Isra wasn’t entirely sure what defined a ‘party’, but she thought this was her third. Pinion had expressed great enthusiasm for the etymology of the word ‘party’ and its many varied uses in polite society, and Verity had offered a joke whose crux was that someone was asked to join a party and took the wrong meaning. It hadn’t been a particularly enthralling etymology, nor a very clever joke, but there was comfort in her friends.

Isra had grown fond of Pinion. He was like the little brother she’d never had, though she couldn’t quite say why it felt like that. Certainly Alfric didn’t feel like a brother to her, perhaps because he was so upright and solid. Pinion was a bit sillier, often teasing, though he had what he called ‘lecture mode’, a style of talking that he claimed he tried not to use too often.

The three of them spent a fair amount of time together, which made sense, as Alfric was often steering the house and Mizuki was off at mage school. Pinion was ostensibly there in order to study Verity, though neither of them liked it when Isra had put it like that.

Now, at the party, the three of them were sticking together again, having staked out a table near the house, within easy reach of the table with all the wine on it. Hannah and Marsh had joined them and it seemed that Hannah had decided that she would like to be drunk, because it wasn’t even that late and she was visibly tipsy, cheeks red and her balance a bit off.

Isra wondered whether that was acceptable for a cleric of Garos.

“They say you’re not supposed to drink too much if you’re with child,” said Hannah. She looked at the bottom of an empty wine glass. “I must say I’ll miss it.”

“We’ve some time,” said Marsh, who’d decided to be the responsible one that evening.

“Two years,” said Hannah, patting his leg. “They say it’s better to have children young, when you’ve the energy for them, when your parents have the energy for them, and I’ve always seen the wisdom in that.”

“My father was young,” said Isra.

“My parents were old,” said Pinion. “Almost worryingly old, I think, they’re in their sixties now.”

“Nothin’ wrong with it,” nodded Hannah. “Except the energy, as I’ve said, and makin’ sure the grandparents are about.”

“Is the marriage decided then?” asked Pinion. “You’re, ah, engaged or on your way to engaged?”

“There are certain necessaries that need to be taken care of,” said Marsh.

“He wants a big haul,” said Hannah. “Dungeoneerin’ makes for good wages, especially if you do it as they do, but he’s not got enough yet that he can retire. And I said that there was no need, that we could be paupers, but I respect it, ay?”

“It might be a fool’s errand,” said Marsh with a sigh. “The stuff we pull out might not be worth much in a few years.”

“Why’s that?” asked Isra. She tried not to frown, to instead express a happy concern, but she wasn’t sure whether she was pulling it off.

Hannah twirled a thick finger around and slowly lowered it, pointing in Verity’s direction. She even closed one eye, as though sighting down an arrow.

“Me?” asked Verity.

“Oh, don’t give him that,” said Hannah. “That ‘what have I got to do with the market price of entads and their products’ look, no one could fall for that.”

Isra had fallen for that, and wondered whether Verity had actually been playing at innocence.

“Alright, alright,” said Verity. “I have grand designs for the dungeon duets, as they shall forever be known.”

“Er, five people plus a dungeon would mean six, which is either a sextet or a hextet,” said Pinion.

“Yes, but they’re not a part of the beautiful music that I will metaphorically be making with the dungeon,” said Verity. “Important, yes, but more in the manner of stagehands than musicians.”

“This is why I’m leavin’,” said Hannah with a chuckle.

“It’s not,” said Verity.

“Well, no,” said Hannah. “But if we’re demoted to mere stagehands, then the call of the pulpit gets all the sweeter.” She laughed to herself. “‘The call of the pulpit’,” she said. “Marsh, write that down.”

“You’ll think it’s awful when you’re more sober,” said Marsh.

“Then write it down so we can laugh at my folly,” Hannah declared.

“I think it was an apt metaphor,” said Isra. “Verity wasn’t saying that we’re stagehands for the full operation, just for the dungeon generation part of it.”

“Thank you,” said Verity. “See? This is why we share a room.”

“I do think it’s undiplomatic,” said Isra. “There’s a better metaphor somewhere.”

“I have always loved and respected stagehands,” Verity declared, placing a hand on her chest.

“Perhaps the other members are more like backup singers?” asked Pinion. “Or accompaniment?”

