"I earn enough to keep myself and Casimir fed. Just not enough to buy out a Lioness contract."

"I know that. That's not what I meant."

"What then?"

Lena circled around until she was facing him, one hand still on his shoulder, the other lightly touching his fingertips. Ammas suddenly felt deeply at sea. "You've had a very hard day. I don't think you should be alone tonight."

"Oh. Well. I'm not -- well, I'm never alone anymore, now Casimir is here, and I still have my client, of course, I suppose I could bunk in the chancel -- "

"Ammas, that's not what I meant."

Ammas swallowed hard and looked Lena in the eye. They were much bluer than his own, well matching her honey blonde hair. Her smile was as pretty as he had ever seen. Helplessly he felt his tongue wetting his lips, from anxiety rather than lasciviousness. "Lena -- no -- I -- you don't owe me anything. At all. Especially not . . . not that."

"I owe you everything," she murmured. Now the hand on his shoulder was roaming his hair, her nails, chipped though some were, feeling absolutely lovely against his scalp. Ammas could feel the skin shrinking pleasurably against his skull. It had been a very long time. "But it's not about owing you. It's because I want you." She tilted her head up -- not much, she was a tall woman -- and touched her lips to his, kissing gently, the tip of her tongue grazing his mouth. The cloak she wore was heavy, but he could feel her body sinuous beneath it, warm and pliant and so very welcoming.

Ammas's hands hung useless at his sides. He seemed almost paralyzed.

Lena broke the kiss, frowning a little. "You don't want me?"

"I -- no -- it's not -- "

Lena took a step back, smiling ruefully, almost cynically. "This is because I'm a whore, isn't it?"

Ammas shook his head. Speech seemed beyond him. Suddenly Lena looked thoroughly embarrassed, one hand going to her mouth.

"Oh, gods -- you -- you favor men. I'm sorry, Ammas, I never knew."

"I don't favor men," he whispered. "I favor women."

Embarrassment gave way to confusion. "You've taken a vow?"

He shook his head, trying to find spit in his mouth enough to talk. "Cursewrights aren't priests. Many of us even married." He laughed shrilly, and something in his staring eyes made him look younger and somehow wounded. "I just -- I -- "

"Oh gods," she whispered, in a wholly different tone than she had only a few seconds before. Her arms went around Ammas and she held him tightly to her, pressing her cheek to his, filling him with her perfume and the far more intriguing natural scent of her that lurked beneath. "I heard how badly the Emperor's men hurt your kind. They -- they cut you, didn't they? Before you escaped?"

Ammas shook his head. He was shaking now. Not violently, but enough for Lena to notice. The softness of her cheek felt utterly divine against him, as did her body. At last his hands touched her hips, gingerly, as if he feared being burnt. "I wasn't -- cut." He hesitated. "Not physically."

Lena drew back just far enough to look into his eyes, though she seemed resistant to the idea of letting go of him. "I don't understand."

"It's . . . difficult," he stammered. "I . . . saw something during the breaking. Something I wish I'd never seen."

"What was it?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"Don't ask me. I can't talk about it. My family -- " He broke off, breathing heavily for a second, closing his eyes, shuddering, slowly composing himself.

Lena hardly breathed. She knew Ammas's father had been a victim of the Emperor's purge, but she had never heard that Ammas had seen whatever had happened to him.

Ammas seemed more at ease, though still far from his usual self. "Ever since, I just . . . my body can't summon the urge. It's all right. It makes being alone easier to bear." He laughed acidly, looking away from her. "I wouldn't be much of a lover to you, Lena."

Gently Lena stroked Ammas's cheek. "You won't take aardgold?"

He shook his head. "I know too much about it. Used too often, it damages the heart beyond recovery." Again he looked away. "Besides, it wouldn't be real. It wouldn't be me."

"Still," a peculiarly playful note had crept into Lena's voice. "You have hands, don't you?"

Ammas looked at her warily. "I do."

"And a tongue?"

"I do."

"Then a clever girl might make do with you after all."

"Lena -- "

Before he could say anything else, Lena had kissed him again, more firmly this time, and lingering longer. She was a trifle breathless when she pulled back, reluctantly slipping her hands down. "I won't push, Ammas. But -- well, my door is open, I suppose." A shy, strangely girlish smile curled her lips. "Besides, my father thinks the world of you."

Ammas smiled wanly. He wasn't shaking anymore, but a cold sweat had sheened up on his forehead and cheeks, and he could feel it plastering his shirt to his body. "We could . . . talk about it, Lena. But later. Later. Let me see to my client first."

Lena nodded. "Yes, I suppose you do owe her that. I'd like to help, if I can."

"What about Laurette?"

"If she knows you're watching over me, and she's getting some kind of cut, she won't do anything but snap at me." Lena grinned, more fiendishly than before. "I can take her words. I've heard much worse."

"Lena, I have to tell you, I may need to take her out of the city for treatment. I don't have what she needs here."

Lena nodded slowly. "How long will you be gone?"

"At least three weeks. Probably longer."

She nodded, considering. "Might I come with you?"

"I can't possibly ask that of you. It's liable to be dangerous. I can't ask anyone but Carala herself. I'm not even sure I should bring Casimir. I may leave him in Barthim's care until I return."

"All right, Ammas. But I'm going to ask again when you set out."

At last a genuine smile touched his face. "You're delightfully stubborn, Lena."

She curtsied gracefully, a crooked grin on her face. "So are you, Master Cursewright." Ammas laughed at that, and Lena turned to head back into the temple.

Before she could slip away he called to her. "Lena?" She looked at him, a faint hope glimmering in her eyes. "I can't afford to buy off your contract, but I might know some people who could. Apothecaries and clinics elsewhere in the city. It's not as good as what you make now, but it's better than tavern work, and there are no contracts."

Lena shook her head sadly. "I've looked into this, Ammas. None of them will hire a whore."

"They'll hire someone the city's only cursewright recommends to them."

Her face brightened at once. "You'd do that for me?"

Ammas nodded. "Gladly. And any learning you need for the job, I'd be glad to provide. You taught yourself your letters, so I know you'd be a fine student."

Lena looked very much as if she wanted to swoop in and kiss him again, but she seemed to think better of it and instead turned into the temple, heading for Carala's bedside. Ammas gave a great shuddering sigh of relief and collapsed on the garden footstool, dousing his burning face with ice-cold water before he stepped back inside.

Casimir was waiting for him in the chancel like a miniature valet, holding out a set of fresh robes that were, as requested, heavier than the ones drying by the fire. Ammas slipped them over his head and, once he'd adjusted them and scooped up his belt from the altar to cinch, found that Casimir had brought him his hat and boots as well. As Ammas adjusted the hat over his curls, Casimir burst out, "I knew Lena liked you, Ammas."

Ammas looked down at the boy, startled, keeping his eye fixed on his apprentice's as he took his boots from him. "And how much of that private conversation did you hear?"

Casimir shook his head. "Not much. I took a step back when I saw her kissing you." His grin threatened to split his head asunder. "But I was right! Barthim said she'd get bored of you when she saw you couldn't beat him at chess, but I think he was joking. Sometimes I don't know."

"Nor do I," Ammas replied drily. "Casimir, this listening at keyholes should really stop."

"Why?" The boy seemed honestly bewildered. "You keep telling me cursewrights need to know things nobody else does."

Ammas looked down at the boy, expecting a jest and finding no trace of one in his earnest face. Apparently Barthim the Beast had been teaching him his brand of logic along with chess stratagems. "That we do," he said at last with a crooked smile, clapping Casimir on the shoulder and guiding him toward his chapel bedroom.