The courtyard of the Peacock held several round tables of polished wood with designs inlaid in the tops, which appeared to in at least some cases be game boards, with stools around them. Two rectangles of couches had been placed close together so people could recline on them and converse, each couch with a small table; one rectangle was of three, one of seven. Clusters of chairs, some of them the local hourglass-front style, some more exotic ones in styles they'd seen in other places or entirely unfamiliar, often with small ornate tables nearby, filled the rest of the courtyard, though there was always space to move easily between the groupings of furniture.

Along the central half of one long side, out a short distance from the wall, the floor had been raised by a couple of hand-widths in a broad strip, and on it were the musicians Kaveri had heard: a trio of men in colourful tunics, two with drums of very different kinds and a third with a stringed thing with a neck; one drummer and the one with the stringed thing were singing. Along the wall nearest the stage, sliding doors stood open, showing rooms that were similarly furnished.

At least half the seats were filled.

Kaveri picked out at least three voices as they passed that all said variations of, “Lysandra's here!” and all in tones of delight.

“In the courtyard?” Narcissa asked. “Where we'll be in the moonlight when the moons rise? Or inside?”

“From what you've said,” Kaveri said, “there are a lot of people here who are going to have a very high likelihood of spotting us, and that's probably not a good thing. So it's best if we give them fewer clues. Inside.”

Narcissa nodded. She clasped Lysandra's hand briefly, with a smile, then let go and led the way around the stage area while Lysandra headed directly for it.

“No titles, no honorifics?” Tyrel said quietly.

“Not here,” Narcissa said. “Everyone is equal.” She indicated a ring of chairs. “Here?”

“They have ale?” Madoc said, as they made themselves comfortable. “I thought it was considered barbaric in Enodia.”

“It is.” Kaveri wasn't sure whether that was confirmation of how it was seen, or of the essential barbarity of it. “But Ingo isn't the only northerner who comes here. They also have a number of wines, meads, and several types of tea and juices for those who prefer to avoid anything intoxicating.”

“Speaking of that,” Tyrel said. “You're probably going to find that it has less of an effect on you than before, especially at night. If you're in the moonlight, it'll be almost none.”

“Interesting. It's treated as a poison?”

“I think so.”

“Good to know.”

The serving-girl who came over was wearing a dress of a soft pale yellow with multi-coloured bands near the hems of skirt and sleeves and sweeping neckline, and a loose-weave fringed shawl of violet-blue was tied around her waist; silver gleamed high on her ears as well as in larger hoops through her earlobes, and she had her eyes darkened. The shape beneath, Kaveri thought, was unlikely to be female, but then, the nature of the Peacock had been explained: this was safe haven for those who crossed gender lines, those who were attracted to their own sex, those who preferred more than a single partner, those who in one way or another, sometimes or always, simply could not be happy within traditional roles and marriage. Given their requests, she returned promptly with three pottery mugs of ale, one of local mead for Kaveri since she rather liked it, and an elegant deep cup of watered wine for Narcissa.

“I've had worse,” Madoc pronounced, after a swallow of it.

“Ezkurra's is better,” Mirren muttered.

“Who?” Narcissa asked.

“Someone I was working for when this bunch turned my life upside-down.” Mirren shrugged. “It's certainly been a lot more interesting than spending my whole life with my father and his brother and making a living washing dishes and sometimes serving ale and food I sometimes helped to make.”

“No husband? Or is that rude to ask?”

“It's not rude. I was betrothed once. He convinced me to have sex with him, then changed his mind because of that and refused to marry me. I think I was better off without him. I probably still would've been working anyway, I don't think he could have supported a family alone, I just would have been trying to do it around having children. Probably still looking after my father and uncle, too. But I left them in the hands of a good housekeeper with the money to pay her a long time, if she doesn't marry one of them first. I do like children, and under other conditions I'd have liked to have two or three I think, but that's no longer an option. Unless I adopt them. I think I will, someday.”

“No chance at all?” Narcissa sounded more interested than disappointed.

“Believe me,” Kaveri said. “If we actually could conceive, I would have by now. No related sorts of cycles, either. Just the one overwhelming one that influences everything.”

