Chapter Six

Several nights later, Cay was awakened by a clatter of hoofbeats and a hubbub outside. Voices floated up the stairs. He rolled out of bed, pulled on his robe, and peered down from his window. Below, Lirano had thrown open the front door and was on the porch with a lantern, and the light was shining off Adrio's coach, gleaming with rain. Adrio, riding Sparrow, came up behind.

Cay's heart thumped at the sight of him—the graceful power of his body as he swung down from the saddle. He was muddy and wet, and his long hair was coming out of its queue in rattails.

Cay imagined a different homecoming: he would wrap Adrio in a warm blanket, would dry his hair in front of a fire, kiss him, ask after his hurts, and make him welcome. He did not move. Adrio handed the horse to a groom and then turned to help a slender person wrapped in a distinctive shawl alight from the carriage. Flickering light illuminated the lines and shapes woven into the shawl.

Oh. How interesting.

Cay pulled on trousers and tied the belt of his robe about his waist. He padded out to the landing and stood on the stairs, watching the commotion in the foyer. Adrio, his clothes and boots caked with dirt, shrugged off his cloak into the arms of a footman. He looked cold and exhausted, his lips thin as he pushed his straggling, wet hair out of his eyes.

Lirano was quietly barking orders—mulled wine and food for my lord; hot water for my lord; stir the fire in my lord's bedroom; put a warming pan in my lord's bed. And—Lirano looked questioningly at the small figure standing silently in Adrio's shadow.

"This is Osan Farkas," said Adrio, gently drawing her forward. It was a woman, probably in her thirties. She continued to clutch her shawl around her head. "She is a new member of the staff. You've probably all heard of refugees coming out of Muntegri. She is one, and I've offered her a job. Lirano, please make sure she has clothes and shoes and a place to sleep. We can discuss her duties in the morning."

"Yes, my lord."

Adrio swept his eyes over the other servants. "Mistress Farkas is very welcome here," he added. "If anyone is unhappy about this, you will not trouble her with your concerns but bring them to Lirano, who will bring them to me. Not to Lord Cay. Do you all understand?"

They nodded. Cay cracked his knuckles. It was his fault Adrio thought he wouldn't welcome this servant, but he still didn't like it.

He glided down the stairs on bare feet. Adrio caught sight of him. His face, already drawn with weariness, tightened.

Cay pressed a kiss to Adrio's unshaven cheek. He smelled like horse and old sweat. "Welcome home, my lord," he said, in his sweetest tone. Then he turned to the woman. "Mistress Farkas? I'm Lord Cay. May I take your beautiful shawl and hang it to dry?"

She hesitated, her dark eyes anxious.

"It's all right," he whispered.

She ducked her head and removed the ohahi, handing the woolen garment, intricately woven in geometric shapes, to Cay. Her thick plait of hair, now revealed, was streaky purple and lavender.

"Thank you," said Cay. "Will you tell me your clan? You don't have to, but if you like, I can find out if you have kin here in Valette."

"Thank you, Lord," she said, her voice very low and quiet. "I'm Ibai. And... Ibai is in blood-feud with Kordhal, so..."

Cay nodded. "That sounds serious."

"If the Wind blows right, I will not meet any of the Kordhal."

"I see. Thank you, I will keep it in mind." Cay nodded dismissal to Lirano.

"Come, mistress." Lirano jerked his chin at the other servants to send them to their tasks. "There's a fire in the kitchen and hot soup on the stove."

Cay turned to see Adrio staring at him with an unreadable expression. Cay quirked an eyebrow at him and said, "You're dripping mud on the floor, Husband. Take yourself off to your bath before you catch your death."

Adrio gave a polite bow—possibly sarcastically polite—and went up to his suite.

Back in his rooms, Cay listened to the silence.

It was after midnight, and all in the house were abed. Outside, the city was dark and quiet but for the thrumming of the rain. Mandru curled into a bony oval at the foot of the bed. He was not sleeping; his slitted eyes were on the window, and he occasionally twitched his crooked tail-stump.

