The woman studied them with dark eyes too keen by half, then took a couple sauntering steps toward them. “You’re both too beautiful to come from anywhere but the aristocracy.” She encompassed them head to toe with a sweep of her gloved hand. “Oh, sure, your clothes are worn and tattered, and you’re bruised and dirty, but look at your healthy hair, perfect skin, straight white teeth. You have no glow of the sun on you from outdoor work. You, beautiful dark-haired man, you have a far more muscular build than would be expected of a well-heeled court fop, yet you can still tell you’re no low-born. And you,” the woman motioned at Evangeline, “there’s no question you came from Belai. Where are your reddened, calloused hands? The stoop in your back from bending over a washboard? Where’s the hungry, defeated look in your eyes. I gaze into your eyes and I see icy pride.”

Beside her, Anatol stiffened.

The woman held up a gloved hand. “I won’t turn you over to the mob. You can trust me. My name is Lilya.”

“We can’t afford to trust anyone.” Anatol put an arm around Evangeline’s waist in an almost protective gesture. “What do you want, Lilya?”

Evangeline took her in—from her classy, expensive heeled boots to her fur-lined coat to her perfectly coiffed hair. Her makeup was minimal, her accent educated. Her glossy dark hair hung in voluptuous, artful curls around her shoulders. This was a courtesan from the Temple of Dreams. It was the only way a woman dressed so richly could travel these streets right now, middle class or not.

The woman smiled and dropped her hand. “That’s smart. I wouldn’t say my intentions are completely innocent, so maybe you shouldn’t trust me. All the same, you’re hungry, aren’t you? Cold? You look like you could use a warm fire about now. In need of shelter?”

Neither of them replied.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Lilya turned and walked toward the street. “Come with me if you’d like to eat and maybe I can find you somewhere safe to lay your head tonight. All I desire is a few moments of your time, during which I can provide you both with options.” She glanced over her shoulder and offered an annoyingly confident smile. “You could both use some options right now, couldn’t you?”

Evangeline turned to look at Anatol. He stared at the back of the retreating woman, his jaw locked and his blue eyes intense. “Anatol? What do you think?”

He glanced at her. “We go with her, but not too far. We need to be careful. Keep your eyes open and stay aware.”

She agreed.

They followed the woman to a nearby cook shop, where the scent of fresh baked bread and meat pies made Evangeline’s stomach forget its earlier revulsion and remember it hadn’t been filled by anything of consequence in over a day.

Lilya guided them to a table near the kitchen and gestured for them to sit down. Evangeline couldn’t see the harm, so she sat, soaking up the heat from the fire in the hearth and letting it sink into her frigid limbs.

Anatol hesitated a moment longer, eyeing Lilya with a glittering and suspicious gaze. Lilya peeled her gloves off, set them on the table, and stared up at him with a challenge in her eyes. “You remind me of me many years ago, after I’d lost everything. Sit.”

He sat.

The waiter came to the table, dislike of the two poorly dressed patrons clear on his face. He eyed them. “I don’t think—”

Lilya held up a hand, cutting off his sentence. “These are friends of mine.” Her voice was steel.

“Very well.” The server’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

Lilya ordered. “A baked chicken, boiled potatoes, whatever vegetables you have in season, and a bowl of steamed rice, please. Enough for two. Oh, and three glasses of wine.” The server retreated to the kitchen.

“You’re doing this to make us grateful to you,” leveled Anatol from his seat across from Lilya. “Why?”

“How do you know I’m not simply a helpful person, giving aid to those who need it?”

“You’re from the Temple of Dreams,” Evangeline countered.

Lilya’s face went from surprise to slyness. “I see I’m not the only one with the power of keen observation.”

“Your position is secure,” Evangeline continued. “Why would you care about us? We’re perfect strangers and have no power. We can do nothing for you.”

Lilya’s face took on an expression of pity. “Do you really think the only reason to help another is for personal gain?”

Evangeline’s shoulders straightened. “It’s how the world works.”

Lilya shook her head. “Not my world. Tell me your names.”

Anatol seemed to relax a little even as Evangeline’s anxiety racheted upward. He leaned back in his chair. “My name is Anatol and this is Evangeline. I don’t need to tell you where we came from or what our circumstances are because you’ve already figured all that out.”

