“Show me,” Zevin demanded.

Xyra pulled away from the carriage window. She never ventured to this side of Honor. Here, the buildings sloped hard, and she could see far beyond the city’s walls and into the green land beyond.

“I didn’t bring anything,” she said, confused. Was she supposed to? Did she forget?

Zevin sat in a strange way, one leg crossed over the other. His eyes rested on her. “Don’t think for a moment that I’m a fool, Lynette.”

Xyra sat back as much as she could with her wings. When Zevin opened the door, she had doubts that it was a big enough thing for her wings to enter. But, once she’d wiggled her way inside, it proved to be a very pretty, very spacious place.

“I don’t think you’re a fool. I think you’re a nice person.”

“It’s your charade of innocence. You act more like a child than the youngest of my sisters.”

“Oh. Thank you!”

“That isn’t a compliment!” Zevin snapped at her.

Xyra jumped at the forcefulness of his retort. Why is he so angry? Guilt sparked in her stomach. “I-I didn’t know you wanted me to bring anything! I would have brought-“

“Perhaps another angle.” Zevin sat back in his seat. “Volsten is a man that I’ve known for quite some time. As such, I am aware of both his strengths and, ah, weaknesses.” With that, Zevin took hold of the tall, purple bottle next to him. Miss Vora often drank from one, but poured into a glass rather than from the bottle itself.

She remembered her calling it ‘wine’.

Zevin made a great show of opening it. He raised it to his lips but paused to smile at her. Xyra smiled back, though she didn’t feel much like doing so. His tongue flashed from his mouth and over the bottle’s opening, trailing around the rim and even entering it a few times.

Xyra didn’t recall Miss Vora ever doing that. And perhaps it wouldn’t have made her so uncomfortable if Zevin didn’t hold her eyes with his own as he licked. Oh, why did he do that? She tried her best not to squirm.

His tongue retreated. “Take, for example, this wine. A woman as beautiful as you, though a lowly servant, would appreciate its refined taste. Nothing as uncouth as beer would do for you, especially living with Lady Chamiret, whose tastes are as full as her chest. Am I…wrong, Lynette?”

Without waiting for her answer, he took the bottle to his lips, and began to drink. After a moment, streams of the purple wine flowed from the corner of his mouth and over his short beard. Xyra was beginning to feel something new, something that made her face want to scrunch until it was gone.

An awful, wet sound met her ears as he drank on, and Xyra thought the carriage slow enough for her to make a safe exit into the half-crowded streets.

“Oh, um, my tastes? I do like the, uh…the wine, that Miss Vora drinks. It’s very sweet. But I don’t feel like myself after a cup, so I don’t drink too much…”

Zevin pulled the bottle from his lips. By now the streams caused his beard to drip, and there were stains on his elegant sash. He all but pushed the bottle into her. “Then have a taste of it. I don’t know which wine your buxom mistress drinks, but Hasenfell is one of the finest wines in the land-and Volsten dislikes it! Imagine that!”

As gently as she could, Xyra pushed the bottle back. “No, I don’t…I don’t want to.” She didn’t dislike the way wine made her feel. She found it quite fun, and Miss Vora did as well, but there was something about this that subdued her thirst.

“I insist.” Zevin forced it again towards her. “When you are offered something out of the kindness of another’s heart, you should accept it.”

Xyra looked down at the bottle, shielded from her chest by her hands. Its opening glistened in the light of the carriage, the dark water within barely visible. “Just a little, ok? Miss Vora says that I shouldn’t drink too much.” Xyra took the bottle to her lips and lifted until a few sweets drops wet her tongue.

Oh! Before Xyra knew it, she had taken more than a few gulps of the delicious drink.

Something rubbed her thigh, over the gown Miss Vora made for her. She lowered the bottle in surprise but saw nothing when she looked.

Zevin was especially interested in the sunny view outside of the carriage, until his eyes happened to glance at her. He leaned back and stroked at his drying beard. “I see that you like the taste. Far better than any of the swill Volsten offered you, I take it?”

Xyra wiped at her mouth with a sleeve, then looked down. She was ashamed of how much she wanted another gulp. “He never offered me anything to drink.”

“How unfortunate,” Zevin lamented with a shake of his head. “You give away that which is most precious to women, and he can’t be bothered to offer you a drink! Meanwhile I, with no promise of ever receiving your womanhood, have offered you the best that I can.”

“You have been much nicer to me, I think,” Xyra said, her cheeks growing warmer. The sweet wine was working its wonders on her already.

Zevin leaned forward, his dark eyes strange. His hand reached out to her knee, where it rested. “I see that your cheeks are no longer as pale as they once were.”

Xyra stared wide-eyed at the hand, as if it would pull the leg from her body. The gown protected her scales and skin from his touch, but only just.

“You aren’t the first of Volsten’s priors that I conquer, Lynette. I can tell you that each one leaves happier than before.”

“Can…can we talk about something else?”

“What-why in the world would we do that? Do you not know the opportunity you’ve been given?”

The warmth of the wine strong within her, Xyra hugged the bottle close. “Do you like fruit?”

Zevin sighed, and rather than answering, leaned back into his seat. He looked angry. Maybe he didn’t like fruit.

“I love fruit,” Xyra continued. “Until I came here, I’d only had apples and berries. Then Miss Vora showed me pears and oranges, and I love those too now. But none of them are as sweet or tasty as moonberries!”

“Truly, I do not care.”

Xyra’s head tilted. So he didn’t like fruit. “Oh. Do you like flowers, then? Miss Vora has a garden-“

“This makes no sense!” Zevin shouted.

Startled, Xyra jumped. The bottle in her embrace was near to shattering.

“Any servant girl would be overjoyed to be in your position, yet you waste my time with pointless small talk! I should throw you from my carriage for such disrespect!”

What did I do wrong? Xyra’s mind raced in panic. “I-I’m sorry!”

Zevin’s fists clenched, and his eyes closed. When again he looked at her, he did so with a much calmer face. It made Xyra feel no more comfortable than before. “You should be. This is easily fixed by more wine, however. I wonder how annoying you can be when barely able to form a sentence. My guess is ‘not very’.” He pointed to the bottle that now sat between her legs.

“I think I drank too much already.”

“I hope you aren’t worried about what your mistress thinks. Unless you tell her, there’s no way for her to know about this.”

Xyra raised the bottle but stopped chest high. How desperately she wanted another touch of its sweetness, another feeling of warmth to match the one she had now.

Zevin stared at her with an expectant smile. “Not to mention the rudeness of rejecting a heartfelt offer, Lynette. What kind of person hurts someone-a friend, even-by treating their gifts as unwanted?”

The pang of guilt was all she needed. She lifted the bottle to her lips and drank.