After dinner, Lord Nikola – Wisteria still could not think of him without the title – and she made the announcement to her parents. Which was, unsurprisingly, well-received by them.

Courtesy of Lord Comfrey, Wisteria had had several days to come to terms with the idea of Lord Nikola proposing to her. She had more-or-less resolved in advance that, after giving Lord Nikola as full a disclosure as she could, she would accept if he were still interested. So she had little right or reason to be surprised at finding herself engaged.

She was anyway.

Even more astonishing was Lord Nikola’s revelation that, first, her oddities were not only mental in origin but likely treatable, and second and more amazing, that he did not advise treating it. It had never occurred to her to look on her handicaps as anything but obstacles to be overcome. That someone might care for her not in spite of but because of them was nothing short of miraculous.

After the announcement, her mother didn’t want to do anything but discuss wedding plans and dates and set preparations in motion. Lord Nikola made his escape by promising to send his own mother as sacrifice in his place. Wisteria had no idea how to extricate herself from the task. She told her mother up front and repeatedly that her sole preference was “as soon as possible” and otherwise she was indifferent on the matter of location, invitations, colors, theme, and every other conceivable aspect. While her mother nodded and agreed, her behavior gave no indication that Wisteria had been believed or even heard.

When Lady Striker called with both her daughters to congratulate Wisteria and speak of wedding plans, Wisteria resorted to sneaking away outright. She excused herself to go to the lavatory, passed Mrs. Warwick a note on the way out to beg her to cover for her absence, and fled.

She stopped at her office first to get the folder she had worked up on the Colbury evaluation, put a suit jacket over her dress, and directed Sally to take her in the gig to Comfrey Manor. I can apologize to Mother later. This cannot wait.

Lord Comfrey had guests when she arrived; since her attire and folder signaled a professional call, Comfrey’s butler directed her to wait in his office.

A quarter of an hour later, Wisteria was seated at his conference table and engrossed in the file when Lord Comfrey stepped into the office. “Good evening, my dear. This is an unexpected pleasure; I would never expect you to work on that during the Ascension season. In fact…” His smile faded as he walked to join her at the table. “I ought to pay your fee and cancel the request; I no longer have the need to sell.”

“Oh, I truly think you ought to divest yourself of your stake in Colbury Textiles,” Wisteria told him. “But I did not come on business.” She stood before he had moved to take a seat, feeling the joy of recent events ebb out of her, an empty ache filling her heart. How can this be what I want and yet not at the same time? “Lord Nikola proposed to me today, and I have accepted him, my lord. I did not want you to learn this from another source.”

“Ah.” He stood motionless for a moment, then smiled. “Congratulations to you both, my dear. I trust you will be very happy together.”

“I believe we will.” She wished she could read his expression. “I wish I could marry you both.”

Lord Comfrey laughed. “There’s a notion! As if one marriage were not trouble enough. What kind of Paradise would it be where one might have several?”

“A more perfect Paradise?”

“I do not think you will find many who would agree. Come, my dear.” He offered his arm. “I should not keep my guests waiting. Let me show you out.” As they walked together into the hall, the lord added, “Thank you for telling me yourself, Miss Vasilver. That was well done.”

“You deserved that much. A great deal more, to be honest. I am sor—”

“Never apologize, my dear,” he interrupted her. “I should have made the same choice, in your place.” They had reached the front door. The footman opened it for them, and Lord Comfrey escorted her down the steps to hand her into her gig. “Be well, Miss Vasilver. I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Good day, Lord Comfrey.” There were a thousand things she wanted to say: had there been a moment, any chance at all, she would have blurted something inappropriate out. But she was in the gig before she knew it. I wonder how he does that, she thought as she asked Sally to take her home. I am sure my parents would love to know. Watching Lord Comfrey stroll back inside, tall and strong and graceful, the embroidered trim of his jacket flashing in the winter sunlight, she ached with loss and desire. How can I love them both so much, when I am only permitted one?