Lilya leaned toward him and whispered, “You’re nobles hiding out from the raid on the palace.”

Anatol hesitated. “No, we’re J’Edaeii.”

Evangeline leaned forward and gave an alarmed whisper.“Anatol!”

Lilya leaned back in her chair with a small smile playing around her mouth. “How intriguing.”

“Now why are you interested in us, Lilya?” Anatol asked. “And stop with the altruistic intentions, they’re not ringing true.”

Lilya pouted. “I think I’m offended.”

“Just tell us.”

The waiter brought the wine and Evangeline drank deeply, closing her eyes and enjoying the sip of the half-rate vintage as it slid down her throat. She was so thirsty that she didn’t even care about the common quality. The alcohol warmed her blood, too. Maybe a glass or two more and she could dull the emotion that battered her so much. Or at least trade her fear and anxiety for silly giddiness. She’d never felt silly or giddy in her life. She’d only ever had weakened sips of such feelings secondhand.

Lilya took a far more measured drink of her wine. “You’re both very pretty and at a bit of a loose end—”

“And you’re recruiting for the Temple of Dreams?” Anatol asked.

Shock rippled through Evangeline. The possibility that Lilya was attempting to lure them for the temple had not occurred to her.

Lilya nodded. “I’m not saying the temple would even accept you, but you’re both good candidates—educated, cultured, and nice to look at. It would be an option for you. It’s nice life, a good life.”

Evangeline set her empty glass down, feeling the first effects of the wine on an empty stomach. She shouldn’t have drained it so fast. “You want us to be prostitutes?”

Lilya made a moue with her lush red lips. “That’s an ugly word. I like courtesan much better.”

“Semantics,” Anatol growled.

The food arrived, breaking the sudden tension. The scent of the warm baked chicken nearly made Evangeline swoon. Both Anatol and Evangeline tore into the food, eating and not speaking for about five minutes while they wallowed in the sensation of full mouths and stomachs.

“The life of a courtesan is not for everyone.” Lilya sipped her wine and watched them eat. “You must enjoy sex while not attaching emotional tethers to it, loving it for the pure acts of ecstasy and the giving and receiving of pleasure. You must enjoy having sex with many partners and be open to all the various kinks and fetishes of those you sleep with. You cannot be predisposed to falling in love—”

“We’re not interested,” said Anatol. He set his fork down. “We appreciate the meal and your interest, but we’re not looking to become . . . courtesans.”

“You speak for Evangeline? Why?” Lilya pursed her lips and then smiled. “Ah, you’re together. You’re in love, is that it?” A sneer accompanied the words in love.

“No,” said Evangeline. “We’re not in love and Anatol cannot speak for me.”

Anatol gave her a sharp look. “I guess it’s true you already were a prostitute at Belai, weren’t you, Evangeline?”

Evangeline leveled the coldest look she could manage.

He took a slow drink of his wine. After he swallowed, he continued, “You have the tattoo on the small of your back to show for it. You allowed yourself to be marked as the property of a single man, no less. A man who didn’t care about you at all. Who left you, in fact, when the palace was overrun. Ring any bells?”

“I did what I had to do to survive. I will continue to do so.”

Anatol leaned toward her. “But did you enjoy it? According to Lilya, that’s a requirement. She wants men and women who enjoy sex to join the Temple of Dreams. I would say that rules you out. You’ve used sex as a tool to gain things since the moment you realized it was possible. But it’s only a tool for you, wielded cold and dispassionately.”

Evangeline sputtered for a moment. “You don’t know anything about me! How dare you make such judgments?”

Anatol narrowed his eyes and smiled. “I know everything about you. Everything. Now that you can feel, Evangeline, sex will be different. Right now you’re basically a virgin, though your hymen was broken long ago. Now you won’t be able to stand the touch of any person unless you care about them. The force of the emotion you feel now will not allow it. There’s no way you could ever be a courtesan.”

She stared at him for a long moment before pushing away from the table, rising, and backing away. “Anatol, thank you for all you’ve done for me up until now. Lilya, thank you for your kindness.” And she left without a backward glance at Anatol.

She didn’t need him. She’d never needed anyone. All she had to do was remember to keep her mouth shut in the presence of those questioning her origins, never draw attention to herself, and she’d be fine. She’d survived at Belai; she could survive this.