Cay could not sleep either. Adrio was home, and Cay wanted him. He wanted to tell him about his triumph, however double-edged, against Hob Fierar. He wanted to ask him so many questions. He just wanted his company.

Surely Adrio was asleep. And even if he were awake, he would not welcome Cay. No matter how lonely Cay was for him.

Cay moved about his suite restlessly and then went out to the landing, planning to go downstairs and find a suitably dull book in the library. But instead of heading down the stairs, he went up to the fourth floor. Adrio's floor. Light shone under the door.

Without examining the impulse, Cay let himself into Adrio's suite.

Adrio glanced over as Cay entered the bedroom. He was abed but not asleep, stretched out on top of the coverlet in nothing but his dressing gown. The thin cloth lay loosely rumpled across his body. He cradled a cup in the center of his chest.

Cay sat at the foot of the bed, pulling his bare feet up and tucking his robe around his toes. The bed was big; there was plenty of room between them. But they were together in one bed again for the first time in months.

"Cay." Adrio's voice was low, a little rough. "I'm tired."

Cay leaned back against the bed's high wooden footboard. "So am I."

Adrio sighed and sipped his drink.

The house was still around them—it was late, quiet, and they were alone together. The bedclothes were soft, velvety, and warm, and Adrio smelled of wine, rosemary soap, and clean skin. His lips were soft, surrounded by stubble, and dark shadows of fatigue hung around his eyes.

Sometimes, Cay knew, Adrio could not sleep. Some nights, when he was very tired or stressed, anxious and melancholy thoughts cycled through his mind and he would lie awake. He would drink to find relaxation, with only middling success. Vigorous lovemaking worked better, a remedy Cay had been happy to provide, once.

Oh, but what a fool he was. How he ached with desire for his husband. He met Adrio's gaze, wondering if he were thinking the same thing—but Adrio turned away toward the rain-streaked window.

"Where did you find the Chende woman?" asked Cay, after a while.

"Begging. I brought her here on impulse. Thank you for being kind to her."

"I am often kind," said Cay. "Why wouldn't I be? Because all Muntegrise hate the Chende? Or is it because I am by nature petty and mean and love discord more than peace?"

"Ah." Adrio closed his eyes. "You found the poem."

"Yes."

He'd come across it in The Best-Loved Works of the Great Cinna, a two-hundred-year-old book every Lucenequan child read in school and at home. Cinna's poems and fables were full of animals, plants, and interesting legendary creatures, charming enough to appeal to children. They were apparently admired for their accurate portrayal of the natural world, and they all contained little moral lessons, suitable for impressing good principles upon young minds. Cay had not read many of Cinna's works because he found the high-minded tone a bit cloying, but every Lucenequan knew them by heart.

The poem read:

See the swans, how they cleave to their loves,

And should one die untimely, a swan in solitude speechless mourns.

Meantimes in that same pond the golden-headed drake

Creepeth from his nuptial bed to visit one mistress and another.

His wife knows well her husband's journeys,

And slatternly she receives the attentions of suitors.

When her heart grows angry she lays her eggs in the nests of her rivals,

For golden-headed ducks love pain and anger, and sowing discord

More than they love peace.

And should a swan love a golden-headed duck,

What sorrow!

"When you said that to me, I thought you were thinking of the time we freed the ducks in Lake Paluda. Do you remember?"

"I remember."

"I'm annoyed." Cay rested his chin on his folded arms. "Because it was a good memory, and you've spoiled it for me. And also because I am not the fucking duck. If anyone is the swan in this relationship, it's me."

Adrio closed his eyes. He rubbed his fingertips over his forehead as if trying to smooth away the deepening crease between his eyebrows. For a moment, his mouth twisted as if in pain. He whispered, "I know."

"You—" Cay glared at his husband. "You know?"

"It was cruel." Adrio's voice was husky from the alcohol. "You're the swan, and I'm the one who was deliberately cruel. That is who I am, not you."

"Adrio," breathed Cay, astonished. "How drunk are you?"