“In the metaphor?” asked Verity. “They’re … you know, I suppose they’re a part of the magic, yes, an elemental aspect of generation, and since the party blends identity, they’re an ingredient in it. An admixture, I guess. So yes, let’s be diplomatic and say accompaniment.”

“Anyhow,” said Hannah. “If Verity gets her way, the delving of dungeons changes substantially, five years from now, it might be you never once find a party without a bard, and all the entads that people have pulled up these last few hundred years are tossed to the wayside. Which would be none too good for the likes of March, who’ve retired and hoped to more or less live off their entads.”

“I’m not planning to rest on my laurels, mind,” said Marsh, leaning forward. “I’ll be an industrious worker once the dungeons are done. In a way, the dungeons are a bit of a break from normal labor.”

“Nothing wrong with rest,” said Pinion. “People often forget that we find ourselves in a society where there’s simply not that much that needs doing.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Hannah. “There’s always more to do, that’s the human condition.”

“I think it’s like that for the dwodo and feili too,” said Isra.

“Bah,” said Hannah with a wave of her hand. “I don’t know them well, do I? Seems a bit rude to say that it must be the case for all thinkin’ creatures.”

“I could imagine it otherwise,” said Pinion. He turned to Isra. “Isn’t it so for the animals? That some of them will just slip into a state of contentedness?”

“I suppose,” said Isra. She thought about that. “Sometimes that’s a lack of foresight.”

“In what way?” asked Pinion.

“They’re not thinking about the future,” said Isra. “There are things that they should be doing, rather than being content, and they’re just not doing them. They don’t think far enough into the future, so they don’t plan past the next few days, or what their instincts guide them to.”

“Is that how planning for the winter goes?” asked Pinion. “I suppose I’d never considered it.”

“It’s all instinct,” Isra shrugged. “The squirrel doesn’t know that winter is coming, it’s not foresight, not planning. It’s a need felt in the bones.” She thought, for some reason, of Tarbin, her far-away home.

“I do wonder about the dwodo and feili,” said Pinion. “And the bastlefolk as well, I suppose. I’ve always wanted to meet one.”

“Alfric’s aunt runs an orphanage for them,” said Isra. “In Plenarch, in fact, so there’s a good chance you’ll get to meet her.”

“Oh,” said Pinion. “Well, that does seem like an opportunity. I won’t be too outwardly curious, I don’t expect that they enjoy having people asking all kinds of questions. But it’s a question of the dungeons too, isn’t it?” He looked at Verity. “So far, Verity has been successful in avoiding both people and monsters. But of course it’s very possible to make new people, and perhaps eschew dungeon madness, and that would have more far-reaching consequences than mere entads.”

Marsh and Hannah had been in private conversation with each other, a giggly whispering one, but he perked up at that. “Mere entads?”

“Bastles, clandles,” said Pinion, holding up two fingers. “There’s only one of an entad, but if you pull out a breeding pair of something, or a plant that can produce seeds, then you’re not far off from having a crop of something. Or a herd. In my opinion, it’s where Verity’s focus should be.”

“Yes, yes,” said Verity. “But if I’m trying to make creatures, that’s … perhaps not for the best.”

This was something that Isra felt as though they must have talked about privately, but it was the first she was hearing of it. While the three of them had been spending a lot of time together, Isra was often off scouting, and that left Verity and Pinion as a twosome. They both seemed to have an enormous capacity for talking to each other.

“The worry is what?” asked Marsh, looking between them.

“People,” said Verity. “If they’re just monsters, then that’s no worry, we kill them, maybe it’s difficult, maybe we die, Alfric brings us back, it’s not — not ideal, no. But if they’re people, then I don’t know what we do, how we handle that. Even with a chrononaut.” She was silent for a moment, and drank some more wine.

“It’s sticky, I’ll give you that,” said Pinion.

“Other topics, please,” said Verity.

“There are five Verities,” said Isra. “Were you aware of that?”

Verity looked around the party and counted. “Only four,” she said, frowning. “That’s how many there should be.”

“Counting yourself?” asked Pinion.

Verity looked down herself. “I blame the wine,” she said. She counted again, this time looking at each of them in turn. “This smells like shenanigans.” She clapped her hands and stood. “Right then, time to root out the imposter.” She had a wide smile on her face.

“Someone used the entad without you knowing?” asked Hannah.