Once out on the street, she headed in the opposite direction of the palace, down the road past shops and street vendors. The chill bit into her unprotected flesh and she drew her arms over her chest. She wasn’t going to think about the fact that she didn’t want to be alone. As much as Anatol rubbed her the wrong way, she would miss his presence, the low, soft way he spoke with her, and she would especially miss the heat of him at night.

Damn it, she would miss him.

But her pride couldn’t allow her to stand there and take his abuse. He didn’t know her. He didn’t! He could not presume to know her heart—now that she had one. He couldn’t tell her what she could or could not be, or determine the shape of her future.

Anyway, she could travel faster on her own—not that she knew what direction she was going. But being alone was something she knew. Being paired with someone else was complicated and messy. Fraught with risks she didn’t want to take. Too much emotion. Too much danger. If she aligned with one person she might come to care for him. Eventually he might reject her; surely at some point he would. A cold ball fisted itself in her stomach as the ghost of a memory reared its head.

No. She wouldn’t be able to bear that.

“Evangeline, wait!”

Anatol.

Her feet came to a shuffling stop on the cobblestone street, but she didn’t turn. All she did was wrap her arms even more tightly around herself and stare at the tattered shoes he’d managed to find for her.

“I’m sorry I said that back there.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and drew a breath before speaking. “Don’t be sorry. You were right.”

“Even if I was right, it wasn’t fair of me to throw it in your face. You did what you had to do to stay alive and worked with the reality you were given. You’re a survivor, Evangeline.”

She looked up at him. “I never said I regretted anything I did. I never said I was ashamed. I never said I wanted to hear your opinion of me. I just said you were right.”

His face shuttered.

Rage bubbled through her veins. “Don’t ever talk that way to me again, Anatol.” She pushed past him. “You have no right to assume you know me so well. It’s irritating.”

He caught up to her. “Does that mean you don’t want to go your separate way?”

They’d come to the end of the street, to an area that began to make way for a lower-class residential neighborhood. Fewer people passed them here and the cobblestone was slowly turning to packed down dirt. If one traveled farther, one would end up at the steam transport station. There you could take a transport to anywhere in Rylisk, even rural Cherkhasii Province.

She turned to face him. “I’m used to being on my own. It’s easier that way.”

Anatol looked up at the sky, where heavy white clouds had begun to roll in. “Snow’s coming. Warmer with two.”

Perfectly rational. Rational stood no chance against strong emotion, especially when that emotion was fear. Her eyelid twitched. Still, she was determined. “I do fine alone.”

He shrugged, dropped his gaze to hers, and held it. “All right, good luck, Evangeline.” He turned and walked away.

“Anatol?”

He half turned toward her.

“How did you know all that, back there? We grew up together, but we were never close.”

He turned to fully face her, stared a moment, and then walked toward her. “I watched you, Evangeline. Watched your every move, every decision.”

Her eyes widened. “Why?”

He came up so close to her that she took a step back. Blue eyes intense, jaw locked, he walked her back even farther, until the wall of a knitting shop was flush against her back. “I had my reasons.”

“That’s not an answer.” Irritation had her narrowing her eyes and practically hissing at him. The man was more infuriating than she’d ever imagined.

“Maybe I’m not ready to give the real one.”

“I’ve never slept with you. How do you know I never enjoyed sex? No one knows that. Not even the men and women I’ve shared a bed with. You’re not the only one who can cast an illusion.”

“Because to enjoy sex you have to feel emotion. You never did.” His gaze bored into hers. “That’s how I know.”

“I feel emotion now.” Her voice even shook with it. All the careful walls she’d built over her life had been stripped away by the events of the last day, washed away in the flood of feeling brought on by seeing those she’d cared for—in her own way—beheaded in front of the palace.

Her old life was gone and she was like an infant in the new one, dangerously vulnerable and helpless. She hated it, hated it so much it burned in the back of her throat, shot rage through her bloodstream with every pound of her heart.

“I know.” He paused for long moment, his gaze dropping to her mouth and his face drifting closer to hers. “Maybe it’s time you learned what you’ve been missing.”

Her breath caught, her eyes widening.

