Sid stood in the shadows of the courtyard. She was dressed in a man’s fitted black dress jacket buttoned over a paper-white collared shirt, the chain of her watch trailing from her pocket, her golden hair slicked back. The corners of her tipped-up eyes crinkled as she smiled at something a lilac-haired woman whispered, her glittered lips a mere breath away from Sid’s ear.

All my nervousness and wonder clumped into sick jealousy.

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.

Sid rubbed the nape of her neck, studying me. Then she stuffed her hands into her pockets, hunching her shoulders. Quietly, she said, “You are my favorite impossible person.”

“Me,” I said, uncertain.

“You are the only one I want to be with.”

“Tonight.” I didn’t know what was worse: that she had seen my jealousy, that she was trying to soothe it, or that I knew—just as Lillin or any woman Sid had ever been with should have known—that nothing Sid said or did would last.

“Any night.” She offered her arm like a man would. “Will you come inside with me?”

I took her arm. The fabric of her jacket brushed my skin. I wanted to turn in to her, to press my face against her neck. I said, “We’ll look like a couple.”

“Do you want that?”

Truth can demand so much bravery. I did not feel brave. I would not have been brave, if her question hadn’t sounded a little hopeful. Yes, I wanted everyone to think she belonged with me, that I belonged with her. Yes, even if it was only for one night. My voice was small. “I do.”

Her mouth twitched with surprise, then curled with inquisitive pleasure that I loved to see. Maybe this was a game to her, but it felt so good to be her game. “Nirrim,” she said, “I am really sorry that I am not late. May I tell you all the things I will do to make you forgive me?”

I smiled as we went inside.

38

THE FOYER WAS OVERGROWN with branches. They twisted around oil lamps with green flames blazing in their glass cases. The ground was soft with dirt. I realized that the house wasn’t covered with vegetation: the branches and flowers and leaves were the house. “Someone grew this?” I said. “Who?”

“No one knows. It grew overnight.” We turned down a hallway paved with acorns. “It will wither and fade soon enough. The magic always does.”

“So you do think it’s magic.”

“I think ‘magic’ is convenient shorthand for a mystery we haven’t solved.”

“Why were you not late to the party?”

“I couldn’t get into the Keepers Hall. It was too heavily guarded and, somehow, my ample charms weren’t working on anyone. So that didn’t take as long as planned. But Lillin’s brother is a councilman, and she thinks she can get me maps of the hall. You see why I had to be friendly with her.”

“Do I?”

Sid smiled. “Not too friendly, of course.”

We passed a room shaped like an enormous bird’s nest, the kind mud larks make, spherical and entirely enclosed, with an oval entrance. I heard a joyful cry, accompanied by a crowd’s roar. I peeked inside. The entire interior of the round room was felted with thousands of little woven twigs. A table made of hardened mud occupied the center of the room. A woman with her skin dyed in butterfly patterns was scraping a pile of gold toward her while the other people at the table slapped cards down in irritation. Onlookers cheered. “They’re playing a card game,” I told Sid.

“Oh?” she said, interested. She glanced inside. “Oh,” she said again, her interest gone. “They’re playing Pantheon. I already know that one.”