A night wind lifted his hair, and the light from the doorway turned it russet-gold. His eyes were a deep green. He took a long breath and said, “There are rumours that you have strange powers, and that you sometimes bewitch our high lord, and that you and he walk together side by side, touching, like two Chosen.”

I made my face expressionless.

He drank some more wine and licked his lips. He had a handsome mouth, his lips well-defined and almost thin, and sensitive. He had a long straight nose, and his eyes were wide and candid. I loved their colour.

“They say you bow to no one, and that you look in men’s eyes straight and conquer their souls,” he said, glancing at me. His eyes lingered just a moment on mine, then he looked at my brand. “I’ve never spoken with a Quelled before,” he added “Nor seen a brand. It doesn’t look so bad. On you it’s not a blemish, anyway. I’ve seen girls with warts worse than that.”

I laughed and looked away, out into the night. “Are you always so blunt?” I asked.

He laughed too, silently, his shoulders shaking. He went outside a short way and stood in the snow, his body half turned towards me. I saw his face in profile, radiant, refined. He was slender, and moved with grace, though he was slightly drunk. He looked at me sideways, thoughtfully, and said: “I think the rumours were right.”

I tensed, but kept my face blank.

His green eyes glittered, and he came near to me, unsmiling, almost stern. “I think you break a lot of laws,” he murmured. “Nearly all of them. I think you despise our laws, and us.”

“I don’t despise the Chosen,” I said, very quiet. “Only your unenlightened laws.”

He looked into his wine cup, tilted it, tipped back his head and drained the last drops. He tapped my shoulder with the empty cup, earnestly. “Excellent word, ‘unenlightened’,” he said. “An excellent word, for less than excellent laws. I’m going to get more wine. Don’t disappear.”

He went away for a short time, then came back with two cups. One, he offered to me. As I took it, his fingers touched mine. He dipped his fingertips in his wine, then licked them clean, deliciously. He gave me a slow smile. “Ritual cleansing,” he said. “Do you wash, if you touch us?”

I shook my head and held tight to my cup. He laughed, and drank more wine. I sipped mine, cautiously. I had not eaten since dawn that day. The wine was strong and warm, and heavily spiced.