“Seems likely,” said Verity. “It would work if you gave someone who’d transformed a poke.” She was looking more carefully at the others, trying to root out who the odd one out was.

“I’d be upset, I think,” said Pinion.

“Well, that’s you,” said Verity. She seemed to have narrowed it down to two choices. “I think it’s quite funny.”

“It’s your body,” said Pinion.

“My voice is more important than my body,” said Verity. “And that is in hundreds of living rooms, taverns, and who knows where else. If father’s new factory works out, it’ll be thousands. Grappling with that has been a fun adventure, I can tell you. Someone using my body, that’s nothing.”

“An interesting perspective,” said Pinion. He looked at Isra, as Verity was clearly distracted. “I’ve been thinking of my own body lately. The dress, and such.”

“Entads bring such questions to mind,” said Hannah. “As do clerics. But such conversations will have to take place without the likes of me, as I’m off for that verdant land known to mortal souls as Lutopia Two.” She stood, unsteadily, and pulled Marsh up. “I’m taking the big fella with me.” She tried to pull Marsh up, anyhow, but he rose on his own. As much pride as Hannah had in her own strength, she wouldn’t have been able to budge Marsh if he didn’t want to move.

They went off together as Marsh said his goodbyes, and Verity thought it unlikely that they’d be seen again until the morning.

One of the Verities came to sit down at the vacant spot. She was smiling.

“Imposter,” said Verity. “But that leaves the question of who you are.”

“A mystery,” said Pinion.

“Are your powers of deduction up to the task?” asked False Verity. She was still smiling.

“We know that it can’t be anyone we can see, which narrows it down considerably,” said Verity.

“There’s an entad floating around that allows anyone to take on the appearance of anyone else for three hours,” said False Verity. “Can you be sure it’s so narrow?”

“Alright, a good mystery,” said Pinion. “Unless it’s unsolvable, which would make it a bad mystery.”

The False Verity leaned forward in an exaggerated way, and pressed her arms to her sides in a way that enhanced the cleavage of her dress. “I will answer three questions.”

“Fun!” said Real Verity. “You know, I was going to say that you had to be someone who we knew was at the party, but I suppose you could be someone we didn’t see arrive, and I suppose because it was last minute we didn’t have a defined guest list.”

“Normal people don’t make guest lists for parties with friends,” said Pinion. “That’s a rich person thing.”

“I was invited,” said False Verity. “I will give you that one for free.”

“Invited by whom?” asked Real Verity.

“Do you want that to be one of your three questions?” asked False Verity.

“No,” said Pinion, almost immediately. “If we only have three questions, we need to be judicious with them.”

“Better to go by personality,” said Isra. “There are only so many people we know who would think it was fun to do this. A smaller percentage who could charm their way into getting the help of someone else who was already a Verity.”

“I think we’ve come to the point where we need to start making a list,” said Pinion. “Unfortunately, I am adrift in a sea of people I don’t know, so someone else will have to make that list. I can fetch a pen and paper from my room though.”

“Yes,” said Real Verity. “But be careful, as there are ill omens afoot.”

“Ill omen?” asked False Verity as Pinion got up. “Me? You wound me.”

“There are definitely only so many people this could be,” said Isra. She looked around the party. “You know, there are only so many people she could have gotten this body from, we could talk to them.”

“That wouldn’t be fun though, would it?” asked False Verity. “Come on, I’ve said you have three questions, you can use them, I swear on my honor to be truthful.”

“Your honor as a False Verity?” asked Isra, arching an eyebrow. She had been noting her eyebrows in the mirror as she was doing her makeup in the mirror. She had nice eyebrows, and had decided that she’d underappreciated them.

“Yes, my considerable honor,” said False Verity. “Write that down in your detective’s notebook, the honor thing.”

“Mizuki?” asked Real Verity.

“That’s not a question,” said Isra. “It is a name that’s going at the top of our list.”

“Back,” said Pinion, who had raced into the house, up the stairs, quickly grabbed some things, then came back down. Ink was dripping from his inkwell over his fingers, but he often had a scholar’s ink-stained fingers, and it fit in. “Did you figure it out without me?”

“The name ‘Mizuki’ was finally uttered,” said Isra.

“Yeah,” said Pinion, nodding eagerly. He’d set his pen, inkwell, and paper down on the table, and was using his ink-stained napkin to wipe his hands off. “Though that would be a bad mystery.”