“I despise the emotion I feel now.” Venom coursed out of her with the words. “If I could stop feeling it, I would. If I could, I would return to the way I was before—unfeeling, uncaring for anyone but myself. Life is a lot easier that way.”

“Being a real person hurts.” His voice was a low murmur now, his lips almost touching hers. “But there are benefits. There’s sweetness with the sorrow, pleasure with the pain.”

“I haven’t felt any sweetness yet, definitely not any pleasure.”

“Let me show you.”

The heat of him warmed her in more ways than one, making her heart rate ratchet upward and her body tense with something a lot like anticipation. All of it was strange to her. She wanted it to go away. Fisting her hands at her side, she readied herself to tell Anatol off.

“Anatol, Evangeline.”

Anatol stilled at the sound of Lilya’s voice, his lips almost touching Evangeline’s. His gaze caught on hers for a moment before he backed away from her, turned, and looked at the courtesan.

Evangeline cleared her throat and turned on shaky legs to face her as well.

Lilya smiled, watching them in silence for several long moments. “I see now quite clearly that neither of you are suited for life at the Temple of Dreams. I would still like to help, however, if you’ll let me.”

Anatol tipped his head a little to one side. “Why would you want to help us? We’re no one special to you.”

“Oh, but you are. You provide me with a way to pay back a kindness that was once extended to me. Once I had nothing, was left for dead, and someone helped me. He gave me my life back. I want to help you and I hope you’ll let me.” She paused. “I also want to do it because Evangeline needs to be shown that sometimes people will lend a helping hand even if there’s nothing in it for them but the satisfaction of knowing they’ve done the right thing.” She took her gloves from her pocket and drew them on. “Come with me. I know someone with a room to rent. I’ll pay your rent for a fortnight, just until you can get on your feet.”

Anatol shook his head and opened his mouth, but Lilya interrupted him. “I will not take no for an answer.” Glancing skyward she added, “There’s heavy weather on the way. You don’t want to spend it on the streets. Believe me, I know.”

The room was nothing like what Evangeline—or Anatol, she was sure—was used to. Anatol seemed far less disappointed by the sparse room, but she stood in the middle of it with a hole of despair opening up inside her.

“It’s clean and it’s warm. Vermin free.” Anatol took a turn around the room and surveyed the one highly elevated, rickety bed with a thin mattress, the cracked full-length mirror, the slanted night table, and the pock-holed dresser—the only furniture in the room. “And the landlord said there’s even a bathroom down the hall with running water. Mostly cold water, but we could be worse off.”

She could debate that the room was warm, and she was certain she’d seen a mouse on the way up the stairwell. Still, he sounded pleased. She stifled a small choking sound.

“Evangeline? Does it suit you?” asked Lilya.

She forced her vocal cords into action, knowing she needed to readjust her expectations in her new reality. “It’s better than an alley,” was all she could manage. It wasn’t exactly a gracious response. She was going to have to work on those.

But it was better than an alley. Especially since snow had begun to come down outside. It was falling faster, harder, and heavier, turning into a serious storm. She was at least grateful they weren’t shivering in an alley somewhere, without decent clothing or food in their belly, about to become frozen corpses in a snowdrift.

“Thank you again,” Evangeline added with a forced smile.

“It’s yours for the next two weeks at least.” Lilya walked toward the door. “Twenty crowns every week thereafter, so you’ll need to find a way to make some money. Now I’d better get back to the temple while I can still see my way. Good luck to you both. I’m certain I’ll see you again. And, of course, you always know where to find me. Consider me a friend.”

Anatol said his good-byes and Evangeline followed Lilya out, poking her head past the door frame as Lilya walked down the corridor toward the stairs. “Why did you change your mind? Why don’t you think we’re suited for the temple?” she asked Lilya’s retreating back.

Lilya paused, and then turned. “Because you’re in love with each other. That’s clear as day.” With a small smile, she continued down the corridor and descended the stairs, leaving Evangeline staring after her with a knitted brow.

Frowning, Evangeline shut the door. In love with each other? How ridiculous. Apparently she’d misconstrued that rather heated moment she’d witnessed back on the street in front of the sewing shop. Anatol might feel some lust for her, most men did, but that’s where it ended.

