Only to discover, in gradual increments of growing horror, that the world within was little different; that all those grotesque foibles of humanity could not be evaded-they just reared up shinier to the eye, like polished baubles, but no less cheap, no less sordid.

In her silence, Challice thought of the gifts of privilege, and oh wasn’t she privileged indeed? A rich husband getting richer, one lover among his closest allies (and that was a snare she might use again, if the need arose), and now another-one Gor-las knew virtually nothing about. At least, she didn’t think he did.

Sudden rapid flutter of her heart. What if he has someone following me? The possibility was very real, but what could she do about it? And what might her husband do when he discovered that her most recent lover was not a player in his game? That he was, in fact, a stranger, someone clearly beyond his reach, his sense of control. Would he then realize that she too was now beyond his control?

Gorlas might panic. He might, in truth, become murderous.

‘Be careful now, Cro-Cutter. What we have begun is very dangerous.’

He said nothing in reply, and after a moment she pushed herself off him, and rose to stand beside the narrow bed. ‘He would kill you,’ she continued, looking down on him, seeing once again how the years had hardened his body, sculpted muscles bearing the scars of past battles. His eyes, fixed on her own, regarded her with thoughts and feelings veiled, unknowable.

‘He’s a duellist, isn’t he?’

She nodded. ‘One of the best in the city.’

‘Duels,’ he said, ‘don’t frighten me.’

‘That would be a mistake, Cutter. In any case, given your… station, it’s doubtful he’d bother with anything so formal. More like a half-dozen thugs hired to get rid of you. Or even an assassin.’

‘So,’ he asked, ‘what should I do about it?’

She hesitated, and then turned away to find her clothes. ‘I don’t know. I was but warning you, my love.’

‘I would imagine you’d be even more at risk.’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. Although,’ she added, ‘a jealous man is an unpredictable man.’ Turning, she studied him once more. ‘Are you jealous, Cutter?’’Of Golras Vidikas?’ The question seemed to surprise him and she could see him thinking about it. ‘Title and wealth, yes, that would be nice. Being born into something doesn’t mean it’s deserved, of course, so maybe he hasn’t earned all his privileges, but then, maybe he has-you’d know more of that than I would.’

‘That’s not what I meant. When he takes me, when he makes love to me.’

‘Oh. Does he?’

‘Occasionally.’

‘Make love? Or just make use of you?’

‘That is a rather rude question.’

Years ago, he would have leapt to his feet, apologies tumbling from him in a rush. Now, he remained on the bed, observing her with those calm eyes. Challice felt a shiver of something in her, and thought it might be fear. She had assumed a certain… control. Over all of this. Over him. And now she wondered. ‘What,’ he now asked, ‘do you want from me, Challice? Years and years of this? Meeting in dusty, abandoned bedrooms. Something you can own that Gorlas does not? It’s not as if you’ll ever leave him, is it?’

‘You once invited me to run away with you.’

‘If I did,’ he said, ‘you clearly said no. What has changed?’

‘I have.’

His gaze sharpened on her. ‘So now… you would? Leave it all behind? The estate, the wealth?’ He waved languidly at the room around them. ‘For a life of this? Challice, understand: the world of most people is a small world. It has more limitations that you might think-’

‘And you think it’s that different among the nobleborn?’

He laughed.

Fury hissed through her, and to keep from lashing out she quickly began dressing. ‘It’s typical,’ she said, pleased at her calm tone. ‘I shouldn’t have been surprised. The lowborn always think we have it so easy, that we can do anything, go anywhere. That our every whim is answered. They don’t think-’ she spun to face him, and watched his eyes widen as he comprehended her anger, ‘-you don’t think that people like me can suffer.’

‘I never said that-’

‘You laughed.’

‘Where are you going now, Challice? You’re going back to your home. Your estate, where your handmaids will rush to attend to you. Where another change of clothes and jewellery awaits. After a languid bath, of course.’ He sat up, abruptly. ‘The ship’s carpenter who stayed in this room here, well, he did so because he had nowhere else to go. This was his estate. Temporary, dependent on the whim of House Vidikas, and when his reason for being here was done out he went, to find somewhere else to live-if he was lucky.’ He reached for his shirt. ‘And where will I go now? Oh, out on to the streets. Wearing the same clothes I arrived in, and that won’t change any time soon. And tonight? Maybe I can wheedle another night in a room at the Phoenix Inn. And if I help in the kitchen I’ll earn a meal and if Meese is in a good mood then maybe even a bath. Tomorrow, the same challenges of living, the same questions of “what next?’” He faced her and shesaw amused irony in his expression, which slowly faded, ‘Challice, I’m not saying you’re somehow immune to suffering, If you were, you wouldn’t be here, would you? I spoke of limited worlds. They exist everywhere, but that doesn’t mean they’re all identical. Some are a damned sight more limited than others.’

‘You had choices, Cutter,’ she said. ‘More choices than I ever had.’

‘You could have told Gorlas no when he sought your hand in marriage.’

‘Really? Now that reveals one thing in you that’s not changed-your naivete.’

He shrugged. ‘If you say so. What next, Challice?’

His sudden, seemingly effortless dismissal of the argument took her breath away. It doesn’t matter to him. None of it. Not how I feel, not how I see him. ‘I need to think,’ she said, inwardly flailing.

He nodded as if unsurprised.

‘Tomorrow evening,’ she said, ‘we should meet again.’

A half-grin as he asked, ‘To talk?’

‘Among other things.’

‘All right, Challice.’

Some thoughts, possessing a frightening kind of self-awareness, knew to hide deep beneath others, riding unseen the same currents, where they could grow unchallenged, unexposed by any horrified recognition. One could always sense them, of course, but that was not the same as slashing through all the obfusca-tion, revealing them bared to the harsh light and so seeing them wither into dust. The mind ran its own shell-game, ever amused at its own sleight of hand misdirection-in truth, this was how one tended to live, from moment to moment, with the endless exchange of denials and deference and quick winks in the mirror, even as inner proclamations and avowals thundered with false willpower and posturing conviction.

Does this lead one into unease?

Challice Vidikas hurried home, nevertheless taking a circuitous route as now and then whispers of paranoia rose in faint swells to the surface of her thoughts.

She was thinking of Cutter, this man who had once been Crokus. She was thinking of the significance in the new name, the new man she had found. She was thinking, also (there, beneath the surface), of what to do with him.

Gorlas would find out, sooner or later. He might confront her, he might not. She might discover that he knew only by arriving one afternoon at the loft in the annexe, and finding Cutter’s hacked, lifeless corpse awaiting her on the bed.

She knew she was trapped-in ways a free man like Cutter could never comprehend. She knew, as well, that the ways out were limited, each one chained to sacrifices, losses, abandonments, and some… despicable. Yes, that was the only word for them.

Despicable. She tasted the word anew, there in her mind. Contemplated whether she was in fact capable of living with such a penance. But why would I? What would I need to see done, to make me see myself in that way!