“Why?” asked False Verity.

“Too obvious,” said Pinion. “But also, she’s in the kitchen with Alfric, which knocks another two suspects from contention.”

“Unless, of course, we’re following the double swap theory,” said Real Verity. “Perhaps you only saw someone who looked like Mizuki.”

Pinion considered this. “You think that Mizuki had someone take her place?” asked Pinion. “Because Alfric was grabbing her butt.”

“Well, maybe not,” said Real Verity with a frown. “You may strike her from the list.”

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“Maybe Mizuki had someone take her place, then had someone take Alfric’s place,” said Isra.

“Ah ha!” said Real Verity. “The triple swap variant. Devious.”

“We must also consider that one of us might be a confederate,” said Pinion. “I’m ashamed that I didn’t set up a system of trust before I left to get the pen. That means that I could have been swapped.”

“Conversely,” said Verity, “It might be the case that Isra and I were swapped while you were upstairs. It might even be that the Verity sitting across from us is the true Verity, and I the false one.”

The False Verity was looking at them funny. “Well now I’m afraid that the answer will only disappoint you. It’s not nearly so complicated.”

“Well, it’s fun to think about,” said Pinion. He looked at Verity and Isra. “Can I take the first question? One to eliminate the possibility of more swaps?”

“Are we trusting her answers?” asked Isra.

“You can trust me,” said the False Verity. “It’s just a game, that’s all, and he’s right, I want it to be fun.”

“So, was there a second, third, or other swap?” asked Pinion.

“No,” said False Verity. “You know, when I sat down, I wasn’t thinking that it would take this long.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” said Pinion. “We’re nearly there. I have a second question, which will help narrow it down more.”

“Tell it to us before you tell it to her,” said True Verity.

“Well,” said Pinion. “I was thinking to ask whether she — or he — was someone that I had ever met before. That narrows it down considerably, given how few people at this party I’ve met.”

“Hmm,” said True Verity. She looked at Isra. “Thoughts?”

“Fine by me,” said Isra. She felt happy to be included. She wasn’t think that she was all that useful at this sort of game, and wasn’t even entirely sure why it was a game that they were keen on playing, but she was fine going along with it. Divining truth from unclear information had never been a favorite of hers, but she could see how it would appeal to Pinion.

The False Verity was looking at them with a twinkle in her eyes, smiling as she watched them. She’d kept quiet, but some of that was because to open her mouth might be to give it away.

“I’ve got it,” said Isra. It came to her suddenly, and was obvious in retrospect. Personality had been the key, someone comfortable slipping into Verity’s skin, someone a bit impish who might find it fun to show up unexpectedly. There were other clues as well that would have narrowed it down more, if she’d thought of them: it was someone who might have shown up late to the party, which meant either they lived close by or had their own modes of conveyance.

“Alright,” said Real Verity. “Tell us.”

“No,” said Pinion. “I want the satisfaction of figuring it out on my own. Which might not be possible for me, depending on the answer to my question.” He looked at False Verity. “Have we met before today, and was I aware of it?”

“Yes and yes,” said False Verity. She smiled at him.

“Well, that eliminates everyone from Pucklechurch,” said Pinion. “Other than those we’ve been traveling with. It’s not one of the Pedders, not a family member of Mizuki’s or Alfric’s, not the other bard or her boyfriend, not the shop girl … I was introduced to a horrifying number of people, and am surely missing some, but if it’s someone that I met before today, the options are small.”

“Then I want to take a fair stab at it too,” said Real Verity. “That does seem to narrow it down.” She was looking around the party, most of which had moved inside. The pig had been demolished, though they would probably be eating pork for a good long while unless the Pedders took it home with them. Thankfully, the chiller had room. “A few of the Settlers are missing. I haven’t seen Bib or Bab, but I can’t imagine that they would split up, nor can I imagine that they’d sit still for long enough.” She tapped her chin.

“Ah,” said Pinion. “Well now I think I know too.”

“And I’m still in the dark,” said Real Verity with a pout.

“Am I really that easy to overlook?” asked False Verity with a pout. She smiled at Real Verity. “Do you need a hint?”

“Oh,” said Real Verity. “Huh. Yes, I think I’ve got it.” She took a breath. “Is the person we’re all thinking of Xy?”

