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She joined Osric at the railing and, with unlooked-for familiarity, put a hand on his arm to hold herself up as she took off her shoes.

It struck him; it threw him off-kilter; it made him daring; it made him stupid.

He found himself torn between saying things ugly and beautiful, between lies and truth.

“You look—you look—” he began.

“Not objectionable?” came the breezy suggestion.

“Yes.”

“I saw you lurking up here,” said Fairhrim, her voice still warm with whatever she had been smiling about with the Tall Other Man. “Pleased you’ve been able to stand for so long. How are you feeling?”

“Lonely.”

“Lonely? You? You hate everyone.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t you?”

“You’re right—I do.”

Fairhrim adjusted long gloves that went past her elbows. “I suppose we look like we’re having too much fun. You can come down if you wish, only promise you won’t exert yourself—and keep the bloody tacn covered.”

Osric, however, had no reason to go down, now that Fairhrim was up here. “Who was your overly handsome partner?”

“Which?” Fairhrim looked over the balcony. “Oh—Aedan?”

“Is it?”

“Sweet Aedan,” said Fairhrim. She propped her elbows upon the railing. “My mother’s still not forgiven me for not marrying him; he’s caring, and wealthy, and an Ingenaut.”

Osric made some calculations and concluded that he hit a solid one out of three on Fairhrim’s mum’s marking scheme for desirable husbands. Not that he had any wish to be a desirable husband; it was simply good to know where one stood.

Tartiflette’s timorous knock rang and she brought in a single trembling flute of champagne. Osric, still working on his Scotch, declined. Fairhrim took the flute with a pitying look at Tartiflette as she left.

“If only she knew what you are,” said Fairhrim.

“Wouldn’t matter,” said Osric. “I’m irresistible.”

Fairhrim, with offensive tranquillity, said, “Load of rot.”

She watched Sweet Aedan below with a gaze that was remote. At least when she looked at Osric, there was a spark of something there—vast irritation, usually, but still, something. This detachment would kill him.

“Sweet Aedan looks as though he still carries a flame for you,” said Osric.

“I’ve told him I have a new Friend—a Friend at this very party. And yet…”

“I suppose this is but a small sample of your prospects,” said Osric with a gesture to the adorers.

“There are no prospects,” said Fairhrim. “I loved once. It was a mistake. It will never happen again.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“I won’t tell you what orifice to stuff your intrigue into,” said Fairhrim. “Stop prying, or I shall pry at you in return.”

“I haven’t anything to hide,” said Osric.