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Fairhrim was not as pity struck as he would have hoped. She served him a look tinctured with criticism rather than sympathy. “You’re far from destitute.”

“I’m far from as rich as I was, too.”

“Sell your collections.”

“Unmerciful creature,” said Osric.

“I’ll buy theDe humanioff you.”

“You couldn’t afford it,” said Osric.

“Try me.”

“Another time. It’s your turn now. You must tell me what happened between you and Sweet Aedan.”

“Between me and Sweet Aedan,” repeated Fairhrim, with a look towards the man in question, who danced below. “Nothing happened. That was, perhaps, the problem. There was no quarrel; there was no explosion. Aedan is too perfect. He has no faults to love him by.”

“You require faults in your lovers?”

“One or two, judiciously chosen.”

“Hah,” said Osric, who had many to choose from. Not that he wished to be her lover; it was simply a fact.

An enquiring eyebrow curved Osric’s way over a bare shoulder.

“Never mind,” said Osric. “A joke that was funnier in my head.”

“I think they’re all funnier in your head, but thank you for showing restraint.” Fairhrim was still looking at Too-Perfect Aedan. “It doesn’t matter. We’re still friends. At least, I’m friends with him.”

“One of your many Friends, I’m given to understand.”

A measure of Fairhrim’s usual rigidity returned to her neck. “And who would’ve told you that?”

“The last source I shared with you wound up dead, so I shan’t disclose,” said Osric. “I suppose you haven’t quite found the balance of desirable faults.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but—yes, the correct ratio is difficult to achieve. And, of course, they must find my faults palatable.” To Osric’s annoyance, she preempted him and added, “I’ve got a few.”

“Name them,” said Osric.

“Low tolerance for Fyren continuing to pry about my personal life,” said Fairhrim.

“I’ll constrain my prying to your professional affairs.”

Fairhrim shifted into a sweeping contrapposto. “Constrain it, full stop.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Annoyance accumulated on Fairhrim like a patina—the pinched nostrils, the tightened jaw, the majestic drawing upwards as she prepared to unleash some trenchant remark.

Then she saw his smirk.

“You’re winding me up,” said Fairhrim.

“You really are delicious.”