“The one and only,” said False Verity with a smile. She looked down at the borrowed body. “Well, as it were. I came to this party and saw a whole host of you and thought that I needed to get in on the action. But I really didn’t mean it as something to be sleuthed, it was just for fun.”

“We didn’t end up needing all our questions,” said Pinion. “What do we win?”

“Hrm,” said Xy. “I unfortunately didn’t bring a trophy with me.”

“Not even a medal?” asked Verity.

“Sadly, no,” said Xy. “Though I have to say I was heartbroken to miss the first and perhaps only performance of the Loaners. Four Verities? It’s almost too much to handle. Almost.” She grinned at Verity.

Isra was feeling a little ill at ease. The last time she’d seen Xy, they’d gotten together, and while it had been nice in the moment, it was so devoid of intimacy that she was left feeling a little lost. Xy was now back, invited to this party by someone, and it would have felt better to get some closure on the whole matter rather than doing what Xy was doing, which was ignoring the whole thing. Flirting with Verity, especially aggressive flirting with Verity, really didn’t seem to be what the situation called for.

But the way Xy did things, there had probably been a dozen lovers between them. For her, it was nothing special.

“We need to talk together as a band,” said Verity. “But I would wager it’s not our final performance. The gimmick … perhaps it needs work. It’s not meant to be prurient.”

“When I heard about it, it seemed prurient,” said Xy. She looked down at her body. She was wearing it, in a sense, like a dress that had been draped over her.

“Artistically,” Verity began, then stopped herself. “You know, even if that is what a few especially perverted people first think, I don’t know that I have that much of a problem with it. There are musicians and artists who trade in sensuality, though I can’t imagine myself ever doing that, especially not with a proper band behind me.”

“You have the figure for it,” said Xy. Her smile was wide, and unmistakably hers, perhaps slightly hungry, predatory, though Isra might have been reading into it too much.

“You know you’re stuck like that for three hours, right?” asked Verity.

“I was informed, yes,” said Xy. “It was Grig, by the way, who let me have my crack at it. I’ve made runs for him a few times, and I’d almost say I’m an informal member of his counterparty.”

“Grig?” asked Isra. “Why?”

“Why?” asked Xy.

“How did you fall in with them?” asked Isra.

“I run all over this area,” said Xy. “And they were in Liberfell for a long time. They had things that needed moving, and I helped with that, then said that they should consider me if they want someone to carry things in the future. It’s one half working relationship, one half honest friendship. With most of them, anyway.”

“Not Josen?” asked Isra. Everyone seemed to hate Josen.

“Nah, Josen is fine,” Xy said. She looked around a bit, which Isra really should have done before mentioning someone who might be at the party. “It’s Mardin I really can’t stand. Just a few too many grating conversations, though I don’t know whether that’s me or him.”

Isra pondered that, momentarily distracted from the issue of Xy being there. “He’s always struck me as someone who goes with the flow.”

“No, no,” said Xy. “It’s Grig who goes with the flow, doesn’t want to make waves, if we’re using a sailing metaphor. Mardin plows along ahead no matter what the water or wind is doing, pretends that it’s not there. Very different approaches to ignoring people and problems.”

“Explain that more,” said Pinion, leaning forward.

“Alright,” said Xy. “Let’s say you have a problem with one of them. Maybe I went on a run for them, ran into some problems, got drenched in the rain —”

“You have that entad,” said Verity.

“Well, just as an example,” said Xy. “Normally I don’t run into problems. But let’s say I was supposed to hand off an item to someone, and I couldn’t find them, they weren’t where they were supposed to be, so I waste a half hour of my time zipping around a small town trying to find them. Well, I come back and I explain this, say that it’s a real drag. Grig’s approach would be to try to smooth things over, use some sympathetic words, express sympathy, maybe with a cup of tea. He’s a good guy, even if he bends a bit too much. But if I came to Mardin and said I’d had a hard time — not looking for anything, it’s a hazard that comes with the territory, dodgy instructions, inclement weather, blocked paths — but he would probably just move on to the next topic, ignore whatever I was feeling.” She shrugged. “Grates on me, maybe more than it should.”

“I’m just surprised you’ve talked with him,” said Isra.

“He’s always been around,” said Xy. She gave a little laugh, very much unlike the one that Verity normally used, and it seemed awkward, coming from the borrowed mouth. “I think he was interested in me, but it’s hard to say.”