The remaining weeks of the Ascension season passed in a blur for Wisteria: all of the usual social events piled on top with all the details and chores of planning for the wedding. The date had been set for early summer, driven in part by the timing of the queen’s schedule. As a count’s heir, Nikola had the privilege of a royal officiant for his wedding and Lady Striker hoped the queen herself would do the honors. According to Nikola, the other part was that both their families wanted them wed at once, “for fear we might reconsider.” Wisteria’s mother lamented that a mere five months was insufficient to all the tasks that must be done for a proper wedding. Privately, Wisteria wanted to elope.

She did not suggest elopement to her betrothed, mostly because she was sure he would agree and she felt that, after all the times she had disappointed her parents and even his, she owed it to them to do this one thing properly. Or as close to properly as she could manage.    

Wisteria gave the question of treatment for her mind’s peculiarities considerable thought. On the one hand, her inability to read and express emotion as others did had always troubled her. To smile, laugh, cry, and so forth as a natural response had been a childhood dream that she had never quite outgrown.

Yet it was useful in ways: her exaggerated reputation for patience and calm was due to the difficulty people had in discerning her feelings, for instance. And while normal people who could read emotions picked up on cues that she missed, it did not stop them from getting into stupid misunderstandings. If anything, it made the stupid misunderstandings worse, because where Wisteria would ask for a verbal explanation, others would rely on inaccurate nonverbal communication and their own assumptions. Do I want to be normal?

‘Normal’ was out of the question anyway. She doubted any treatment would take her interest in finance and analysis away, or instill a love of clothing. But: more normal?

In the final analysis: no.

As frustrated as she was by her limitations, Wisteria liked the person that she was. That person had been formed in meaningful part on her limitations.

Besides, I can always seek treatment later, if I change my mind about changing my mind. It’s not as if my healer of minds is going anywhere.

Lord Comfrey continued to call on her, to her surprise. Not as often – once every week or two – but he was as pleasant and attentive a companion as before she’d refused him. They would speak on a wide range of topics, but always circumspect ones. After the first couple of visits, Wisteria realized that he had to still be managing her, so deftly she could not even describe how he did it. But he ensured she never brought up any subject that might prove disagreeable, and likewise that they were never alone where she might be frank about her feelings.

Her very conflicted feelings.

As far as she could discern, Lord Comfrey had lost all romantic and sexual interest in her the moment she told him she would marry Nikola. Which was good! Even if Nikola was willing to overlook her transgressions, she would prefer he did not have to. Wisteria knew she loved Nikola and had a confidence of at least ninety percent that she wished to marry him even more than she wished to marry Lord Comfrey.

But she still desired Lord Comfrey.

Wisteria was glad for his visits, grateful that he enjoyed her company because she treasured his. Yet it was difficult not to be close to him, not to be open with him as she was with Nikola.

It was not that she felt any lack in her relationship with Nikola, save that it was not yet consummated. With the betrothal, they were afforded more privacy: ample time to cuddle and speak of whatever they chose. They could likely have gotten away with doing more than simply cuddling, but Nikola insisted on circumspection – some nonsense about proving his respect for her. Still, after waiting so long already, Wisteria reasoned she could survive another few months. So they were waiting. Impatiently. Perhaps when she was wed, her fantasies about Lord Comfrey would cease. Not to mention her fantasies about Nikola with Lord Comfrey. Which she truly should not have and there was no reason to think that Lord Comfrey had been Nikola’s lover, and even if he had been Nikola had made it plain it was over. So it was outlandish and insulting and offensive and oh so very, very sensual. She would never speak of it, of course: Nikola had entrusted her with his secret and she did not need a list to know one did not betray a secret. Just as she could say nothing to Nikola that could suggest that Lord Comfrey had been the man of whom she had spoken with longing. Risking her own reputation with an ill-chosen word was an easy mistake for her to make, but Wisteria had discovered that her mind was more than willing to put in the effort to protect the men she loved.

