I grinned. "Not inappropriate, since we're living in one at the moment."

"Look at you." In tones of accusation.

I didn't have to. I knew what she referred to. A tunic stained red with spilled wine the color of old blood. I grasped the hem cross-armed and yanked the tunic off over my head. "There," I said. "All gone."

She eyed me askance, sorting out the spill of fair hair. She was rumpled, creased, and sleepy-eyed in a sleeveless, short-cut tunic that displayed nearly all of her exceptionally long and lovely limbs, incontestably magnificent despite her morning mood. I leered and made as if to swoop down upon her.

Del ducked away. "Not until after you've had a bath!"

"That'll have to wait," I said. "And so will you, if you think you can stand it."

She frowned, finger-combing her hair. "What are you talking about?"

"Today I begin transforming Herakleio into a man. It's dirty, sweaty business, that. The bath will come later."

Warily she asked, "How are you intending to transform him into a man? By outdrinking him?"

"Oh, I have no doubt I can outdrink him. I expect I can outdo him in most things, frankly." I recalled Prima Rhannet's comment about Herakleio's appetite for women. "Though I have learned some self-restraint over the years."

"Have you?"

"At knife– and sword-point, maybe, but self-restraint all the same." I stretched long and hard, waiting for the bones to settle themselves back into place. Some mornings they were slower to do so than others.

"You," she said dubiously. "You, transforming, him into a man."

I twisted my torso in one direction, then back again. "You think I can't?"

Del considered her answer. "I think there are indeed things you can teach anyone," she said finally. "But-you know nothing about Skandi."

"I know a little something about being a man."

She contemplated my expression, made the decision not to allow me any more rope lest I take it and hang her with it. "Can I watch?"

I bent over to touch my toes, gripped them. "Later," I said tightly. "There's something I need you to do, first."

"Me?"

"Go see Simonides, the metri's servant. He's got a few things for you."

"For me."

"Well, for me and Herakleio, actually, but we'll be busy first thing. When you see what Simonides has assembled, you'll know."

"Will he know I know?"

I clasped palms behind my skull and pushed it forward, twisting, letting the knots in my neck pop loose. "Probably not."

"You're being obscure, Tiger."

"No, I'm not." I shook out my arms, let my hands flop like fish fresh off the hook. "I'm being entertaining. "

In a severe tone, she said, "You're not going out like that."

"I'm not?" I wore lightweight, baggy trousers held up by the drawstring pulled tight across my hipbones. No shirt, no shoes; I was free of encumbrances, which is the way I preferred it. "Why not?"

"You'll frighten the poor boy half to death."

The "poor boy" was one year older than Del. "Good." I displayed my teeth in a ferocious grin. "Now, come here."

"Why?" Warily.

"Don't trust me, bascha?"

"Sometimes."

"Come here." I paused. "Please?"

Somewhat mollified, Del got up and approached.

"Here." I grasped her arms, lifted them, urged them around me. "Tight."

"Tiger-you stink of wine!"

"Would you, please?"

She sighed and wrapped her arms around me.

"Squeeze," I directed. "Tight."

She squeezed.

"Tighter."

"Tighter than this?"

We were plastered together. "Tight as you can, bascha."

She squeezed, and several of my spinal bones decided to pop back into place. Noisily.

"Gods," she said, and let go in shock.

"Better," I sighed, then grinned at her. "Now you smell of wine."

"Which was likely your intent all along."

"Oh, no. At least, not my sole intent." I leaned forward, smacked her a kiss that landed half on her mouth, half on her chin, and headed out the door. "Don't forget to go see Simonides."

"After my bath," she muttered.

Herakleio was spoiled. Soft. I opened the door to his room and walked in, with nary a blink from him. Probably because his eyes were sealed shut in a sleep so heavy as to verge on unconsciousness.

He was sprawled all over the bed, limbs tangled in linen. Apparently he had gone out on the town after dinner; I smelled wine and harsher liquors as well as a tracery of smoke. It wasn't huva weed-I doubted that grew in Skandi-but something similar, very rank even in a small amount when mixed with the traditional perfume of cantina, as Del had once described it.

The first test: failed.

"Up," I said quietly.

Not a flicker of response. Second test: failed.

The nearest foot stuck out from the side of the bed. I clamped hands around the ankle and headed toward the door, dragging the slack body out of bed entirely so that he flopped to the floor.

That woke him up.

Most of the bedclothes had accompanied him, so that he remained tangled even on the floor. In a flurry of linen and curses, Herakleio finally dug himself out from under and recognized me.

"You!"

"Me."

"What do you want? "

"You."

"Me?"

It was quickly becoming a repetitive conversation. "You."

"Why?"

Well, at least it was a change. "Orders."

"Orders? Orders? Whose?"

Maybe after a night out all he could think in were single words of single syllables. "The metri's," I answered. "Remember? I'm supposed to make a man of you."

He sat rigidly upright in a tangle of bedclothes and naked brown skin. "This is supposed to make me a man? Dragging me out of bed and dumping me on the floor?"

"It's a start. Not much of one, I'll admit, but a start."

He was beginning to wake up. He blinked outrage from his eyes and focused properly, brows lancing down to knit over his nose. He looked at me, and then the expression changed. "Gods," he murmured, staring fixedly at my abdomen.

Ah. The infamous scar.

"Up," I said, waggling fingers at him.

"Who did that to you?"

"A woman. Now, get up."

He didn't move. "A woman did that to you?"

"She did have a sword," I clarified. "Up, Herakleio."

"A woman cut you? With a sword?"

"A woman. With a sword."

"Gods," he said again.

"I'm just full of little mementos," I told him. "Nihko wears tattoos, I've got scars." I bent down to grab a wrist, but he scrabbled back. "Then get up, " I said. "You can't learn much sitting on the floor."

"Much about what?" he asked warily.

"Anything. Look, this wasn't my idea, remember? I owe the metri a debt, and this is how she wants me to repay it."

He stood up then, letting the bedclothes drop entirely. He wore nothing but a sullen, smoldering resentment. "And just what is it you are supposed to teach me about being a man?"

"Come along and find out."

"Come along where?"

"Out."

"Out where?"

"Hoolies, Herakleio, is there anything in your mouth besides questions? Why don't you come along and see for yourself?"

"Breakfast," he challenged.

"After. If you've still got the belly for it."

That stung. "I've got the belly for it now."

"Maybe so, but we're not going to put anything in it now. Now we are going to introduce you to the dance."

"The what?"

"The dance."

"Not that kind of dance."

"I don't want an introduction to any kind of dance with you." He paused, then in tones of discovery, "You mean a sword-dance."

"Yes, I mean a sword-dance." I gestured. "Come on."

More outrage. "I have no clothes on!"

"Not willing to risk the valuable parts to a sword blade?" I grinned. "Why not, Herakleio? Too slow after last night?"

He glared. "I know nothing about using a sword, or dancing with men."

"That's right-you prefer to dance with women. So I've heard." I indicated the door. "Put some pants on, then, if it makes you feel better."