“You’d think he’d get the hint,” said Verity. She was frowning, treating the off-hand comment with real concern.

“People are flexible, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Xy. “If I’ll pursue women who aren’t normally into ‘that sort of thing’ I don’t think I can blame a man for doing the same, at least within limits. I don’t begrudge him that at all.” She shrugged. “They had their new member, Tilde, and I tried the same with her.”

“Oh?” asked Verity.

“Sure,” shrugged Xy. “I chatted her up, put on my best flirting face,” she demonstrated this, a winsome grin and slightly raised eyebrows, an openness to her face, “and she wasn’t interested, which is fair. Sometimes it’s a matter of mood, but this was inclination, I think.”

“She was your, uh, type?” asked Pinion.

Xy laughed. “Verity, do you remember that song you sang?”

“Er,” said Verity. “I sing a lot of songs.”

“Back at the Fig and Gristle, way before all of this,” said Xy. “It was a song about all the women.”

“It’s still not ringing a bell, sorry,” said Verity. “I wasn’t even really a songwriter then, I was just … saying whatever came to mind. It’s very possible I sang that once and then never thought about it again.”

“Aw,” said Xy, looking disappointed. “It was in my head for months. Large girls, small girls, mopey or bright, slender and thick, it’s all alright?” She half-sung it.

“Ugh,” said Verity, making a face. “‘All alright’? That’s dreadful.” Her face changed in a moment though, and she considered it. “I could write the song again, with your help. Better than before?”

“Oh, I would love that, if you can handle me singing off-key,” said Xy. She stood and stretched, then glanced at the table with the food and drink. “I’m going to get some wine for lubrication, but I’m not sticking around here for more than the night, so would it be possible to do now, or when the party starts to wind down?”

“Now would be fine,” said Verity. She looked at Isra, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll keep Pinion entertained,” said Isra with a nod. It was as much as needed to be said between them. Isra understood it, even if there was a bit of sting associated with it. Isra would find somewhere else to sleep for the night, just as Verity had done.

“I don’t really understand the song,” said Pinion once the two Verities had left. “Verity was saying … what?”

“That she doesn’t have a ‘type’,” said Isra.

“Meaning?” asked Pinion. “Sorry if this is obvious. And, uh, are you fine with this?”

“With them?” asked Isra. “I think that it will work out better for Verity than it did for me. I felt … hollow, I guess.” She looked at the house. She returned to Pinion. “Some people have a type, and I guess for Verity, and Xy, and maybe some others, there isn’t one.”

“Hmm,” said Pinion. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought of that.”

“You have a type?” asked Isra. She reached for the bottle of wine and filled her glass. It was wine from Kiromo, brought by Mizuki’s sisters, and it was quite different from what Isra was used to, much less sweet, and a bit more earthy. “I’m not sure if I do or not.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Pinion. “Scholarly women, reserved and serious. Dark-haired. A sort of brooding thoughtfulness.” He looked up, thinking. “If I’m thinking in terms of running themes, then yes, that’s about it. Librarian types. But … the thing that I like is the undercurrent of something else, the idea that I get to see a wild side, an intimate side, that the calm reserve isn’t pervasive. Not having a preference at all is … I don’t really understand it.”

“Mizuki explained it to me,” said Isra. “She feels the same, I think. She can find anything to like in any boy, given even the slightest bit of time. I don’t think it’s that she’s indifferent to a person’s quality.” She thought about it. “There’s something nice about seeing the beauty in anything.”

“Does that bode well for her relationship with Alfric, do you think?” asked Pinion.

“I have hope,” said Isra. She looked Pinion over. “When you were talking about your type, was that … describing someone?”

“Mmm,” said Pinion. He looked at his wine glass. “An old girlfriend, actually, though I can see where you’d have questions.” He looked at her, eyebrows slightly raised.

“Verity is your type,” said Isra.

“Ah,” said Pinion. “I mean, yes, I can see where that description would apply to her.” He looked at the house, as Isra had done. Most of the party had moved inside, perhaps because the temperature was starting to drop. Isra was enjoying the chill, but Pinion’s nose was going a bit red. “I think that Xy was wrong, about most people being a bit … flexible. Maybe she is, and thinks that other people are like that, but … I don’t know.”

“You’re not … flexible?” asked Isra.

