“Nowhere you cannot take me,” she said.
“Flattery is part of seduction,” he said, “isn’t it?”
“Inescapably, yes.”
“Ah. I regret being such a straightforward case.”
“No one is ever straightforward.”
He half-smiled. “So we’re not simple, we’re just… all the same?”
“A flaw of humanity,” said Parisa, shrugging. “The compulsion to be unique, which is at war with the desire to belong to a single identifiable sameness.”
They were out of sight already, up too early for anyone else to stir, but he pulled her into the nearby grove of birch trees anyway, concealing them.
“You make me so common,” he said.
“Do I?”
“Think how interesting I could be to someone else,” he suggested. “A homicidal academic.”
“You’re not uninteresting,” she said. “Why did he want to kill you?”
“Who?” The pretense was so very tiresome, but apparently necessary.
“How many people have wanted to kill you, Dalton?”
“Probably very many.”
“How deliciously uncommon,” she offered evasively.
He drew her into his arms, hips flush against hers.
“Tell me something,” he said. “Would you have wanted me more if I had denied you longer?”
“No,” Parisa said. “I’d have found you a considerable idiot if you had.”
She toyed with loop of his trousers, turning over stones in her thoughts.
“Tell me about the Forum,” she said, pleased to see the evidence of momentary startlement. “I find I’ve been wondering about this Society’s enemies. Specifically, whether they may be right.” She hadn’t forgotten that the Forum’s agents alone had been able to escape after slipping the Society’s wards during the installation.
Despite his initial flicker of surprise, Dalton seemed relatively unfazed. “Why should I know anything about the Forum?”
“Fine,” she sighed, disappointed but unsurprised, “then tell me why he wanted to kill you.”
“He had to kill someone,” Dalton said with an air of repetition, “before they killed him.”
“Were you too weak or too strong?”
“What?”
“Either he chose you as a target because you were too weak,” she clarified, “or because you were too strong.”
“What do you think?”
She glanced up to find Dalton watching her closely.
“You must have chosen me for a reason yourself,” he remarked, shrugging. “Was it because I was weak, or strong?”
“Are you making yourself a parable?”
“Maybe.”
“Why,” Parisa countered, “did you think it would be dangerous for me to have you? Who would it be dangerous for?”
“Me,” said Dalton. “Among others.”
“And yet you lack quite a bit of self-preservation, don’t you?”
“Most likely.”
“Is that why he wanted to kill you?”
She’d meant it as a joke, pushing him to see what might come to light even if she aimed blindly, but he seemed to regard her with new severity.
“I want to try something,” he said. “Meet me tonight.”
“Where?”
“My room. I want to see how good you are.”
“We’ve already tried that,” she said drily, “and I believe we both rose admirably to the occasion.”
“Not that,” he said, though he was obviously not opposed. “I only meant I’m going to spend the day burying something. A thought.” “An answer?”
“Yes.”
A little thrill coursed through her.
“I thought you wouldn’t play games with me?”
“This isn’t a game. It’s a test.”
“What do I get if I pass?”
“An answer.”
“The answer?”
“Yes, fine.” A pause. “It will drain you.”
“Good,” she said invitingly.
“I already know what you can do without trying. I want to see what happens when you try.”
She shivered with anticipation. She had missed the sensation of operating in her element.
“Alright,” she said, flexing her fingers. “Then I’ll try.”
By the time she reached his private chambers, slipping in quietly when the others had gone to bed, Dalton was already sleeping. There was an hourglass beside the bed, with the implication clear enough: there was a time limit to this test. She flipped it, closing her eyes, and lay on her back beside Dalton, finding the rhythm of his pulse. It would be a matter of sinking into her own consciousness to locate the edges of his, then the effort of seeking out the most difficult doors to open.