Adrio sat up suddenly, his eyes snapping open. "Do you remember when you mocked me? When you mocked me for my pretended honor?"

It had been their first real argument.

They were walking home through the dark streets of Valette from Fonsca's house, where they'd attended a party. The spring night was beautiful, scented with orange blossoms, and Cay loved walking with Adrio. In a teasing mood, he complained about Fonsca's dislike for him.

"He'll come around. Once he is convinced we love each other, he will be your friend as well as mine. It would be dishonorable not to."

"And Fonsca is honorable?"

"Oh, very." Adrio laughed, and Cay nudged him.

"What is amusing, Husband?"

"I am remembering how we met, Fonsca and I."

"How?"

"We fought a duel."

"Be serious."

"I am quite serious. Shall I tell you the story?"

Cay did not remember all the details of the convoluted tale of teenage misbehavior that followed. It involved a night of roistering, a misplaced pair of gloves, a hasty accusation of theft followed by a challenge to a duel of honor.

"But I was in a bit of a delicate position," he went on. "Naturally, I couldn't win the duel."

"You couldn't?"

"Absolutely not. In the morning I found my gloves, so I knew I was in the wrong. Winning the duel would assert my rightness, which would clearly be dishonorable."

"I see," said Cay, although he didn't. "Why not simply call it off? Would an apology have been dishonorable too?"

"No, that would have been appropriate. But I was sixteen and wanted to fight." Adrio grinned. "So we met, and we fought until I'd made it clear I was at least his equal, and then I threw away my sword and declared that Fonsca's skill had proved my allegations about the gloves false, and then I apologized. And then he might in honor have run me through, but instead, he scarred me, here." He pulled back his hair.

"He cut you?" Cay leaned in close to look at the small white scar near Adrio's left ear.

"Mm-hmm. Then we bowed to each other, and he loaned me his handkerchief to mop up the blood. We've been friends ever since."

They walked on in silence, turning a corner. The red door of Rossoulia came into view. Cay snorted. "Adrio. What possible good could come of either of you being injured or killed over a pair of missing gloves?"

"Ah, it's a way of settling disputes without involving authorities or courts."

"So the winner is always right, and the loser wrong? How is it fair?"

"It isn't about winning. Indeed, I didn't win. It's a test in which both parties might emerge with honor intact."

"Or one dead. What if he had tripped and knocked himself on the head? Would the world have said you were in the right, although the gloves were in your pocket?"

Adrio shook his head, smiling indulgently. "Cay. Even at sixteen, I was too much a man of honor to permit that. Is there no dueling in Muntegri?"

"Perhaps among the nobles. Tradesmen are too busy trying to earn their bread to engage in such games."

"I suppose. Well, of course it's contingent upon the circumstances. Fonsca and I had both trained in swordplay, so it was a fair match. Had one of us been lacking, we would have found a different arena: wrestling, or marksmanship, or Starlight Conversation. It is a point of honor to find some equitable way to meet."

"Unless you just want to win."

"It's not about winning," repeated Adrio, this time with a note of frustration.

Cay shook his head. "So losers always say."

His tone was light as he said this—they'd both been in a happy mood all evening. But Adrio fell silent and said nothing.

Nothing, until they were home, in their suite, undressing for bed. Cay sat at his mirror, removing his cosmetics, while Adrio sat on the bed, unlacing the cuffs of his shirt.

"You're wrong," said Adrio suddenly. "I'll admit the cause of the duel was ridiculous—two boys fighting over a pair of gloves—but the ritual of the duel reveals true character. In the space of one duel, I recognized Fonsca's integrity, his uprightness. And he recognized mine. It allowed us to resolve the difference in a way that satisfied both of our senses of what is right and wrong, and neither seriously hurt. Do you not find it admirable?"

"I suppose. As far as it goes," said Cay, studying him in the mirror. "But in a real fight, one does whatever one must to survive."

"It wasn't a fight. It was a duel. An affair of honor."

"And honor is a pastime of the rich. It only makes sense to a person who's never faced real hardship."

"No, you have it backward. Honor is what remains to you when everything else has been torn away."