“I don’t think so,” said Pinion.

They sat together for a bit. Usually it wasn’t just the two of them.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” asked Isra. “We’re not really a part of the party anymore.” A shout came up from the house, followed by laughter. “I’d like to be away for a bit, and wouldn’t mind the company.”

“Sure,” said Pinion with another glance at the house.

They got up and walked together, through the meadow that was their temporary backyard, toward a dark wood the moonlight was spotlighting for them. Isra hadn’t controlled the weather much, since no rain was threatening their get-together.

Silence filled the air, with only the sounds of their footsteps and the brush being pushed aside by their legs. They were each thinking their own thoughts, though she didn’t have any clue what Pinion’s thoughts might be. Isra had gotten better at spreading herself out into nature, which could sometimes have an obliterating quality to it, as though she was scooping out her soul and feeding it to the wildlife much in the same way that ducks in the city got fed stale bread. She was tempted to do that here, but she instead closed herself off, being only Isra, nothing of her extended.

“Can I talk about something sensitive?” asked Pinion.

“Of course,” said Isra. “I’m known for liking those talks.”

“I know,” said Pinion. “I probably wouldn’t broach the subject otherwise.”

“Go on,” said Isra.

“When I was describing my ‘type’, I was thinking that it applied to you,” said Pinion. “And it applies to Verity as well, you’re both of a sort, though there are obvious differences. I didn’t know if you were skirting the question or if it just didn’t occur to you.”

“I don’t think it’s the best night to ask me out,” said Isra.

“No, no,” said Pinion. “I wasn’t, I hadn’t meant to, I was only — the way the conversation went, I didn’t know whether you were tactfully turning away from the subject or whether it just hadn’t occurred to you. And I would normally take my place in the pit of ambiguity, but it’s you, and I thought I would just ask.”

“It hadn’t occurred to me,” said Isra. She reached out and touched the soft leaves of a ninebark bush. “I wouldn’t say that I’m scholarly.”

“Maybe not,” said Pinion. “Well, I didn’t mean anything by it, and I know now wouldn’t have been the time, I just wanted to make sure that it wasn’t a deft brush-off. I prefer my brush-offs to be direct.” He let out a breath. “The dress that gives me the form of a woman, it’s complicated things as far as Verity is concerned. It was nice when there was never a possibility of anything, but the way she looked at me, the something-or-other in her eyes … I think that Xy was wrong, that most people are flexible when it comes to their preferred gender, but it would be interesting to get her thoughts on the gender in question being flexible.”

“You look good as a woman,” said Isra.

“Yes, you’ve said,” replied Pinion. “And Verity said as well. I’m not sure how to take it. Though Verity has said that women are flatly more attractive than men, so I suppose she’d say that no matter what.”

“There’s something compelling about you as a man,” said Isra. “Just … not in a flirtatious way.”

“Er, okay,” said Pinion. “I’m not sure what that means.”

“You don’t beckon,” said Isra. “You don’t entice. Certain people draw you in closer, like Xy, they pursue you. Hunters, or lures to draw in hunters. But you’re neither.”

“Interesting,” said Pinion. “Also fair. I’m ill-acquainted with the art of flirtation.”

“I could see myself hunting you,” said Isra.

She turned it over in her mind. There was an appeal to it. She thought it would be easy to fluster him, and it was nice enough to be with him. He had little in the way of heat, not in the way that some men she met had, but that would only mean that she would be the one to supply the heat. Not tonight, obviously, tonight was too weird and too tinged with other feelings. He was happy and enthusiastic. Maybe he would make a good first boyfriend, especially as he had a deadline he would leave by. There was an appeal to it.

Isra stole a glance back at him, using her own eyes rather than the nearby owl’s. He was already looking flushed and flustered, unsteady and uncertain. It was adorable, in its own way.

“I’m worried that I’m becoming a creature of whims,” said Isra.

“Whims?” asked Pinion.

“I cast off the headscarf, then put it back on,” said Isra. “I made peace with my father’s passing and now feel like I need to return home. It feels sometimes like what I want depends on the phases of the moon. I don’t know if it’s indecision, but it makes me feel like I’m too much flux.”

“Some people need time to find themselves,” said Pinion. “It’s good that you’re experimenting.”

“And not only because I might end up experimenting with you?” asked Isra.

