A COOL MORNING BEFORE A hot day holds a sweet freshness. The gray dawn gave in to the coming sun as we walked home, the wind gentle in my hair, slipping over my skin like water. Pink heated the sky. I could feel the promise of a blazing day, and the breeze, like a friend, giving me what it could.

I was so tired. My feet were sore. I leaned into Sid as we walked, my head on her shoulder, half asleep. I felt, through my sleepiness, that she was wide awake. Whatever she was thinking seemed to whir inside her. I let myself feel safe, not caring if I’d discover, later, that the feeling had been a mistake. The skin of her throat felt too soft against my cheek, and her arm around me felt too good. She wouldn’t hold me like this if she didn’t feel at least part of what I felt. She wouldn’t have smiled when she realized that her watch had always worked, that my desire had been for her. She wouldn’t have loved my green dress, or touched my cheek, or kissed my palm and pretended it was an apology, or have grown suddenly distant and cold when I said I loved Aden. She wouldn’t have made me a promise. My memories were clear, and what I hadn’t understood before now seemed obvious.

I knew she would leave me. She had always said she would.

Whatever she felt for me wouldn’t last. But I wanted it for as long as it did.

She got her key into the front door of the house. We went up the soundless stairs, the steps so quiet it was as though they were dreaming beneath our feet.

Sid pushed open the door to my bedroom. A draft tugged open the balcony doors, which I hadn’t properly shut. The glass panes rattled in their frames. The wind lifted and swirled the sheer curtains. A breeze skimmed over the bed, swinging the tiny tassels on the creamy toile covers. I turned and shut the bedroom door behind us. The wind died.

Sid’s back was to the bedroom door. I curled my fingers into her undone white collar, hooking down, the heel of my hand against the rise of her breast beneath the stiff jacket, her skin hot to the touch, her pulse fast against my palm.

“You’re half asleep,” she said.

“I’m awake.”

Her hand lifted to cover mine and press it against her chest.

“I owe you a yes,” I said.

Her dark eyes were shadowed. My palm was flattened now, the tips of my fingers against her throat, her hand firm on mine.

I said, “Ask me to kiss you.”

She kissed me. Her mouth was hungry on mine, on my neck. Her hand fisted in my hair. I pushed off her jacket, found the jut of her ribs beneath her shirt, the sweep of her belly, the leather strap of her dagger belt. I tasted her mouth. My heart was thrumming in my throat, and I was greedy for her. I loved her gasp, her teeth on my lower lip, her thigh hard between mine. I tugged her by her belt toward me. I wanted the bed; I wanted her to press me down into it.

“Wait,” she murmured. “Too fast.”

I felt flushed all over. “You like it fast.”

“Not like this.” She pulled away. Her hair was wild, mouth swollen. She looked down at me, at her disheveled shirt. She rubbed a hand over her eyes.

“Sid.” My voice was full of yearning.

She straightened her shirt and tucked it into her trousers. “You have a life here. One that you want to keep. One that doesn’t involve me.”

“It already involves you.”

“Not this way.”

“But why?” My voice cracked.

“You’ll regret it.”

“I won’t.”

“I will,” she said, and turned away, shutting the door softly behind her, leaving me alone, my breath quick and harsh with hurt in the rising light.

41

WHEN I WOKE, THE SUNLIGHT was a hot blade on the bed. The hour was late and the still air felt like wet fur. I had cast off the sheet in my sleep.

Faintly, from downstairs, came the scrapes and clinks of someone busy at a task. There was the burnt scent of that foul eastern drink Sid liked so much.

I turned my face into the pillow. The pillow didn’t smell like Sid anymore. It smelled like me, and I was glad, because it was painful enough to want her, painful enough to remember exactly the shape of her mouth beneath my tongue, without having the specific scent of her perfume and skin pressing against my face.

Would there have been any words that could have made her stay last night?

I could have said, I know it’s not forever.

I could have said, I still want this, even if it vanishes like sugar on my tongue.

But I didn’t, and maybe even if I had, it wouldn’t have made a difference.

* * *

The second time I opened my eyes, the house had an empty silence. I was relieved.

I went through my Pantheon winnings, dumping them onto the bed. I set aside all the money for Raven, the jewels and the box with the meowing cat for Annin, and a little knife for Morah, mostly because it reminded me of her. It had a strong and appealingly simple blade, with an edge to reckon with, and a hilt so intricately wrought with gold over steel that it was difficult to follow the path of the pattern. I uncorked the little metal vial, noting the slosh of its contents, and sniffed. It smelled like water. I didn’t see why anyone would bother to put such a small quantity of water in a vial—this was no canteen or flask. It fit in the palm of my hand. After encountering silver wine and pleasure dust at the party, I wasn’t about to taste anything I couldn’t identify. I took it to the bathroom and dribbled some of the vial’s liquid into the sink. It was a faint pink.

I remembered where I had seen something like that before.

I glanced into the mirror. The faded burn on my cheek had returned. It wasn’t a cream or the dressmaker’s mirror that had made the burn disappear for a night. It had been Madame Mere’s pink tea.

* * *

“Well?” she said when I entered her shop. “Was it a triumph? Which dress did she like best? Was it the final dress, right before it came off?”

I held out the little metal vial. “Is this yours?”

She looked at it, then at me quizzically. “No.”

“Is what’s inside yours? What is this liquid?”

She took the vial, opened it, and sniffed. “Oh, that,” she said, and smiled.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because if I didn’t already know before that you were Half Kith, I would know now.”

My pulse stuttered. My face must have betrayed me. Madame Mere said, “Only someone raised behind the wall or a traveler like Lady Sidarine would ask about elixir.”