“We go to face the Dark, and it was late, and I was… I wanted… You won’t understand. You can’t understand. I was lonely, Dion. I was lonely and I wanted to reach out to someone. And he was there, and he’s… there’s none of the complications that there would be with… well, you know how Harathes is. One ride and you’re in his stable, as far as he’s concerned.”

“He’s a knight of the church.”

“He’s a prick. He’s an insufferable, scheming prick. And it’s always the same. You’re all right. You’re a priestess. That means people don’t think of you the same way. But believe me, most of us basically can’t talk to a man without him looking us over and deciding whether or not he wants to give us the shaft. And if he does then, whatever else we are, whatever else we do, it’s always there, somewhere in his mind. And if he doesn’t fancy us, then that’s a judgment too, writing us off as a thing without value. You can’t get rid of it. And either way it means you’re always a woman, first. You’re not a warrior, or an archer, or even just a friend to drink with. You’re a woman, and that means you’ve got a place, and a use.” She spat the taste of the words from her mouth. “And you know what? With Enth, it’s not there.”

“It’s not there because he’s not human!” Dion said sharply. “He’s a creature of Darkness. He’s a spider, for the Light’s sake.”

“But he’s not, not anymore,” Cyrene told her soberly. “What Penthos started, we’ve all continued. When you look at him now, you see all the pieces of human that we’ve sewn onto him.”

It was, Dion thought, a profoundly horrible metaphor. “Then he’s like one of those insect things, that builds itself a house of stones and leaves to hide in. But it’s still the insect underneath. It’s just a blind, so that it can fool its prey.”

“And I’m his prey, am I?”

“What am I supposed to think?”

“At least think that I’m able to steer my own course. At least think that if there’s trouble, and I’m there, then I might not need rescuing. That I can make up my own mind once in a while. Stop thinking like Harathes, in short.”

Dion took a deep breath. “You’re saying that you did this… thing of your own free will.”

“Yes.”

“Because you were drunk.”

“Because I wanted to. Drunk, yes, but I wanted… warmth. Contact. Shelter from the world and all its fucking stupidities. And he was human enough that…” She paused, considering. “He’s strong, you know? His arms? But delicate, almost. He’s…”