"Perhaps," said Althene. She was sitting in an armchair. On one of her fingers was a ring of twisted gold. She turned it absently.

Rachaela reached across and touched the ring.

"It's old," said Althene. "A prince wore it in fifteenth-century Italy."

"Yes," Rachaela said.

"Then it was stolen."

"By you."

Althene smiled. "No."

"If you tell me it was you, I'll probably accept what you say."

"How unwise."

Eric said, "Shhh. These films need concentration."

After ten minutes more, Althene got up quietly and went out. Sasha and Eric did not react. Miranda and Tray also sat staring at the screen, a box of chocolate-covered truffles between them.

Rachaela went after Althene, out into the hall.

The oil lamps were alight.

"Yes?" Althene said, turning to look at her.

Rachaela walked across the hall, until she was near to Althene's salamander redness.

"If it's a game, I don't want to go on playing," Rachaela said.

"Or it isn't a game."

"Your dress," said Rachaela.

"Yes?"

"Bloodred. The Scarabae betrothal color."

"Betrothal and marriage."

"Why?" said Rachaela.

"I happen to own a red dress."

"If you want me to," Rachaela said, "I'll go up with you. To your room. No more protests."

"Really? No more? But I'm a man who is a woman. Which do you want?"

"I don't know," said Rachaela. "I want you."

"Ah." Althene leaned back on the bannister. "But now, I'm not convinced."

"They get young again," said Rachaela, "don't they?"

"Do they?"

"Will it happen to me?"

"I've no idea."

"I need," Rachaela hesitated. "I can't go on with it. Something's already happened to me. I can't—you're the only one—"

"Not at all. There are many Scarabae."

"I don't want to be bred from."

Althene said, "You wouldn't be safe with me. There are things we can do to avoid it. If you want. But I'm as dangerous to you that way as Adamus. You had better understand."

"I feel as if," Rachaela said, "my body were full of doors, standing open. And my mind. I can't cope with it. I can't even run away."

"All right. Not here. You'll upset them if they come out."

Althene held out her hand. Rachaela took it. They went up the stairs, up and up, to the room of peacocks.

In the room the light was darkest gold.

Rachaela turned herself into Althene's body and looked into her face.

"Do you want me," said Althene, "to wipe the lipstick off?"

"No. I like it. My mother never kissed me."

"I'm not your mother."

Through the scented sheath of garments, educated now, Rachaela felt the restrained hardness of Althene's second self, as Althene's lips came down to hers.

On the bed, Althene wrapped Rachael's nakedness in the gilded shawl. Althene's kisses and tongue came through the eyelets.

"Is this what you want? And this…"

Rachaela pulled on Althene's body. "All of you."

"But then how can I—"

"I don't care. All of you. Now, now."