“READY?” SID SAID. HER ENORMOUS trunk sat inside the tavern, waiting for a pair of hired men to collect it and convey it through the wall. We stood outside the door on the unevenly paved street. The rain had washed away some of the heat, or at least the way heat sticks to the skin like a layer of grime. The sky was marbled with shining clouds. A cool breeze played with my hair. I tucked it behind my ears.

“Not quite,” I said. “I have someone to see first.”

Her mouth curled. “Someone special?”

“I can’t leave without saying good-bye.”

“I do it all the time.”

“I’m not like you.”

“Go then, and collect your kiss.” Her tone was amused yet bored.

Disappointment puddled inside me. I knew enough of what I felt for Sid to understand that her indifference to Aden was a rejection of me.

“Explain to me,” she said, “what is so appealing about a boy’s kiss? Is it the rasp of stubble?”

I could have said: Sometimes it is comforting. I could have said: It used to be, at first, that kissing him felt like an important skill to learn. I liked to learn things. And part of having a good memory was remembering exactly how Aden liked to be kissed. What was so wrong in enjoying that I could do that? It used to be nice to kiss him. Warm and safe. I could have said: Kissing him is better than dealing with his hurt if I don’t.

I could have said: I am afraid of his hurt.

I could have confessed that I had killed a man and explained that Aden knew, and maybe he would no longer protect me if he couldn’t claim me as his.

He must believe that I am his, I could have said.

Instead I said, “I’ll meet you at the wall.”

“Don’t keep me waiting long,” Sid said, and walked away, whistling a tune I didn’t recognize.

“I don’t understand,” Aden said when I pushed his hands away. His eyes had brightened when he saw me at his door. He had pulled me out of the sunny street and into the darkness of his home. “Why are you always so cold? All I want to do is show you how much I love you. I miss you when I don’t see you.”

“I came here to tell you something.”

He started to draw me in the direction of his bedroom. “You can tell me later.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t want to.”

He abruptly let me go. He held up his hands dramatically, large fingers spread wide and empty, as though to show he had no weapon. “Gods, Nirrim. You’re acting like I’m forcing you. It would be nice, you know,” he added bitterly, “if for once it was you who wanted me.”