Gauvard smiled his annoying smile and ordered a servant to bring wine. The wine would be good, at least. Thierry felt he needed it. Gauvard Colle induced that feeling. He wore a woman’s robe today, and a silver necklace with a lapis lazuli stone. Two windows were open; the scent of flowers in the back garden came into the room.

“You have questions?”

The wine came. Thierry waited until it was poured. He took a long sip of his. It was, yes, very good. He saw Colle smile again.

“From Barratin,” the other man said. “They make excellent wines, as you likely know.”

He did know. Everyone did. He shook his head. From Barratin? Now? Everything Gauvard Colle did seemed intended to unsettle.

“Do you know,” he said, “I think you play with people a little bit the same way Jolis de Charette does.”

Gauvard looked affronted. “Not a kind thing to say!”

“Perhaps. But even so. And when I knew her she was a girl trying to test and learn her power. You’re not that.”

“Makes it worse?”

Thierry hesitated. “It would, if it weren’t done with wit.”

“Ah! So I’m all right?” Eyebrows arched. “Because I amuse?”

Thierry nodded. “Though you mostly want to amuse yourself, I think.”

“Well, if anyone else would bother…! ”

Thierry laughed. Had to laugh.

Gauvard Colle smiled, then pursed his lips. “Ask your questions, pretty man.”

He said, “Do you believe in faeries, or…spirits in the forests?”

“Yes.”

Only that. But a direct gaze now.

“You have encountered them?”

“Not in any way you’d understand. But only a fool believes the world holds only what he has seen. I try not to be a fool. Are you?”

Thierry looked at his wine cup. “I also try not to be,” he said. “I’m sure I fail sometimes.”

“We all do. There’s wisdom in knowing it. You bedded a woman who made you think these things?”

Again he hesitated, to frame his answer. “She…bedded me, I think.”

“How pleasant for both of you,” said Gauvard Colle. “Why does this matter?”

And so…

“I am also trying to understand why your nephew is angry with me.”

“Ask him.” The answer was very quick.

“I would, if he gave me a chance.”

And this time the hesitation was in the woman or the man—or someone who was both—in the chair opposite.

“Be careful with Medor,” Gauvard said finally. “For him.”

“What? He’s the provost of Orane, it isn’t my—”

“That’s not how things are in these matters. You know it, Thierry Villar.”

And he did know, suddenly. With those words spoken.

He took a breath. He said, quietly, “I see. I…really didn’t realize. I miss too much, it seems. I will try to be careful.” And then, “Thank you.”

Gauvard, no hint of anything but gravity, said, “He will be all right. Always has been. Just don’t cause…unnecessary pain?”