There was a thrill in being like that, like Xy, a very forward type of flirting, perhaps especially because Pinion didn’t know how to handle it.

“Not tonight though,” said Pinion, almost as a question.

“I just said I was a creature of whims,” Isra replied. She kept walking, turning her back on him.

Isra didn’t know if this was who she would end up being, when all the dust settled, but it was a fun person to be, for a time.

And without even noticing it, her mind had gone away from the stormy thoughts.

~~~~

Hannah had fallen asleep, but it was one of those unfortunate sleeps that happened too early in the night, which her body had thought was only a nap. Within Lutopia Two it was difficult to tell the time, but she thought that it was an hour or possibly two.

Marsh wasn’t in bed with her, but he hadn’t left either, and was instead making what was presumably a late-night snack for himself in the kitchen. He’d barely dressed, wearing only his underwear, and she came up behind him, squeezing his butt.

“Sobering up then, are we?” he asked.

“Still not all the way there,” said Hannah. That was its own kind of clock. She rested her head against his back and sniffed the air. He’d settled on breakfast food. “It’s not mornin’, is it?”

“No, no, not at all,” he said. “Just breakfast late at night, which feels all kinds of decadent. Some pork from the party, eggs from the fridge, buttered bread. A nice post-coital snack.”

It was closer to a full meal, by the looks of it. “Enough for me?” she asked.

“Always,” Marsh replied.

“You’re the best,” said Hannah.

He had a plate for her soon enough, and they were sitting at the small kitchen table, which had only the two chairs and somewhat cramped. Hannah liked her little bubble, with just the two of them, but it had its drawbacks. She ate, hunched over the plate, like a wild animal that had only recently discovered cutlery.

“I love you,” said Marsh as he ate his own helping.

Hannah looked up at him. She didn’t look or feel like anyone should be saying anything positive about her at the moment, bleary eyed and still somewhat under the effects of the alcohol. He was beaming at her though, a goofy grin on his face. Many of his grins were a bit goofy. She was charmed by him, and not just because he’d cooked a quick meal for them.

“I love you too,” she said. “Sorry if it was improper, the talk of kids.”

“No,” said Marsh. “It’s just … marriage first, yeah?”

Hannah nodded. They had talked enough to agree on that. She didn’t know when it was coming, but she figured that it was. It had been a fast romance, and generally, as a cleric, she cautioned that a relationship should survive the test of four seasons, but maybe being in your wild years meant leaping into a relationship with both feet.

“And that’s comin’, is it?” asked Hannah.

Marsh looked somewhat abashed. “I hope you don’t mind, but I was hoping to speak with your family first.”

“Oh?” asked Hannah. “I don’t hold with takin’ their consideration into account.”

“No, I know,” said Marsh. “But I’d be a part of the family, wouldn’t I, and I want them to like me. Seems better to get that out of the way.”

“Aye,” said Hannah. “Best to get that out of the way, if it’s important to you. I’ve mentioned you in some letters back home. They’re keen to meet you, if you want to go to Cairbre, it’s just a matter of pickin’ a time and clearin’ our schedules.”

“Right,” said Marsh. He rubbed the back of his head. “Right, well, I’ve sort of already been planning it, truth be told. I’ve got a trip set up by leycraft, just need to pay for the tickets.”

Hannah was surprised by that, but not shocked. He’d been acting a bit cagey lately, and she’d thought that was either because she was rushing things or because he was.

“So it’s serious then,” she said.

Marsh shrugged. “You know, the traditional way of going about it, we’d be engaged already.”

Hannah nodded. “And there’s merit to that, I’ve always felt.”

“For now, we finish this and go to bed,” said Marsh. “It’s late, late enough that we might feel it in the morning.”

“The house won’t be movin’ until well after breakfast,” said Hannah. “It was a night of good drinkin’. I hope they keep up with the parties when I’m gone, and that they invite me.”

“Second thoughts about going?” asked Marsh.

“No,” said Hannah. “Just a sort of sadness. The sadness of partin’. It does feel like an off moment to make my exit, just as Verity approaches greatness, but the — what did I say?”

“The call of the pulpit,” said Marsh.

“Dreadful,” said Hannah, shaking her head. “I’m goin’ to bed, will you help me warm it?”

“Is that a come on?” asked Marsh with a smile. “Or just cuddles?”

“I’ll make up my mind when we get there,” said Hannah.