He leaned toward her, and Fawn froze in hope so strong it felt like terror. Did he mean to kiss her? His breath was tinged with beer and exertion and Dag. Hers stopped altogether.

Stillness. Heartbeats.

“No,” he sighed. “No. Mari was right.” He sat up again. Fawn nearly burst into unfathomable tears. Nearly reached for him.

No, you can’t. Daren’t. He’ll think you’re that…that awful word Sunny used. It burned in her memory like an infected gash, Slut. It was an ugly word that had somehow turned her into an ugly thing, like a splash of ink or blood or poison discoloring water. For Dag, I would be only beautiful. And tall. She wished herself taller. If she were taller, no one could call her names just for, for wanting so much.

He sighed, smiled, rose. Gave her a hand up. They went back inside.

In the entry hall Dag’s head turned, listening. “Good, someone’s using the tambourine. They can get along without me for what’s left of this.” Truly, the music coming through the archway seemed slower and sleepier. He made for the staircase.

Fawn found her voice. “You going up?”

“Yeah. It was good, but it’s been enough for one night. You?”

“I’m a little tired, too.” She followed after him. What had happened, or not happened, out on the bench felt a lot like that moment on the road, some turn she had somehow missed.

As they exited the staircase on the second floor, bumping and laughter echoed up behind them. Dirla and two young patrollers from Chato’s group burst out giggling, saluted Dag with cheerful hellos, and swung down the adjoining hallway. Fawn stopped and stared as they paused at Dirla’s door, for one fellow looped his arm around her neck and kissed her, but she was still holding the other’s hand to her…chest. Dirla—tall Dirla—extended one booted foot and pushed the door open, and they all fell through; it closed, cutting off some jest.

“Dag,” Fawn said hesitantly, “what was that?”

He cocked an amused eyebrow at her. “What did it look like to you?” “Is Dirla taking that…I mean, them…is she going to bed with those fellows?”

“Seems likely.”

Likely? If his groundsense did half what he said, he likely knew very well. “Both of them?”

“Well, numbers are generally uneven, out on patrol. People make adjustments. Dirla is very…um…generous.”

Fawn swallowed. “Oh.”

She followed him up their hallway. Razi and Utau were just unlocking the door to their room; Utau looked, and smelled, distinctly the worse for beer, and Razi’s hair, escaping his long braid, hung plastered in sweaty strands across his forehead from the dancing. They both bade Dag a civil good night and disappeared within.