She let her voice drift away. In the bed beside her, Leftrin shifted. When he moved, she became more aware of him, of where his body touched hers and how he smelled. She spoke reluctantly. “I think we should both go back to our rooms.”

The candle had long since guttered out. Sedric’s small room was black. Leftrin sat up slowly. Cold air touched her where his body had pressed against hers in the narrow bed. She smiled to herself. She’d slept next to a naked man. Actually slept with his arms around her, her cheek against the hair of his chest, her legs tangled with his.

She’d never experienced that before.

In the blackness, she heard him find his trousers and shirt. The canvas trousers made an interesting sound as he drew them up his legs. She heard him shoulder into his shirt. He stooped to find his shoes and picked them up. “I’ll walk you to your door,” he whispered, but, “No. Go along. I’ll be fine,” she told him.

He didn’t ask her why she wanted him to leave. For that, she was grateful. She heard the door open and close, and then she moved. Her nightgown was on the floor. It was cold and damp in places, but she pulled it on over her head. One of her braids, she noted, had come out of its plait. She shook out the other one. By touch, she smoothed the rucked blankets on Sedric’s bed. She found his “pillow” and put it back in place. She felt around on the bedclothes and on the floor, but did not find the locket. She told herself again that she didn’t care. It was a worthless artifact of a life no longer connected to her. She slipped from the room, closing the door behind her.

It was only a short flit to her own room. She closed the door behind her and found her bed. The blankets seemed cold and unused as she crawled under them. Her groin ached, her face and breasts were rasped from his beard, and his smell was all over her. She wondered at what she’d done, defiantly decided she didn’t care, but still could not close her eyes. She cared about what she had done. She cared about it more than any decision she’d ever made in her life. She stared up into the darkness, not repenting it but reenacting every moment in her mind. His hands had touched her so, and he’d made those small sounds of enjoyment, and his beard had brushed her breasts when he had kissed them.