Cay smiled—or perhaps it had been more of a sneer. "So says a man who has never had more than his trousers torn away in his life."

Adrio's face flushed with offense. "You assert honor only means something to me because I have not known hardship? And honor is irrelevant to you because you have? Do I understand you, Husband?"

"Essentially." Cay turned to face him. "Surely you see how the ritual could be turned into a weapon. What if you wanted to steal Fonsca's gloves? You could challenge him to a duel, and as the winner, take them."

"Then it wouldn't be a duel. It would be a mugging."

"But all would call you an honorable man, and you'd have the gloves."

"I would know. Honor is a public face, yes, but it is also a matter of private integrity. Lack of integrity will always show on the face."

"I've never heard you say a more na?ve thing."

They'd quarreled then, a short, bitter quarrel. They'd gone to bed without touching and slept, and in the morning, made love without apologizing for the night's ugly words. Neither had ever referred to it again. But looking back, Cay thought it must have been the first harbinger of the serious breach to come.

Cay's cheeks burned at the memory. Adrio's eyes were red-rimmed and a little wild.

"I shouldn't have spoken to you so," he said. "I was being cheeky."

"You were right. It's easy to have honor when you're warm and safe."

Cay shook his head. "I still think that's true. But there's no shame in being warm and safe. I shouldn't have thrown it in your teeth. "

Adrio glared at him. "You have never claimed to have any sense of honor."

"I was not raised with such notions."

"But you're kind to me. I, with my vaunted honor, am deliberately cruel. Why is that?"

Cay shook his head; he had no answer, except Because I love you, and you don't love me. But he didn't say it. Adrio seemed so bitterly unhappy; he had no idea what to do to make it better.

Adrio rolled to his knees, liquor sloshing over his fingertips. He tipped his head back and drained his cup, throat working as he swallowed the remainder of his draught. He tossed the cup to the floor and stared Cay in the eye as he brought his hand to his mouth and sucked the drink from his fingers.

Chills raced over Cay's skin at the hot expression in his husband's eyes.

"You should leave," growled Adrio. "For if you stay, I am going to take you."

He said the words as if they were a threat. Cay lifted his chin. "I think I'll stay."

"You shouldn't." Adrio reached for Cay, and in one swift move had him down on his back on the bed, his movements sure but his hands gentle. He braced on his arms over Cay, above and around him, but not holding him.

"You should run back to your room," murmured Adrio, so close Cay could smell the wine on his breath. "We have established I am neither honorable nor kind."

This was a mistake. Cay knew Adrio was out of control. There was nothing loving about Adrio at this moment. If he were an honorable man, he would recognize Adrio was unreasonable and incautious with drink and leave him. He would preserve Adrio's dignity and privacy and go.

But Cay's entire body was singing with anticipation, his blood rushing through his veins in rapid throbs, making his breath shallow and his cock ache. He didn't want to be alone with this want; he couldn't leave his husband wanting. And he'd never claimed to be a man of honor.

"You are heavy-hearted tonight," he whispered, "and I would ease you."

"Ah." Adrio cocked his head. "So you would do me a kindness, then?"

Ignoring the heavy irony in Adrio's tone, Cay's replied breathlessly, "I would be happy to."

Adrio touched him at last, placing a hand to his throat. His fingers curled around his neck to nest at Cay's nape, under his hair, and his thumb stroked under Cay's jaw. His hand was warm, hard enough that Cay felt his pulse against it. Intoxicated, Cay melted into the touch, closing his eyes. Adrio's hand tightened slightly, and a shiver streaked down Cay's spine.

"I'm going to regret this." Adrio's whisper tickled the skin of his neck, and he shivered, excitement tingling through his veins.

"But what if we decided..." Cay's voice faltered as Adrio pressed a sucking kiss to his collarbone. Cay arched his neck and closed his eyes. He focused all his attention on the sensation of Adrio's lips and tongue, hot on the hollow of his throat. "What if we agreed... we won't regret it? This once."