---

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“Yes! And let me make this attempt properly.” Nikola shifted her from his lap to the cushion, then stood. He dropped to one knee on the floor before her, took one of her hands for reassurance – she looked so composed, and he all but trembling with nerves – and swallowed. “Miss Vasilver: I am ready to set aside all my philandering ways and cleave only unto you, if you will do me the very great honor of becoming my wife. Will you marry me, my lady?”

Her hand squeezed his as he awaited some reply, but his spirit sank as she remained silent. Finally, she asked, “Are you quite sure you wish to give up philandering?”

“For you? Absolutely. I have no entanglements, no illegitimate children, if that is your concern.”

But she was shaking her head. “No, it’s not that. It’s that I am not sure I am suited to the standards of marriage.”

“I…Miss Vasilver, if you are decided against me, you may feel free to say so; there’s no need to—”

“No!” She spoke quickly, interrupting him. “It’s not that I do not want to marry you, my lord, I do, marriage has been my goal for so long that you cannot know, you cannot imagine my happiness at being asked by you, by a man I esteem so much, one so principled, capable, attractive, even Blessed – you are everything I ever hoped for in a husband.” Nik blinked at her, stunned by the praise and apprehensive about the ‘but’ that must be coming. “I would be delighted to wed you. Only I fear I will not be the wife you expect or deserve. I had always thought, well, everyone marries, surely I can manage it, but everyone is not like me—”

Nikola rose enough to brace a knee against the couch and took her face in his hands to kiss her, silencing the flood of self-doubt. “Please, my lady. Let me be the judge of that. My mother has pushed a half-dozen or more conventional, unexceptionable girls into my path. I do not want to marry an ordinary woman who will be just what everyone expects. I want to marry you. Extraordinary, exceptional, unexpected.”

“Oh,” she said, faintly. “But…um…what if you do not have sufficient information to make an accurate judgment? I never did get you that due diligence report on myself.”

Nik took a deep breath, steadying himself against the rush of conflicting emotions: fear, passion, hope, nervousness. He focused on Miss Vasilver: her long face was composed but her light brown hands were clenched together, anxious, her gaze off to one side in concentration or embarrassment. “I have seen you defy and attack a man in my defense with both your own hands tied. I am not unaware of your character, Miss Vasilver. Is there something in particular you think I ought know and do not?”

“I’m afraid I’ll be unfaithful,” she blurted out. “That is – I was so forward with you when I oughtn’t have been and everyone has always told me that men despise such behavior in a woman—”

“I was there,” Nikola said, mildly. He resumed his seat beside the dark-haired woman. “‘Despise’ is not the word I would use. I am proposing to you, you know. I like your passion.”

“But what if I am the same way with another?”

He couldn’t help smiling at the way she phrased it, as if her actions might suddenly be beyond her control at any moment. “Miss Vasilver, I think you underrate your—-” he stopped mid-sentence, with a sudden awful premonition. What if she truly is afraid her actions will be beyond her control? “Are you – do you—” I love your mind, please, please do not ask me to change it. “Remember those pages of your document that so distressed my parents?”

She nodded. “My judgment can be so shockingly poor, my lord, there’s something horribly wrong with—”

Nik touched a gloved finger to her lips, not wanting to hear. That’s not a petition, she did not ask me what was wrong with her – “It did not distress me, my lady. I went to that meeting predisposed to dislike you, your parents, and everything about the situation. But instead you charmed me. With your very bluntness, your willingness to not merely consider but confront and address the ways that marriage fails some of its participants. Why would you think this makes you unsuitable for marriage? It is half the reason I am asking you! Perhaps that makes me unfit for the institution, in which case it is surely best that we be unfit together. If fidelity does not suit you – well, I should like you to be discreet; I do not wish to be a laughingstock. But I am not a jealous man. If you find you wish a lover in addition to and not in place of me, I do not think it an insurmountable obstacle to our matrimony.”    

“Oh. Truly?”

He smiled. “Truly. Is there…another man, then?”

“Oh…I do not think I ought to say. Is that the same as saying? Do not ask me his name, I beg you. I do not think anything could come of it regardless, I make such a hash of things.”