“That will be a welcome change.” She gave Kaveri a questioning look.

Kaveri just laughed. “Why I never married is a long story. My life's gone through abrupt and unexpected major changes more than once.” She traded grins with Tyrel and Madoc. “Although where I grew up, marriage is basically a pledge between two or more people to live together, support one another materially and emotionally, and share the care of any children born to any women who are part of it. So I suppose in that sense, I have three husbands and a co-wife.”

“Defining terms is always important.” Narcissa sounded amused, and a smile tugged at her tinted lips.

“Oh, thank Aithre and the Twelve and One, Narcissa, you're truly all right!” A couple paused just outside the ring of chairs until Narcissa inclined her head in invitation; only then did one take the remaining chair, and the other stole a stool from a nearby game-table.

The taller of the pair, by a full head, was wearing a pale rose dress with a deeper rose fringed shawl wrapped over it that matched the broad borders of the dress, and a substantial volume of gold jewellery in women's styles; her hair was braided and coiled, her eyes were darkened and her lips were dark rose. The other wore a tunic of a mellow warm brown with narrow yellow bands along the borders, and a heavy gold bracelet and three rings with differing stones, hair cropped to shoulder-length. Kaveri would have been willing to wager that the shorter one had tightly bound breasts under that tunic, and that the taller's silhouette owed something to padding.

Narcissa made introductions both ways. The taller she named as Demetria, the shorter as Timaios.

“We were worried about the two of you,” Demetria said. “I got away to hear your speech this morning, but you're entirely too good at keeping things to yourself.”

“We heard you were injured,” Timaios added.

“It was messy but very minor,” Narcissa assured them. “Thaleia and Phaidra were less fortunate. Our rescuers have agreed to stay as our personal guards until we're certain there's no further danger.”

Both eyed the four foreigners.

“You lost someone in the attack?” Demetria said sympathetically.

“Dying in a battle is a good death,” Madoc said. “The kind our gods approve of, and what can you ask of life beyond good company, good ale, and a good and honourable death? But the job isn't finished, and it would dishonour his death to leave it that way. We'll be here until we know the ladies are safe.”

“He'd want us to,” Mirren added. “And it's harder to miss someone when you're busy.”

“By all reports, you certainly took care of a bear and an eagle handily enough,” Timaios said. “Supernatural ones, at that. Not that I couldn't imagine Oreios doing something like that, but Neaira, over a hospital that will make it safer for women to give birth and where children can get help? Not likely.”

“We've encountered something like them before,” Tyrel said. “They are very definitely not connected to any Enodian god.”

“Of course not,” Demetria said. “The Oracle wouldn't say that unless she were absolutely certain. And the wolf?”

“According to Glyceria,” Timaios said, “the wolf's blood was yellow, and the bear’s was blue.”

“Was it?” Narcissa said noncommittally. “I was rather distracted.”

“Not asking,” Demetria said, with a low chuckle. “We're just grateful you're well and not giving up on what you do.”

“Never,” Narcissa said, her tone suddenly fierce. “No one is going to frighten me out of getting the hospitals firmly established and making certain they're open to everyone. No one is going to make an example of my sister while I'm alive.”

“We know,” Demetria said pacifyingly. “You're nothing if not dedicated. We're right behind you, if we can do anything, I hope you know that. And speaking of your sister, I think she's about to start, so we'll leave you and your new friends to enjoy.”

“Interesting pair,” Madoc murmured as they moved off.

“They're married,” Narcissa said. “Publicly, Demetria is Linos, one of the wealthiest and canniest spice merchants in Enodia. Timaios, as Kallirhoe, has a rather fearsome reputation for being able to see the potential, or lack thereof, in a painter or sculptor's work and providing the support and resources to bring overlooked talent to full fruit, along with being a significant and active patron of several organizations that help orphans, widows, wives and children suffering from abuse, the crippled, and others in extreme need. They own houses in Orthia and here and a country villa, that I know of. In private, at home or here, they trade roles, and they're both happier that way. They’re very good friends. Most nights, I would join them.”

“Household staff are all discreet?” Mirren guessed.

