Aristide made a soft, pained sound, as though he had been stabbed, and suddenly his arms were around Cyril, who this time didn’t tense or shy or try to block a knife. He held Aristide so tightly that his biceps ached, and the muscles in his palms cramped from making fists at Ari’s back, the nape of his neck.

“Cyril,” he said, too soon. “We don’t have the time.”

Taking a deep breath, smelling Aristide’s throat, the fold of his collar, no perfume or greasepaint to cut the scent of him, Cyril pushed back and nodded once. “All right.”

Aristide crossed the bridge in three strides, then turned and held a hand out: to steady Cyril. Or perhaps, to make sure that he followed.

CHAPTER

THIRTY

«You want me to do what?» Daoud nearly dropped his coffee cup.

Lillian checked the clock; she had perhaps ten minutes to convince him, and that was if she drove quickly and hit all the signals green. «I want you to help me destroy Emmeline Frye.»

He shook his head. «You want me to destroy Cross-Costa.»

«Cross-Costa smuggles narcotics,» she countered. «They are not saints or heroes.»

«Good people work there. I work there. What am I supposed to do once I am … » He made a face, pivoted into Geddan, and said “out on my rear?”

“Anything you want. What was the last thing you decided to pursue? What was the last turning you took that was all your own choice, and no one else’s?”

Daoud sipped his coffee and refused to meet her eyes. “Would this be mine?” he asked, the base of his cup grating softly on the saucer as he set it back down. “If I agree, is it for me, or you?”

“I can’t answer that,” she said. “I’m just saying, it’s a bold move. A challenging one.”

«I don’t need to impress Aristide Makricosta,» he said. «I don’t need his approval. If he’s smart, I’ll never see him again. And you had better hope he’s smart, for your brother’s sake.»

“Of course,” she said. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

«Yes you did.»

She bit the inside of her cheek, as was her habit when repressing unwise words. He knew her angle to the half degree.

«Daoud,» she said. «I married a Porachin man. I know it can be hard to see beyond those rules, beyond your duty. The … the fences you grew up inside.»

«You married a nobleman. I’m Belqati, and turned. It’s different.»

«But none of it matters,» she said. «You are not in Porachis anymore. Not you, and not Jinadh. You do not have to please anyone you do not want to.»

«Moon-eyes!» As though summoned, Jinadh’s voice echoed down the hall from the dining room. «I’m leaving.»

“In the library,” she called.