was out of sight. Gavin turned to Judah. “Did you want something?”
“Theron got a note from Elban today,” she said.
His shoulders stiffened slightly, but when he spoke his voice was oddly calm. “What’s it say?”
“No idea. He’s been in his workshop all day and hasn’t seen it yet.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
Judah stared at him. “Really. After twenty years of completely ignoring Theron’s existence, you think Elban just wrote to say hello?”
“The witchbred foundling’s been seen strolling on the Promenade with Firo of Cerrington. Clearly, anything is possible.” He spoke with unaccustomed sharpness. “What does he want from you, anyway?”
Thoroughly annoyed, Judah said, “Marriage, probably. No doubt he’s madly in love with me.”
“Not bloody likely.” Then he saw her face, and had the decency to wince. “Come on, Jude. That’s not what I meant, and you know it. You’re not Firo’s type, that’s all.” He reached one hand out, as if to touch her shoulder, but then let it drop. His face softened with a sympathy that surprised her as much as the sharpness had. “I’m just making this worse, aren’t I? The Seneschal told me about his meeting with you. I’m sorry. I know you like to cross him whenever possible, but...the courtiers... You have to be careful, Jude.” Again, his hand reached out. Again, it dropped. “I don’t like them talking about you.”
Judah found the possessiveness in his voice distasteful. “They talk about me, anyway. What about the note?”
He drew himself up, his eyes sliding away. “What about it? I get three a week.”
“Theron doesn’t.”
“Maybe that’s changing.”
He sounded normal, but Judah sensed something strange from him, something slithery and uncomfortable. She reached for his hand to get a clearer picture—but just before her fingers touched his bare skin, he stepped away. “I have to go,” he said. “Theron will be fine. I’ll see you later.”
* * *
Out of all of them, Gavin seemed to chafe the most at life in the shabby parlor. And why wouldn’t he, since what waited for him outside of it was so much grander than anything the others could expect? Only Gavin would ever see a wider world. Only Gavin would lay eyes on the ocean, the steppes, the icy peaks of the Barriers; only he would ever travel outside the Wall, ride through the city on a warhorse like his father or travel the provinces with an army at his back. (Judah didn’t expect Theron to ever command that army; she didn’t think the army would accept him. Gavin had promised to guild him, which was a less horrible prospect for thoughtful, isolated Theron than it was for Judah.) He claimed that spending time with the courtiers was merely an obligation, but Judah could feel the prickling restlessness that drove him to the salons and retiring rooms. He’d come back drunk and happy, or drunk and impatient, or just drunk. If Elly was awake, he’d throw himself at her feet, making wild, embarrassing proclamations of devotion. If Elly was asleep, he would scratch at Judah until she came to find him. She was usually awake, anyway; when he drank, her head spun, too, whether she liked it or not. (She felt other sensations, too, when Gavin was with the courtiers; sensations she was fairly sure Gavin would not want spoken of to Elly, so she spoke of them to nobody. Not even Gavin himself.)
Other nights came the summonses. Then, as soon as dinner was over, Gavin would put on a clean shirt, oil his boots, and go to Elban’s study. “What does he want?” Elly asked once, and with a carefree smile Gavin said, “To bore me to death, so he can stay in power forever.” But Judah could feel how it truly was in the anxious knots in his muscles. She waited up for him, those nights, long after the others had gone to sleep. He never wanted to talk after, but he was always glad to see her. She could feel that, too.
Direct skin contact between them felt like setting two mirrors facing each other, every sensation reflecting and doubling endlessly. It could be overwhelming, even frightening, so they rarely touched. But after spending an evening with Elban, Gavin would drop his head to her shoulder, and she would lean her cheek against the soft flax of his hair. Waves of anger and revulsion would sweep over her from him. She would do what she always did when he was upset: close her eyes and think fixedly of