Nik swallowed against an unexpected surge of jealousy. Who is he? A gentleman? Some impoverished tradesman or a servant, too low class for you to wed? “Would you rather marry him?”

She shook her head. “No. I should rather marry you both, in truth.”

Nik smiled involuntarily. “I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

“So everyone tells me. If I may only have one, I will choose you. If you are sure—” She stopped as Nikola swept her into his arms again and kissed her thoroughly. As uncertain as her words had been, there was no shy hesitation in her response now. He caressed her side and down one skirt-covered leg as she twined her hands through his hair and pressed against his chest. Nik found he didn’t care why she prefered him to this unnamed suitor, whether it was for his title or Fireholt or his Blessing or – whatever. The important thing was she said yes!

“I am quite sure,” he told her after he paused for breath. His jacket had come off at some point in the last couple of minutes and his waistcoat was open. Delicate hands stroked over his shirt as she nuzzled experimentally at his cheek.

“Oh, thank you,” she murmured, kissing his neck just above the collar. “I am so very happy, I do not have words for it.” She clung tighter to him, as if to reassure herself he was real. “I do so want to be a good wife to you. I will do my best to be true, and not be a disappointment or an embarrassment to you. If I were not always making so many mistakes obvious to everyone else – but I will do better. For you I feel I could learn to be anything.”

Nik shivered at her words. “I don’t want you to be anyone but yourself.” The shapes of her mind filled his senses, the atypically rational connections standing out to him now, and the accompanying lack of instinct. That’s not a demon. Her mind is beautiful and fascinating and she did not petition me. ‘There’s something horribly wrong with me’ is a figure of speech. It doesn’t mean anything. He hugged her close, shutting his eyes, and knew he was making excuses to remain silent. “I do not believe there is anything wrong with you as you are, my betrothed. Do you…do you truly think yourself flawed?”

“Yes, certainly,” she answered, without hesitation. “In all sorts of ways. My body doesn’t express my feelings as it ought – my parents took me to dozens of healers when I was small and no one could ever determine why, and it’s as if because I cannot express them I cannot read emotion either. And things that are obvious to everyone else, like, oh, how one ought not discuss any of the important details of marriage when one is considering an engagement, or why one cannot marry more than one person, or – oh, the list is endless. Why I oughtn’t do things that feel wonderful, like kissing you.” She kissed him to demonstrate, and for a minute Nik forgot the topic and the accompanying sense of dread.

But she paused to breathe, gazing at him with a calm, neutral expression while he was flushed and stunned by desire, and he knew he could not just ignore what she’d said. “Ahh…so you’ve seen other mind-healers?” Not me. I would remember your mind anywhere, even if we had both been children at the consultation.

“No, my lord, it’s not that I’m—” She cut herself off, tilting her head at him. “Oh, it is, isn’t it? The healers couldn’t find a problem because it’s not my body that’s wrong but my mind. You can see it, can’t you? Why did you not – oh, of course you wouldn’t, you said you don’t ask people if they have a problem. But this is wonderful, Lord Nikola, will you fi—”

Nikola covered her mouth before she could finish, before she committed herself. “Don’t – please, wait.” Reluctantly, he shifted her from his lap to the sofa and stood, needing to clear his mind to think. He paced the polished hardwood floor of the small parlor. “Miss Vasilver, your mind is, yes, most unusual. I do not say ‘defective’. There are connections that your mind makes with reason and that other minds make by instinct, and that…that might explain the symptoms you describe.”

“This is very exciting, my lord,” she said, head tilted. “But is it not something you may repair? You do not seem pleased.”

“It’s not—” Nik dropped to one knee before her and clasped her hand. “I don’t know if I could change it. If you find it so troubling as that – very likely the Savior would alter it, if you wanted but—” he held up a hand to forestall her “—please consider what you are asking first. The Savior will not alter your mind in a way that makes you unhealthy or less sane, but it can – will, in the case – make you less like who you are now. Wisteria, I love the way your mind works. I love the contract that you made full of all the important details that no one is supposed to discuss, and I love your list of topics not to talk about, and I love that you made a list, and I love you. As you are. I do not imagine that I will stop loving you if you ask the Savior’s aid here, and if you petition me of course the Code obliges me to honor your request. But I do not want to change you. You are not insane, or dysfunctional, or – anything that is not wonderful. You may not be typical but typical is overrated in my opinion. Please, consider seriously whether this is truly what you want.”

