There was another side to it all as well—a kind of relief. I’m all right, I’m not she‘chorne or anything. I’m not so different from the other girls after all. Daren wants me, and I want him....

That was not such a bad feeling, being wanted. He liked her as a friend, and wanted her as a woman—a good combination, if she could keep it from getting serious. She’d followed part of Tarma’s advice; she was protected. That much Lenore had taught her; the moon-flower powder all the time to control moon-days as well as preventing pregnancy, or child-bane afterward—though moon-flower was better for you, easier on the body.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Kero was glad that there weren’t any servants; there was no chance that they’d be interrupted or gawked at knowingly. She had the feeling anything like that would put Daren off entirely. She felt overheated; flushed and excited, and with odd little feelings in the pit of her stomach and groin.

Daren had to let go of her to get his door open, and that seemed to make him shy again; he followed her inside without touching her and made a great fuss of clearing off a chair for her to sit in.

He carefully avoided looking at the bed, and she followed his example, pummeling her brain for some way to make him feel comfortable again. If it had been warmer, she would have suggested they go out on his balcony—his room had one, hers didn’t. But it was freezing out there, literally; the ice on the ponds would be thick enough to skate safely on, come morning. Cold hands and feet were not conducive to romance, and the temperature out on the balcony was likely to chill the hottest lust.

Her throat tightened, and she flushed for no reason. Suddenly she was afraid, though of what, she couldn’t have said. To cover the fact, she ignored the chair and sprawled out on the sheepskin rug in front of the hearth, half reclinging against a cushion.

Talk. Say anything.

“If you could be anything in the world,” she said, staring at the flames, as he sat down hesitantly beside her, “What would it be? Anything at all—anything you wanted, king, minstrel, beggar, whatever.”

He thought about it; she took a sidelong glance at him, and saw that his face was set in a frown of concentration. “You know, I think I’d be a merchant. I’d get to travel anywhere, see everything I ever wanted to. I’d be a rich merchant, though,” he added hastily. “So I could travel comfortably.”

She chuckled. “Like one of Tarma’s proverbs: ‘What good is seeing the wonders of the world when you’re too saddle sore to enjoy them?’ ”

He laughed, and relaxed a little, letting his hand rest oh-so-casually on hers. “What about you?”