Our conversation ended not long after that, with Mars again suggesting I seek one of True’s men, or Silence, to discuss my qualms.

However, prior to retiring, I had not been able to do this.

Which meant, with what seemed to be my luck, True would have another episode that very night.

And that he was doing.

I waited, and his agitation did not calm, and I did not like it.

But I did like him, so I knew I had to do something about it.

I made a decision, pushed up in bed, reached to the stand beside it, and found the stick flints. I struck one, opening the cage to the lamp, and lit it.

I blew out the flint, tossed it to the stand and twisted the knob so the illumination was brighter.

That done, I turned to my intended.

I reached out tentatively and touched his shoulder.

Even with a light touch, I could feel his skin was hot, even feverish, and clammy.

“Oh, True,” I whispered.

When he did not wake, even with some careful pressure, I curled my fingers around his shoulder and gave him a squeeze.

He came up so fast, his long arm flying out, I recoiled and would have toppled over the side of the bed if True had not caught my arms.

Caught them hard.

The pads of his fingers digging.

And he was staring at me through the lamplight, right at me, but also right through me.

It was clear he didn’t see me.

I didn’t know what he saw.

But I knew it was terrible.

“True,” I whispered, lifting a hand between us.

He made no response, just sat there, his grip tight, his eyes haunted.

I had to stop this.

“True!” I called sharply, wrapping my fingers hard around his neck.

With a violent shake of his body, and of me in his hands, his head jerked, and I knew the moment his focus had returned.

“Farah?” He looked down, saw he had a hold on me and his grasp loosened, but he did not let go entirely. “What on—?”

“You seemed to be having an…” What word to use? “Odd dream.”

He stared at my torso.

I tried not to stare at his.

True slept in loose pants made of a lightweight material that were held up by a string tied under his navel.

Although the Dellish way of men dressing—with frock coats and waistcoats and high-collared shirts, some with neckcloths (though True didn’t often wear these) and frilly, lace cuffs frothing out from the sleeves of their jackets (and True did not wear these either, though I had seen a straight edge with a protruding point at the cuff and the wink of a malachite on the shirt he’d worn to Mars and Silence’s wedding)—I felt was actually quite attractive (the way True wore them).