Narcissa smiled as she raised her cup. “Or have reasons of their own to be personally grateful. Some are from among those in need. Some would fit in here. Or do so. Some of mine reached me through them, and I’m grateful.” Her forehead furrowed. “I should talk to them about making sure my people won't find themselves on the street, if anything happens to me. It would be a reasonable fear right now, and I'd like to know that eventually, when I have to leave, they won't suffer for it.”

The music changed, now something with a heavier beat, and Lysandra took up position in the middle of the stage. She had a long translucent white veil, so light it drifted slowly in the air, wrapped loosely around her torso with the ends trailing down her back. Across the audience, several hands began to keep time, clapping or banging tables.

“Watch,” Narcissa said softly.

Lysandra started slow in time with the beat, shimmying and swirling, always in motion so she was playing to all sides at once.

As the speed of the drums gradually increased, so did hers.

More and more hands thumped on tables in time, flattened or fisted, or clapped.

Somehow, she let the veil unwind as she moved, and caught the edge in both hands to use as she danced, the veil now behind her, now in front, now swirling around her and now over her head. The coins of her belt flashed and jingled with the motions of her hips, accentuating them, and at moments the serpent on her belly looked almost like it was flexing its coils.

She made the young woman they'd seen dance in the temple look like a child practising.

And sheer exhilaration came across in every gesture as clearly as the sensuality.

“That,” Narcissa said quietly, without looking away, “is what keeps my sister alive. Take this away, and while my cousin might technically still live, he would never feel whole or happy. But while she's dancing, she is what she's meant to be. A number of people who have seen her dance say Aithre blessed her at birth—but divine blessings are never easy.”

“Not a lot of possible paths?” Tyrel said. Kaveri snuck a peek, though reluctant to miss a moment, and found without surprise that both brothers were watching with rapt fascination.

“Most women dance in public only once, in front of the Great Mother's statue in the temple on the day they're married, to ask her blessing. A few become professional dancers as entertainers, a few join one temple or another. Many assume that all professional dancers are prostitutes. It's worse for those like my sister, harder to get jobs without being prostitutes as well, and they cannot always depend on support from their families. There is Aithre's temple, though there are rules for those who pledge themselves there. If Lysandra doesn't choose to come, that's likely where she'll go. Otherwise... I think she'll die. And whatever's left of Evander would eventually suicide. It was close, a few times, before we found a balance.”

As Lysandra wound to a finish, the veil settling neatly across her arms, Narcissa met Kaveri's eyes.

“I can't leave her any more than I could leave without making sure the hospitals continue.”

“You won't have to,” Kaveri said gently. “We have time to make sure nothing's left unfinished.” In her experience, there was always something else left unfinished, but this wasn't the moment for that, and they could cover the major ones.

“Moonladies,” Tyrel said, as Lysandra, laughing, dropped the veil in her basket and looked expectantly at the musicians. “If we go far enough from here for no one to have seen anyone dance like this anyway, and she does this, she would definitely not have any trouble getting jobs. Convincing a few that they don't get to keep her, maybe.”

“And with us around,” Madoc added, “no one else is going to get close enough to find out details they don't need to know.”

“How long can she keep this up?” Mirren asked, as Lysandra began again, this one a much more energetic fast-paced one, with more staccato sharp motions of her hips and also of her shoulders and ribcage, more rapid footwork, without ever losing the fluidity of the whole. The control she had in isolating and moving individual sets of muscles was formidable. No wonder she picked up self-defence lessons so readily.

“She'll do a few now, then rest, then do more. Not all will be on the stage itself, there's space between tables for reasons other than serving drinks and food. Later, there are usually a few amateurs or novices who want to, or other sorts of dancing. There's a parallel for men, done with a cane or short staff, based on combat moves so it feels more sharp and rigid and it's more about being strong and acrobatic. It can be pleasant to watch. Some of the resident foreigners have decided before to show us what they consider dancing.”

“Don't look at me,” Mirren laughed. “Everything from Galimont is for groups.”

“About the closest we know,” Tyrel said, “is formalized fighting routines done against imaginary enemies. Kaveri can dance.”

“Not for an audience,” Kaveri said.