Adrio lifted his head, and Cay surged up to meet his mouth. But before they could kiss, Adrio unwound Cay's arms and flipped him over a little sharply, shoving him face down into the mattress. Cay went willingly, his body supple and passive, as Adrio kneed his legs apart and knelt between them.

Adrio was ungentle. He pushed Cay's hair up and kissed his nape, neck, and shoulders. His stubble and the sharp edge of his teeth rasped Cay's sensitive nape while he stripped off Cay's robe, baring him. Cay moaned in pleasure, his arousal undeterred by Adrio's brusque movements. Adrio's lips were always soft, no matter how roughly he kissed, and his hands on the sensitive skin of Cay's ribs left trails of shivery fire.

He had missed this so much. He hadn't been touched in months. Cay lifted his hips so Adrio could push his trousers down. He felt rather than saw Adrio shuck out of his robe, then skim his hands down Cay's back to palm his ass. Adrio's loose hair brushed his skin before he bit Cay's neck and pressed his erection hard against Cay's tailbone.

Cay murmured and tried to turn over, wanting to touch him, to kiss him, but subsided when Adrio growled, "Be still." Adrio groped in his bedside cabinet for oil, spilled it shakily over Cay's body, and began to rut there, between his buttocks. Cay lifted his hips in welcome, but Adrio did not breach him; he took his pleasure in sinuous grinding along and between Cay's cheeks, against his tailbone. He clasped Cay hard in his arms and rode him, his cock heavy and hard, dragging heat and moisture and friction against Cay's body.

Cay clenched his fists in the sheets but kept his body malleable. Adrio was using him for his own satisfaction, giving nothing back, not even the touch of his hand. Cay was more than willing to be used this way, but he wanted more—a kiss, a caress. Some little intimacy, along with the heat.

He didn't get it. One of Adrio's hands tangled in his hair and pressed his face to the velvet coverlet, the other hand hard on his hip, holding him still for Adrio's purpose. Cay tried to move with him, to give pleasure; tried to writhe against the sheets, or to get a hand under himself, to partake in it, but Adrio gripped him tight and used him hard.

Like a greedy man using a whore in an alley. A dirty whore, the kind one didn't care to caress or penetrate or kiss.

Ah, but even so it felt so good, and he had missed it so much. The sound Adrio made just before his climax was familiar and much-loved, as was the way his body tightened, the pulse of his cock, the hot surge of his spend against Cay's sweating back. Cay hummed with the borrowed delight of it.

Adrio's body relaxed, panting, pressing Cay down into the velvet coverlet. He lay still under Adrio's heavy body, nearly delirious with his own desire, flexing his fingers, imagining what they would do now Adrio's first urgency had been satisfied. Now he would use his mouth, or his hands, to give Cay his gratification. And it wouldn't be teasing or playful, but soon, ah, soon, his husband would take care of him.

"Damn," muttered Adrio.

Adrio rolled off him and flopped over onto his back. Cay propped himself up on his elbows, tremblingly eager for his turn.

But Adrio's expression froze him. His eyes were closed, the heel of one hand pressed against his furrowed brow, his lips pulled tight over his teeth. It was an unguarded grimace of pain and regret.Adrio turned his face away; Cay could only see his cheek and jaw and the strong tendons of his throat. So quietly Cay was certain he wasn't intended to hear it, Adrio whispered, "Shouldn't have done that."

Cay blew air from his lungs and squeezed his eyes shut against a rush of white rage. He had just permitted—invited—his husband to give him a sordid little fuck, as fast and anonymous and impersonal as it could be between a man and his husband. Because Adrio wanted it. Being a fool, Cay had even liked it.

And now Adrio had the unmitigated nerve to wish he hadn't. To refuse to reciprocate, as if Cay really was merely a whore.

"I cannot believe you," hissed Cay, furious. His fists clenched, his fragile happiness crushed to splinters, Cay rolled out of bed and to his feet. Unsteadily, he groped for his robe and belted it over his nudity, ignoring his stiff prick and the sticky lees of sex on his body.

