.

Cay stammered, "Sir, I am no scholar. I haven't made any study of—of Principles. This is just what I heard last night."

"Who told you this?"

"I—"

"Name them, Lord Cay."

"I overheard it in the crowd. I don't know who said it."

Fierar's eyes narrowed. "I was watching you," he said. "I arrived before you did, and I saw the way you talked to everyone. But never for more than a moment or two. Except for two: you spent time with your husband, and you spent time with Ondrei Rege, the Bai of Noresposto. Which of them told you about the flying machines?"

Oh, gods. Implicating Ondrei would almost be as bad as implicating Adrio. "No, no, it is not—"

Fierar waved a dismissive hand. "Enough. Listen. If Lucenequa has this technology—flying machines, invisible to the eye—Muntegri would be most interested. Find out. Find out more."

"I don't—"

"I don't care. Go to your informant and find out. I want to know about the invisible smoke-balloons. How do they work? Where are they made? Is Lucenequa planning an invasion over the mountains?"

Cay gulped. "What? No! I don't know. Surely not."

"Find out who does know, Lord Cay, and fuck them or suck them until they tell you everything." Fierar stood. "Thank you for the tea."

Adrio didn't come home until late.

The house was dark, except for the candles in the library where Cay waited for him. He had sent the servants to bed: "I will wait up for my lord and take care of him when he comes in."

So he waited, listening for Adrio's footsteps.

He had very nearly been sick when Fierar left. He had paced in a panic, cracked his knuckles until they ached, and, in a moment of true madness, had tried to hug Mandru. His left arm bore deep scratches.

Only one solution came to him. He must throw himself upon his husband's mercy.

"You're as beautiful as a roseapple tree on a hill." Cay kept remembering those words, given along with an expensive gift. As if to say, You look beautiful, but I know at the core you are twisted.

Why would a man do such a thing to his husband? Did it give him pleasure knowing Cay would think the words were a compliment when really they were an insult? Or was he confident Cay would interpret the words and understand Adrio's scorn? Was Adrio toying with Cay or trying to drive him away? Or did he have some other motive?

Gods. Adrio had once loved him. Through the winter and into the spring. Adrio had loved him enough to face the laughter and contempt of Lucenequan society, to say, I am the Heir of Lodola, and this is the one I want. I know of his common blood and foreign birth. I will have him, not as my lover but as my husband.

If Hob Fierar had tried to blackmail him when there was still snow on the ground, Cay would have laughed at him, dared him to try, so confident had he been in Adrio's love.

But Adrio's love had melted away in the spring. He might no longer be willing to face the public uproar that would follow the revelation of Cay's past. He already despised Cay, but he maintained the public fa?ade of a respectable marriage and paid for Kell to attend the university. Fierar could strip those things away with a word.

Cay needed help. He didn't want to betray Lucenequa. He didn't want to help the Grup. He certainly didn't want to hinder whoever was rescuing Chende from the Muntegrise work camps.

So he must turn to Adrio. Here in the library, he looked around at his husband's books: books ranging in topic from natural philosophy and history, to law and social justice, to swashbuckling tales of adventure. He would keep thisAdrio firmly in his mind—the Adrio who admired those who defied society in the name of honor. The Adrio who had defied society himself because he loved Cay.

He would tell that Adrio all. And they would talk about it, and even though they were no longer happy, together they would work to find a way to defeat this common threat. Perhaps together they could feed Fierar lies or stories or half-truths to benefit Lucenequa. Adrio would know what would be best.

Cay heard the scuff of boots upon the front stairs. He jumped up and hurried to the door, opening it to Adrio.

"Well, good evening," said Adrio softly, coming in. Cay shut the door behind him and helped him off with his cloak. "You're up late."

"I told Lirano to go to bed."

"How considerate."

Cay took his gloves and hat and hung them tidily in the wardrobe, just as Lirano would have done had he been awake. Cay had never been a house servant, but sometimes he felt closer to the staff than Adrio's peers. He closed the wardrobe door and turned to his husband, who stood studying him.

"Did you want something, Cay?"

Cay attempted a smile. "Are you hungry?"

"No, I had supper."

"Would you like a glass of wine?"

"I suppose so." Adrio strolled into the library, where a decanter of fortified wine stood on a sideboard, and poured a glass. "Will you have one?"

His stomach roiled at the thought of alcohol. "No, thank you."

"Very well." Adrio took his glass and sat in an armchair, crossing one leg elegantly over the other.

Cay hesitated, holding his own hands in his nervousness. Adrio sipped his wine.

After a moment, Adrio said, "Is this about your visitor this afternoon? Hob Fierar, from Muntegri?" He eyed Cay narrowly. "He is an attractive man, and no doubt one with whom you have much in common. He stayed for over an hour, I believe. Quite long enough for a rendezvous."

Cay gazed at him, speechless with outrage.

Adrio sipped his wine, letting the silence stretch between them.

Finally, Cay managed to say, "If you know he was here, you also know I fed him tea and sent him on his way. There was no rendezvous."

Adrio's eyebrows lifted ironically, as if something about Cay's distress amused him or annoyed him.

Cay seethed. He needed Adrio's help, he reminded himself. In as calm a tone as he could manage, he said, "I'm sorry. It's difficult for me to begin because you're angry with me." He perched on the edge of a chair, clasping his hands. "Even though you surely don't think I've betrayed our marriage with the envoy from Muntegri, here in this library with the servants about. So I am not sure why you're so angry. I hoped we could talk."

"How brightly the moon shines tonight," said Adrio, "when this morning it was dim and pale."

Cay flushed. The moon was a symbol of inconstancy: bright until it waned, dark until it waxed. Sometimes it rode through the daytime sky, sometimes it confined itself to the night. It was unreliable, the moon. Changeful. Manipulative.

He tried to speak but couldn't. Couldn't even meet Adrio's eyes.

"Do go on," said Adrio, with a hint of impatience. "Upon my honor, all I own is yours to claim. You have only to name what you want."

He couldn't. He simply could not confide his worst secrets to Adrio, not when Adrio spoke to him that way. He turned away, whispering, "Never mind," and got up to leave the room.

"No?" said Adrio, behind him. His voice lowered. "Cay. Are you well? Did the man offer you any threat or insult?"

"No," he said over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs. "It was a passing fancy, and I have rethought it. Just like the moon, wouldn't you agree?"