She watched him for a long moment, silent, and he had to throttle back the urge to press further arguments upon her. “You love me?”

He blinked at her. “Of course. I asked you to marry me.”

“Lots of people get married for reasons besides love.”

Nik glanced to one side. “Not me. It’s all right, I do not expect you to feel the same—”

“But I do.” She leaned forward to embrace him. “I love you,” she said, matter-of-fact. He rose, sweeping her into his arms. That lack of expression isn’t self-control. It’s just how she is. How she will always be, if I am lucky. Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside as they were kissing, and Nik set Wisteria on her feet and smoothed her dress and sleeves to suit decorum again before hastily buttoning his jacket.

A maid tapped at the half-open door. “Mrs. Vasilver wishes to know if his lordship will be staying to dinner?”

Nikola took Wisteria’s hand and squeezed, thinking of the news they had to announce. “I will be very happy to.” The girl curtsied and withdrew. “I suppose that’s our cue to stop hiding here.”

“Oh. Regarding what you said, my lord, on petitioning—”

“Please, take all the time you need to consider.” Nik smiled at her, a little forced, and swallowed. “There is no rush at all.”

She nodded, curtseying to him. “Thank you, my lord. I shall.”

---

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Within a few days, Nikola fell back into his normal routine as if he’d never left it. To his surprise, the number of petitioners awaiting his care was still down from the pre-Ascension peak. The crowd outside Anverlee’s gates also caught him off-guard. He had half-expected some petitioners to be camped at the gates in the hope of his resumption of duties. Nik had not anticipated a mob of respectful well-wishers crafting a makeshift shrine and praying for his recovery. They cheered when he made his first appearance outside the gates while riding on Anthser, and crowded near like greatcats to touch him. But these people were not ill; merely grateful, he gathered, for some past healing of their own or of loved ones. It was at once moving and unsettling, to have so many strangers devote so much thought to his well-being.

But he felt no trace of his former panic in their presence. He was confident he was healthy again, although both mind and life remained rife with imperfections.

Losing Justin was the worst of them.

Nik would think of Justin at odd moments: this will be a funny story to share with Justin or Justin would enjoy that game or I wonder what Justin’s doing now? And then he would remember their last parting. We are not friends any more. If we ever were. Sometimes he would find himself depressed or angry or grieved and not be sure why, until he recollected that awful departure.

It was irrational but not madness: he could not look to the Savior to cure a broken heart. The best treatment he’d found was to think of Miss Vasilver. Nik was not at all sure that she would receive his suit favorably, but he had no concern that she would curse, shout, or repudiate him.

Almost no concern, anyway.

He was torn between anxiousness to ask so he could know her answer, and determination to take the time to distance himself from his incapacity and prove himself as a competent man and a worthy suitor, and worry over how she might react. His mother had been disappointed when she learned he had not asked at the first opportunity on Wednesday. Lord Striker, at least, understood the point of honor involved.

§

On the Friday after his recovery, Nikola sent a message to Mr. Vance at the offices of prosecution, informing him that he would be able to stand witness to the crimes committed against him, if so needed. He’d not heard from the watch or the prosecution since Anthser ordered Feli Thranthier away a week ago. He suspected his parents, if not the greatcats, had been deflecting any attempts to reach him. Lord Striker would have no interest in drawing out such a spectacle, and for once Nikola agreed with that view. Still, Feli Thranthier had a point: laws needed to be enforced. It was one thing to balk at testifying when his mental state rendered the prospect akin to torture, and another when it was merely tedious and mortifying.

Mr. Vance’s reply came a few hours later. Anthser brought it to Nik in his office, when the lord was between petitioner appointments.