The man in question stood looking out the second story window at the deepening snow. “We need food, enough so that we can settle in for a while and wait out this weather,” he said without turning. His voice was low, serious.

“And how do you propose we get that with no money?”

He turned. “I’ll find a way. I have to. I have to do it soon, too.” He started for the door.

Evangeline had a ridiculous urge to ask him not to leave her alone, to tell him to be careful and not take any chances. The thought that he was going to leave her and perhaps be captured made her stomach go cold and empty. Maybe he would never come back. Maybe now that she’d decided to stay with him, invested her emotion in him, he would leave her alone.

And this was what aligning her life with another person’s brought. Nothing but confusion and pain.

She bit her lip against everything she wanted to say and turned away. “All right.”

His hand touched her cold arm. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

She swallowed hard, tamping down the thought—I hope so.

To distract herself after Anatol left, she walked down to the closet-sized bathroom that all the tenants on the floor shared and bathed with the inferior soap that was provided. It made her skin dry and her hair feel like straw, but she was clean—if chilled to the bone. Using the soap, she also washed her disgusting peasant clothes, which were sooty and stank of wood smoke.

Once she’d hung up her wet clothes to dry—something that would take a while in the chilly room—she clambered up into the high bed, curled up nude in the center of the mattress under the thin blankets, and wished with all her might for a fire. Her new tattoo and jewel ached and her hands and feet wouldn’t warm. Still, exhaustion stole over her and sank her deep into sleep not long after her head hit the lumpy pillow. She barely even thought about bedbugs.

Sometime after dusk the bed creaked and the weight of another person getting into it woke her from her deep sleep. Her eyelids cracked open to find the room dimly lighted by a kerosene lamp. She rolled over. “Anatol?”

“Are you hungry?”

She sat up, the blanket falling to her waist and the chill air kissing her bare breasts. Shivering, she covered herself. “I guess that depends on how much food we have.”

He gave her a part of a loaf of bread.

“Thank you.” She took it and bit into it. Chewing, she looked around the room, seeing his clothes hanging near hers. Then his state of dress registered. He wore a pair of underwear, tight ones that defined his rear and the shape of his cock in front, but that was all. She couldn’t help the sweep of her gaze over his body. She had always known that Anatol was a good-looking man in the face, but his body was good-looking, too. Muscle rippled and flexed over his chest, stomach, and down his strong-looking legs. She wondered how he’d come to be so in shape, since he’d lived in the palace his whole life and his magick was cerebral in nature.

Of course, there were many mysteries to Anatol. How was it he seemed to know his way around the streets? Why was he so much more at ease with their situation than she was? Why had he never played the palace political games like everyone else? Anatol remained an enigma to her on many levels.

She swallowed her bit of bread, her body reacting in a wholly new—and completely unwanted—way. “I found food for at least a couple of days if we ration it.” He jerked his head toward the top of the dresser, where a burlap bag lay.

“How did you get it?”

His face darkened. “I took risks.”

Her stomach dropped out as images from the beheading flooded her mind. “Don’t do that.”

He flashed a cocky smile at her. “I didn’t know you cared.”

She stared at the rest of the bread in her hand and forced her voice to be flat as she answered, “I only care because you’re linked to me. My care for you is only selfish.”

“Of course, Evangeline. Are you cold?”

“A little.”

He took the rest of the bread from her hand, wrapped it in a bit of cloth, and set it on the night table. “Move over and I’ll warm you.”

She turned over and settled down on her side. Anatol blew out the lamp and tucked in beside her, his strong chest flush against her back and his legs against the backs of hers. His arm curled over her waist and his hand lay on the mattress snuggled just near her stomach.

Her modesty had left her sometime while she’d been growing up and she’d stopped caring about showing her nude body to others, but there was something different about this, something unsettling. Something intimate. It made her stomach roll and flutter.

“Relax,” Anatol sighed against her ear, raising gooseflesh all along her arms. “As beautiful as you are, I’m in no condition to take advantage of the situation. Sleep.”

The state of his lower body gave lie to his words, his cock poking into the flesh of her rear, but she closed her eyes anyway, too tired to care very much about it. Men had hard-ons for women. They lusted and wanted to fuck anything that moved. It was no big surprise that Anatol would want to fuck her. He was a man and she was a woman. Those were the rules.