“I don’t know where this leads. I don’t want you to have to suffer everyone’s scrutiny.” Lin’s breath was warm across my chest. “But – ” One hand ventured up to curl in my hair. “– do we need to think that far ahead?”

No, of course not, my body said just as my mind said, Yes.

She broke away, flustered. “You were married once, and I’ve never – you’re the first person I’ve kissed, except in random memories that aren’t mine. I can’t tell what you’re thinking. Just tell me – am I making a fool of myself? This is too much at once, isn’t it?”

I remembered the beach, the breaking of the wet season, the water droplets on Emahla’s eyelashes. I remembered blurting out that she was beautiful, the look of consternation on her face. “I think,” I said, “it’s often like this.” And then I was pulling her in again, loosening the ties in her hair, pressing my lips to every bit of her I could reach. She responded eagerly, pushing me back toward the bed, her hands busy at the buttons of my shirt. I should tell her. Tell her everything.

But was this quite the time?

She gave me one last little shove and I sat on the bed. Paper crinkled. Lin frowned.

The world stopped. I opened my mouth to explain and found… I had no lies left. Not even one came to mind. And then she was reaching past me and I couldn’t twist fast enough to stop her. “That’s my seal,” she murmured as she grabbed the letter.

“That’s… that’s important,” I said, holding out my hand, hoping she’d give it to me.

She regarded me, and I knew she was reading my face, my body language. I tried to keep still, to project serenity.

Lin flipped the top of it open.

I knew it was in code, I knew it didn’t look like it said anything incriminating. But my palms began to sweat, my heart ricocheting off my ribcage and landing in the vicinity of my stomach. The only person who would dare question the Emperor’s seal on my letter was the Emperor herself.

She frowned, folded the letter back down and handed it to me. “Who were you writing to? Why use the Emperor’s seal?”

The lies came back. I almost wished they hadn’t. “It’s not mine. Someone must have left it here.”

“It’s your handwriting.”

Of course she’d know. But I’d already committed to the wrong lie. I flipped the top open, my pulse loud in my ears. “Looks like mine, but it’s not.” I should have reached for her again, did my best to make her forget, but I couldn’t.