For Nikola Striker, Lord of Fireholt, By the Grace of the Savior Blessed with the Healing of Minds:

It is my duty to inform you that Ian Brogan has been attacked and slain by another prisoner while in our custody. As their leader was dead and my office was given to understand that my lord and his family wished to avoid a trial, we have reached an agreement with his accomplices that they will waive their right to a trial in return for sentences of indenture and exile from Newlant, as opposed to death. The hearing to approve this agreement is set for next Tuesday. My lord may attend if he wishes, but no witnesses are required. If my office has been misinformed or my lord has any objections to this agreement, please contact us as soon as possible and we will do our best to accommodate.

Your obedient servant,

G. Vance

The revelation of Brogan’s death shocked Nik. “Did you know about this?” He waved the note before Anthser’s face.

“Know about what?” The greatcat tilted his head, trying to read the moving paper.

“Brogan’s dead. And the prosecutor’s letting his accomplices plea to avoid the gallows.”

“Oh. I knew about Brogan. Was in the papers, uh, Monday?” Sheepish, Anthser canted his ears and sat back on his haunches. “We didn’t want to bother you about it then, and then when you were doing better…guess no one thought about it. Sorry. Didn’t know about the plea, though. Is that bad?”

After a moment of consideration, Nik shook his head. “No, it’s as well. They won’t be free to hurt anyone else, and I’ve no taste for vengeance.”

The black greatcat’s ears perked. “Then it’s all over now.”

Nik exhaled, feeling an unexpected relief at the realization. “Yes. I suppose it is.”

A full week of petitioners, family members, and social events bolstered Nik’s self-confidence, and on the following Thursday he let impatience win out over fear and propriety. Attired in a conservative suit of Fireholt’s black and orange, Nik called upon Miss Vasilver with one goal in mind.

The Vasilvers happened to have several other callers that morning and their everyday parlor was jammed with family members and visitors. Miss Vasilver introduced Nikola to the infamous Mr. Stephen Vasilver and his wife, as well as some family friends or perhaps business associates – it was hard to tell the difference. There were even a few mutual acquaintances: Mr. Anthony Dalsterly, one of Lady Dalsterly’s great-nephews or great-great-nephews, and Mr. and Mrs. Lavert. Predictably, his acquaintances in the crowd were eager to ask after his health. Surely I cannot be more than a nine-day wonder, and my nine days are well past, Nik thought as he put on a smile and gave civil answers to the inquiries.

He was seeking a pretext under which to isolate Miss Vasilver when her mother approached. “Wisteria, perhaps his lordship would like to view the prospect from the south parlor.”

“He would?” Miss Vasilver said.

“You know, how the windows frame the ice on the trees,” Mrs. Vasilver said, at almost the same time that Nikola offered his assurance that he would be delighted to see it.

“It does? Oh, I should be happy to show you, my lord.” Miss Vasilver took his arm and led him out of the crowd. As they walked the paneled hallway, she added, “Though I didn’t think there was any ice left on the trees. Wasn’t the last storm three days ago?” He laughed, and she tilted her head at him. “My lord?”

“I do believe your mother was scheming again, miss. But since her scheme to get us alone coincides exactly with my own wishes, I will say nothing against it.”

“Oh.” Miss Vasilver faced forward, her gaze directed aimlessly upon an antique bust on a stand at the end of the hall. “You must think me foolish, to be oblivious to such things.” She turned to open a door into a cozy room, far more comfortable than the formal parlor.

Nikola left the door partway open for propriety’s sake as he followed her within, then caught her arm. “Miss Vasilver—” he moved to face her, smiling with a goofy affection he had lost all will to conceal “—I do not find you foolish in any respect. Indeed, I am entranced by your nature, which is so honest and sincere that it scarce occurs to you how devious all the rest of us can be.”

“That is a kind way to interpret it, my lord, but I think it has more to do with inobservance than personal inclination.”

