Sorcha looked me over, his eyes flicked up and down. He stepped to the door. “We’re going to have to deal with her at some point. She’s not one to be turned out. No reason not to deal with her now.” He opened the door and held it wide until I walked through it.

Shayat grinned. She had the pipe packed. The herb sat rich and green in the bowl, tantalizing, seductive. It was by far the most expensive thing in the apartment.

“Ariah’s got qualms,” Sorcha said. He stood next to me, very close.

“Who among us doesn’t?” Shayat said. “Let’s just talk, the three of us. Let’s just see what our options are.”

“We talk first,” Sorcha said, “and then we smoke.” He sat down on the floor and pulled me down with him. He waved Shayat over.

A sly smile crept across Shayat’s face. She set the pipe down and sat down in front of us. She caught my eye, staring down the length of her nose at me, her neck long and taut. I noticed a scar on her forehead. “Is that from the bandits?” I asked.

She touched the scar. “It is. Did they leave you with scars, too?”

“Yes.”

Her smile turned tricky. “Can I see them?”

I felt the pull of her, the draw of what she wanted and what I could be for her. I did not realize I had moved toward her until Sorcha pulled me back. “Go smoke,” he said.

“I have…”

“You got to keep your wits about you,” he said. “Go smoke.”

So I did. I took two, three hits by myself while they watched. I swear I could taste the wooded wetland in which the herb had grown. It was earthy and familiar and it took hold immediately. I peeked over at them. They sat there watching, Sorcha with his dogged ease with the world around him, and Shayat with her haughty defiance. They were both, in their own ways, magnificent creatures, and they sat there watching me. It seemed absurd. I was incredibly flattered. I grinned, and I blushed, and I didn’t even bother trying to hide it. Sorcha grinned back and held out his arm. I fell in beside him, tucked in close. He played with my hair and kissed me on the cheek. “Good herb?”

“Good herb.”

“You all set?”

“I’m set.”

“Then let’s negotiate.”

I looked over at Shayat. She stared at us with a blank mask. She stared at us with an intensity, but what kind of intensity was shielded. What she felt right then, confronted by the facts of my life, could have been disgust as easily as it could have been fascination. “All right,” I said. “I am a falo, and falos stay. I stay in Rabatha. I stay with Sorcha.”

She leaned forward. Her mask slowly fell away. “Is there space for me?”