“Ingo dancing is a memorable sight,” Narcissa said reflectively. “Aside from whoever's officially working, it's entirely voluntary.” She looked up with a smile as a woman in a short cream-and-russet tunic, her long hair loose, stopped near them. “Yes, Elpis, Lysandra and I are both well. Will you sit down? Antheia isn't with you?”

By the time they left, much later, Narcissa had reassured what felt like half the population of Phleion about her and Lysandra. They'd seen Lysandra dance with her veil, with a tambourine, with a pair of brightly-coloured feathered fans, and with nothing but her own body in motion, both on the stage and circulating around the room; somehow, she coaxed Kaveri into joining her for a lesson, with her tunic shed, and while Kaveri didn't feel she'd particularly embarrassed herself, she did have a whole new appreciation for the skill and discipline involved.

They’d had supper, and the available dishes included several that were exotic for Enodia but less so to the moonblood quartet.

They met locals and foreigners, people who couldn't conform and people who could but loved someone who couldn't, all at least courteous if not outgoing and welcoming—though being there with Narcissa and Lysandra might have influenced that. Flirting had happened, increasing as the night went on and the four newcomers played along but declined anything further, but that might have helped with the general acceptance.

And a substantial fraction of them, Kaveri was certain, could if given any clues at all spot their differences as easily as Evander had noticed the blood during the battle, and identify them as not human as readily as Dayo had long ago. A dangerous environment to be in, when they wanted to simply be still-human Narcissa's foreign human bodyguards. But what else could they have done? Narcissa, clearly, had been right about the repercussions if they hadn't gone.

“Here, let me take that,” Narcissa said, adroitly stealing the basket from Lysandra. “You're always tired, and always still too afire with all that passion to feel it until we get home.”

“Just as well, then,” Lysandra retorted, “or how would you get me home, if I simply collapsed in the street like a drunkard who won at dice? See if Demetria would lend you a mule to sling me over with my bottom in the air, maybe?”

“Silly,” Narcissa said fondly.

Madoc's gaze snapped to track motion; he made a low warning grunt, deep in his throat, and let a hand drop to his sica. Kaveri saw two human figures in the shadow of a narrow gap between buildings reconsider and flit back the other way.

She wasn't at all sure Lysandra even noticed.

That wasn't wine, either—she'd seen the dancer drink only well-watered wine, and even that not in excess. It would probably be difficult to maintain that level of control after drinking too much.

Hermia opened the door for them, hiding a yawn. It looked to Kaveri like Melanippe and teenaged maid Clytie had fallen asleep on two of the courtyard's wicker couches, with the remains of a meal and a jug of wine on the small tables in front of them, and that Hermia had been on a third.

“A good night with no trouble, I take it?” Hermia asked.

“Yes,” Narcissa said. “Here?”

“The same. Pherusa and all got home not long ago, they've gone to bed. Apparently they had a wonderful evening.”

Narcissa nodded. “Get some sleep.”

“I will.” Hermia bolted the door securely.

Narcissa twined a hand into Lysandra's, urging her upstairs.

“Then we'll go to bed,” Lysandra sighed, following only reluctantly. “And then morning will be here, much too quickly.”

“I know, love,” Narcissa said gently. “But you can't stay awake forever. There are daytime things we both need to do that are important to a lot of people.”

The four foreigners headed up to the roof, to bathe in the last of the moonlight.

Madoc tested the newly-added frame around the mouth of the courtyard. “That's pretty solid. With a net over it, it will at least slow down anything trying to get in. If we weave the edges right through the rings so it won't come off without being cut, better yet.”

The “net” was actually wide strips of fabric, long enough to reach across the gap from side to side, made thick but with a dense pattern of large regular holes that approximated a net. It was much easier to do than spinning cord and knotting it, but should be equally effective. At the edges, they simply wove each strip into the holes of the next, all one piece, to create a single expanse that could cover the whole opening. They didn't have enough of it yet, but they were getting there.

Tyrel looked up. “And Talir's gone. Only four more nights without Kieran, then he'll be back.”

“And maybe then,” Madoc said, “we can come up with more of a plan than watching for immediate danger.”