Adrio began to speak, no doubt to deliver some elegant aphorism about clouds or flowers to mean I warned you, and Cay interrupted sharply, "Don't. Don't speak to me, Adrio."

Head held high, he walked out, closing the door (without a slam) behind him. He trotted down to his own suite, and flattered himself that if a servant had seen him, they'd see nothing furtive or ashamed in his posture or face.

Only when his door was closed and locked behind him did his shaking knees fold, and he collapsed, head in his hands.

He would not cry. He didn't want to cry over Adrio anymore. He didn't want to be in love with Adrio anymore. He didn't want to be a man who kept saying yes, and yes again, when he knew he should say no. He hated this pitiful creature he'd become, who kept wanting, kept being pushed away, and who kept coming back.

No more.

He didn't know how to stop. But he was going to figure it out soon. Not tonight, but soon.

The following days were dreary with rain. Life returned to its routine—if one could describe the tense air in the house as routine. When he and Adrio breakfasted together, they did not speak. More often than not, Adrio left the house before breakfast to go about his mysterious business, and Cay would spend his days drawing, sewing, or visiting with Kell. In the evening, Adrio often escorted him to a social engagement, and only then did they ever touch or even look at one another. Adrio refrained from delivering cutting insults, possibly because Cay refrained—or tried to refrain—from mooning at him like a lovesick puppy. He kept his chin at a proud angle, his mouth shut, and the fading bruises on his neck covered with high collars, cleverly embroidered with tiny silver balloons.

He anticipated, with every moment, the return of Hob Fierar. What would he say to the man? What would he do? He seemed to have exhausted all his ingenuity in those forged papers. Now he could do nothing but wait and fearfully wonder what to do next.

Everyone in Valette society was wearing balloons: not just embroidered circles, but enameled balloon brooches, earrings, and hair ornaments. The Uncanny Aviator had become a hero of Lucenequa, not because anyone cared about the fate of the Chende prisoners, but because the Aviator's daring exploits were a black eye on Muntegri. Some believed the Aviator was a beautiful woman; others, a handsome and dashing man. She flew smoke-balloons, her long tawny Lucenequan hair blowing in the breeze. He disguised himself as a Muntegrise nobleman and infiltrated the Muntegrise court. She could turn invisible, wrapping her body in black silk imbued with the Principle of Disguise. He seduced the Muntegrise prison guards with his sensual beauty, so they willingly opened their doors for him. She was the queen, or he the king, of the Chende: a monarch in exile.

This last made Cay giggle.

"Sir, do the Chende have a monarch?"

"Everyone has a monarch," said the young lordling telling this tale.

"Indeed?"

Without looking at him, Adrio gently stepped on his foot, and Cay said no more.

The weather changed, as it sometimes did in Lucenequa in the autumn. The rain stopped, the skies brightened, and the rivers coming down from the mountains were swollen with snowmelt. The ground grew pregnant with moisture, and plants pushed eager green shoots through the pavers. They would all freeze again; the cold would come, nipping the green leaf-buds from the trees, but for now, the warm air blew up from the south, scented with false spring.

"So why couldn't a smoke-balloon fly into the wind, the way sailing ships do?" wondered Cay aloud.

Not immune to the illusory springtime cheer, he'd bought apricot-cakes and wine and took them around to Kell's dormitory room at the university. He was not supposed to be here—no nonstudents were allowed in the dorms after dusk—but the regular ornamental projections on the building's fa?ade were almost a joy to climb, and he'd scaled the walls and wriggled through the window often. He liked this room: a small rectangle with two narrow beds, one chair, and cases stuffed with books. It was cold and smelled a bit of unwashed sheets, but Kell had found a home here. Cay's shy little know-it-all sister now had know-it-all friends, people who respected and understood her, and she'd blossomed.

A small gathering of students had joined them to enjoy the treats: Kell's roommate Isa, Isa's girlfriend Bienta, and a boy called Giuro. Cay was lounging on Kell's bed, with Kell sitting cross-legged at his ankles. Isa and Bienta cuddled on the other bed, and Giuro sat in a rickety chair. If Cay did not mistake, Giuro eyed Cay's place on Kell's bed with envy.

