From the ridge they descended into rolling meadow country. Mewling seagulls circled overhead, and the air carried the pungent tang of the sea. Dyas spied flocks of sheep beyond hawthorn enclosures, while ignoring the curious stares of the shepherds who waved at them.

At midmorning they rested by a stream, bathing their faces and drinking of the cold, clear water before continuing. Dyas sweated under his hat, and took it off to fan himself, almost as often as he left it on his head. Adarrel, on the other hand, did not seem troubled by the heat or dust at all.

While still by the stream he pointed out a hazy mass on the horizon, darker green than the surrounding countryside. “That’s where we’re headed,” he said. “It isn’t much, not like the forests on Ikun. The high places there are covered in trees. I’ve gone there to help cut timber for boats, and we plant as much as we take. The best boats come from our island, you know.” Having heard Olenwë make that claim more times than he could count, Dyas merely nodded.

What awaited him did not disappoint. One entered the woodland through sparse stands of birch, silvery-white against verdant undergrowth, following a path of trampled greenery past hedgerows and dense thickets into groves abundant with larch and walnut. Misty sunlight filtered down from above, and as Adarrel led him toward a brook Dyas took care to avoid the half-eaten, unripe walnuts dropped by squirrels from the branches above.

Adarrel doffed his hat by the bank and bent to sluice water over his head. “Is it what you hoped?”

Such images had been part of his dreams ever since the wolf spirit first appeared to him: woodlands so dense and deep that man rarely penetrated the gloom, and mountains where the wind bit with the kiss of frost. Adarrel might dream of the ocean, its golden kelp forests and coral reefs, as those gifted with the hrill or dolphin often did, but in visions Dyas went to realms he would never see as a man. “Yes,” he murmured, “I thought it might be something like this.”

“Then let me show you something else, if I can find it.”

Adarrel led him to a clearing. An abundance of cornflowers filled the sunlit space. “Go ahead and pick some,” he said. “You won’t find these in Thevit.”

Dyas shook his head at the strange request, yet ventured forward. Brushing through the grass, his approach stirred the blossoms, and in an instant they were airborne, an astonishing cloud of pale blue wings. As he lifted his arms to shield his face he heard Adarrel’s laughter behind him, then the man was by his side, arms tight around his waist, pulling him close.

“Butterflies,” he said. “Lachant blues. I couldn’t let you leave without seeing them.”

Dyas had not the breath to protest the ruse, or the body pressed against him, or even the mouth descending on his, drawing him into a kiss. Butterflies settled around them, blue motes flitting inside sunbeams, and all he felt were the soft brush of their wings and the sun’s warmth and the lips moving against his.

He knew how to kiss. His first encounter, so long ago, he had instigated, cornering one of his tormentors and pouncing on him like an agitated wolf. Shut up and fuck me. Such had been the magic of that night, spent with someone he cared nothing about. There were no sunbeams, no flowers, not even the approving ripple of water in the Lady’s basin.

This was not like that. This time the wolf in him did not have to pounce, for here was someone who actually wanted him, who did not grope or try to remove his clothes. This was a tenderness unfamiliar to him, and it unnerved him enough that after a few dizzying moments he pushed Adarrel away.

“What’s wrong?” Confusion mingled with hurt in Adarrel’s eyes. I’m a lousy kisser, aren’t I?”

“No, you—” Gods, you’re wonderful. But Dyas did not know how to say it, or anything at that moment. “I just—”

Adarrel sighed, “There’s someone else, isn’t there? Is it Lamad? It can’t possibly be that prissy little snob Elantho.”

“No, it’s not them.” Dyas turned, blindly searching for a place to sit down before his legs failed him, and found a patch of ground a few yards away. “There was somebody once in Sirilon. He preferred someone else.”

Adarrel tossed down his hat and leather bag, then helped Dyas with his. “So you don’t like me?”

“I never said that.”

When Adarrel rummaged through his bag and produced bread, cheese, and dried fruit left over from the festival, Dyas could not muster enough appetite to touch any of it. Though they sat in the shade, the sun was too bright in his eyes, the butterflies too much a distraction.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“Were you serious when you kissed me, or just looking for an easy lay?”

Adarrel snorted and tossed him a dried apricot. “You can rip my throat out, so I think I’d better be serious. Eat something or you’ll be hungry on the way back.”

Dyas nibbled on the apricot and drank a little water from the brook. “Did you plan to do that all along?”

“Just when I remembered the butterflies,” answered Adarrel. “Teval showed them to me when he brought me here.”

“Did you kiss him, too?”

Adarrel flicked another apricot at him. “Are you jealous? No, I didn’t kiss him. He doesn’t like me that way, always teases me about smelling like fish. You want to tell me about this other person, the one you liked in Sirilon?”

“Not really.” But once he spoke Dyas had known he would not be able to avoid the subject. I should never have said anything. “His name is Tharril. He came to the Blue House when I was seventeen.”

After a moment’s silence Adarrel made an impatient gesture. “You’re not going to stop there, are you?”

Glaring, Dyas landed an apricot square in the center of Adarrel’s chest. “What more is there?”

“Did anything happen between you and this Tharril?”

“I told you, he preferred someone else. He never even looked at me.”

Adarrel plucked the apricot out of his lap and popped it in his mouth. “How can anybody avoid looking at you?” he asked, chewing.

As he spoke, perhaps to emphasize his point, he did precisely that, his gaze so intent that Dyas flushed and looked away. Dyas heard his own heartbeat hammering in his breast, and was certain Adarrel heard it, too. Gods, stop that. You’re twenty-nine, not some foolish teenage boy smitten for the first time. “When I’m not being a pain in the ass it’s rather easy.”

“You’re not a pain all the time.”