“Even if that were the case, it is of no consequence.” Nik let his fingers slide down her sleeve to take her hand. “Miss Vasilver – there is so much I wish to say to you that I do not know where to begin.”

“Is it all inappropriate?” she asked, deadpan.

He smiled despite his growing nervousness. “Not all.”

“You have my permission to begin with the first item on your list, if you like. I cannot imagine I will dislike you for it.”

“I can.” Nikola swallowed. “But I do not think you will. Will you sit with me, my lady?”

She nodded and sat on the couch. He sat near enough to take her hand again, and she watched him gravely. “If that was at the head of your list, I shall be very disappointed, my lord.”

He smiled again, shaking his head. “Miss Vasilver…some weeks ago I told you I was not interested in marriage at this time in my life. My feelings on this point have had a material revolution, one that I am not altogether sure will be welcome to you. But I – I am making quite a hash of this. There is a question I want to ask you and I daresay by now you can guess which one, but before I ask I wish to be honest with you, as I have never been honest with anyone, and to tell you something which may be pertinent to your answer. But I must also ask that you hold it in strictest confidence; my reserve on this point has been with good cause. Will you hear my confession?”

Her expression was as closed as ever, unmoved by affection or surprise. But she spoke without hesitation: “Oh, Lord Nikola, please do. Speak your mind. I will be very happy to hear it, and I shall not betray your trust.”

With some reassurance – were she decided against me she could have no wish to hear more – he plunged forward. “I believe my reputation preceded your acquaintance with me, if I am to judge by the document you provided when we met. You know that I have not been chaste. I daresay my reputation as a rake is exaggerated: I am an inveterate flirt and that leads rumormongers to inaccurate conclusions. Still, it is true I have…taken a number of lovers, over the years. But what I do not think you know is this: some of those lovers have been men.” Two, to be exact, or three depending on how one wants to define ‘lover’. He watched her anxiously, waiting for some reaction.

She tilted her head. “Oh. Truly? How does that work?”

He blinked at her. “Er…”

“I have a very general notion of what sexual intercourse between a man and a woman consists of – you have no idea how difficult even that was to glean – but even in Southern Vandu where it was permissible no one would ever explain to me what exactly that healer had proposed doing with Stephen. Stephen and the Kyriel both said it was extraordinarily wrong of me to…oh. Dear. I am sorry, my lord, I should not have—”

Nikola laughed. “Miss Vasilver, I should dearly like to kiss you right now. Would you be terribly offended if I did?”

She shook her head, and did not quite throw herself into his arms. But she did reciprocate his kiss with a heartening enthusiasm. When he drew back she was half in his lap, arms looped behind his neck. He cradled her close. “I take it you are not horror-struck by my revelation.”    

“Oh, no, not at all. Not by any of it.” She hesitated. “I…technically, I have been chaste my whole life. But that has more to do with a scarcity of opportunity and my own cowardice than any true virtue on my part. Indeed, the more I think about it the less I understand why it is regarded as a virtue at all. Um. Paternity? But that’s of no consequence between two men.”

“I could produce some reasons for you, but as I have no wish whatsoever to persuade you from your opinion I will not.”

“Does it make sense to you, then? I long to understand the reasoning.” She did not pout, but something in the tilt of her head made it plain to Nik that she would be disappointed if he gave no answer.    

“Well. Er. Society does not wish to have the, er, energy, of its individuals diverted from the task of childbearing and rearing. Insofar as such a relationship must be a distraction.”

“Must it? My father’s interest in commerce, ships, cards, and landscaping have occupied far more of his time than the procreative act, I do believe, but this has not prevented him from siring six children. Nor has the time my mother has invested in reading, needlepoint, or the harpsichord kept her from her familial duties.”

“It’s…different.” Nikola hugged her, closing his eyes.

“Different how?”

He shook his head. “I will not argue with you further, not when I have nothing to gain and everything to lose by winning.”

“Oh, are we arguing? I am sorry, I did not mean to quarrel.” She looked down at his chest, her fingers toying with his jabot as she snuggled into his lap. “Was there more you did wish to tell me, my lord?”

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