"No keel," said Kell, through a mouthful of cake.

Cay wrinkled his brow at her. "The keel is the bit sticking down into the ocean?"

Giuro rolled his eyes. "First of all," he said, "they're not smoke-balloons; they're heat-balloons. Smoke isn't the levitating Principle, it's heated air, which rises above cooler air."

"It does?"

"Think of a kitchen where the oven has been going all day," said Bienta. "If you raise your hand above your head, you can feel the layer of warm air above you."

"True." Cay didn't spend much time in kitchens, but recalled the heat rising off his father's pottery kiln in a visible shimmer, up toward the high ceiling. "So the smoke isn't part of it at all?"

"The smoke probably makes it less efficient," said Giuro. "It's a matter of differing levels of pressure."

"Which brings us back to your original question," said Isa. "A ship can't go directly into the wind, but if the sails are set at an angle to it—" she gestured vaguely with her hands "—then you get higher air pressure on one side of the sail and lower air pressure on the other, which draws the ship forward."

"And that's why you need a keel," said Kell. "It creates resistance with the water so the ship doesn't get pushed about by the wind. Which a balloon, lacking a keel, would."

But what did heat have to do with pressure? Cay's lack of comprehension was probably clear on his face. Giuro rolled his eyes again, this time looking pointedly at Kell.

Cay's most innocent expression hid his desire to knock the boy's teeth in. He regularly smiled into the eyes of dowagers who saw him as a whore who had fucked his way into the nobility. He could certainly meet the gaze of one rude undergraduate. But he disliked the way Giuro kept leaning over to touch Kell's knee or her shoulder, offering her more food and keeping her glass filled. She was entitled to a young man, but must it be this young man?

"So it's not possible," he repeated, "because the balloon is in the sky, and even if it did have a keel, it would also be in the sky, so it wouldn't work. Right?"

Giuro sighed loudly. "So many people don't understand that sky is not empty space. It's full of matter—air, which has weight and density and pressure. Air is subject to natural forces, the same as water and earth. A balloon is entirely at the mercy of the forces of air, whereas a sailing ship may make use of the differential between the Principles of air and water. It's a very basic concept."

"Lots of people weren't taught those concepts, Giuro," said Kell, as if noticing Giuro's aggressive tone for the first time.

"Fish don't drown."

"Ooh," murmured Cay. "Starlight Conversation."

"I don't know about fish," said Kell, "but you're being awfully shitty to Cay. All he did was ask a question."

"I just don't understand why you want to spend time with people like him," Giuro snapped. "Just because he's rich doesn't mean he's smart."

"My brother is too smart!"

"He's your brother?"

"Of course he's my brother! Why else would he keep coming around here?"

Isa and Bienta began to giggle.

Cay grinned at Giuro. "Two people with Muntegrise accents in one Valette dormitory room. So many people would never guess they're related, but it's a very basic concept."

The waiting came to an end the next day.

Cay and Adrio were firmly behind their masks at luncheon when a pounding came at the door. As soon as a servant opened it, Fonsca Calareto burst into the breakfast room, flushed and disheveled, shouting Adrio's name.

"What is it?"

"They say they have caught the Uncanny Aviator."

"What? Who?"

"That Grup envoy fellow. Fierar. He has captured a man he says is a spy. Adrio, you won't believe who."

"Who?" whispered Cay, a lump of dread frozen in his chest.

"Ondrei."

"Impossible," growled Adrio, but he was on his feet, striding toward the front door.

Cay scrambled to his feet and followed.

Adrio was pulling on a cloak and gloves. "Where—"

"The envoy is at the palace now," Fonsca said. "He is waiting for an audience with the queen. If we're lucky, we can make it—"

Adrio's eye fell on Cay, who was also reaching for his cloak. "You stay here," he said.

"No."

Adrio looked as if he would argue, but Cay set his jaw, and Fonsca said, "We haven't time for this. My carriage is waiting."

"All right," growled Adrio. He strode out the door, Cay at his heels.