I walked quietly up to them. Sid’s hands slipped into her trouser pockets. The woman touched Sid’s white collar, then rested her hand on Sid’s shoulder as if for balance. Sid’s mouth quirked, and she said something that looked like an easy admission. Then she glanced up and saw me. Her face went still. She murmured something to the woman, who frowned as I came close.

Sid gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Do excuse me,” Sid said to her. “My companion is here.”

The lilac-haired woman swept haughtily away, the feathered trail of her dress singing as she went, notes of birdsong rising from her dress and then fading as she went into the flowering house.

“How surprising,” I said, “that, for you, being late to a party actually means showing up on time to get a head start on luring a girl into bed.”

Sid started to protest, then stopped, staring at me. “Nirrim, what did you do to your face?” She lifted her fingers to my cheek.

I resented the pleasure of it. “Don’t touch me.”

Her hand fell. She looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just … the burn on your cheek is gone.”

I touched my cheek. Where the skin had been new and tender, it now felt perfectly smooth. “How?”

“You don’t know?”

“Madame Mere rubbed cream into my face … maybe it’s cosmetic. Or her mirror? Maybe it was magic.” I remembered how I had looked at my own reflection. This is the pain of having a perfect memory: it was impossible to ignore how I had stared at every flaw, how I had felt filled with longing. “She shouldn’t have done it.” I was angry at the dressmaker for changing me without my permission, angry at Sid, angry at myself.

It was for nothing, the silver dress I wore, the fringe of whispering glass beads that drifted over my bare arms like tiny bubbles.

Sid was still frowning. “I am not going to sleep with Lillin.”

“She clearly thought otherwise.”

“Well, I did bed her once. But it was so long ago.”

I made a sound of helpless disgust.

“Are you—?” Sid stopped herself. Slowly, she said, “I didn’t think it would bother you if I talked with her.”

“It doesn’t.”

“All right, it doesn’t.”

“You don’t think it’s wrong to lead her on?”

“Is that it? I was quite clear with her that I wasn’t interested.”

“You kissed her.”

“Just a little bit.”

“How does that show a lack of interest?”

“It was a sisterly kiss. A good-bye kiss.”

“You are impossible.”

“I could say the same about you.”

The number of partygoers in the courtyard had dwindled. Almost everyone had gone inside.