Renica walked inside with Vikarik in tow and tossed her pack up onto one of the beds, then turned to me. “What do you think, Ionat?” she asked.

“About what?” I said cautiously.

“About – everything, I guess.” She pulled out the desk chair and sat down with a sigh. “About the V…”

“Careful,” I cut her off quickly, looking around. “you don’t know how thick these walls are.”

She frowned. “You think people might be listening to us?”

“I don’t know, but I think it’s safer to assume they are,” I replied, sitting on the other chair. “Renica, the people you’re talking about are powerful and dangerous. Do you really think they wouldn’t have spies in a place like this? I know I would, just to see if anyone was trying to work against me, if nothing else.”

She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of anything like that,” she admitted. “Do people truly do that to one another?”

“They do, yeah, and the more powerful they are, the more likely they are to do it.” I looked at her seriously. “Information and knowledge are power, Renica. The more you know about potential enemies, the easier they are to defeat, and the more information you have on your friends, the simpler it is to deal with them.”

She sighed. “That all seems too complicated,” she sighed. “Our village would never send someone to, say, Reva to make sure they weren’t doing anything against us.”

“Maybe you should have,” I pointed out gently.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you had someone in Nadmeva watching out for your village, you might have gotten warning, right? If they’d had a day to prepare, they might have lived long enough for us to come help them out.”

She grimaced. “Maybe,” she allowed reluctantly. I could tell the idea made her uncomfortable, so I let it drop. It’s not like it mattered, anyway; what was done, was done, and Borava was gone. Nothing was going to bring it back.

“In any case, all that matters is that we’re careful what we say when we’re not totally sure we’re alone,” I returned to the original subject. “Assume that someone unfriendly is always listening, otherwise.”

She stared down at Vikarik silently for a while, absently petting the big cairnik’s head, her eyes lost in thought. “I don’t much like this place, Ionat,” she finally spoke, her voice quiet.

“You mean the Cathedral or the city in general?”

“I mean…” She sighed. “Do you know why I became a hunter?”

“Not for certain, no.” I had suspicions, of course, but those related to her latent lunar magic, and I certainly wasn’t about to mention those in the freaking Cathedral.

“I don’t like people,” she admitted.

“Some people aren’t comfortable in crowds,” I agreed. Personally, they didn’t bother me – crowds meant anonymity, always a welcome thing – but I knew former soldiers with PTSD who got panic attacks when they felt too enclosed or pressed-in.

“No, not large groups of people. I just – I don’t like people.” She looked up at me. “I don’t remember my parents. They died when I was very young, and after that, the entire village sort of raised me together. I was one of them, they said, and they were happy to feed me, clothe me, and give me a place to sleep.”

“It takes a village,” I quipped, realizing even as I said it she wouldn’t get the reference. She just nodded seriously, though.

“For me, that was true. Even as a young child, I was rebellious and mischievous. I went places I wasn’t supposed to go, got into trouble constantly, and hurt myself more times than I can count.” She laughed. “Once, I wanted to collect some berries for Matron Branduska, one of the cooks and the one offering me a place to sleep at the time. I went into the sweetsap patch, but most of the berries were picked clean already, at least along the outside.

“Of course, I’d been told only to pick the berries from the outer parts of the bushes, but I figured that the old people were just overly nervous. They told me not to do all sorts of things that I did anyway, and they usually turned out okay. So, I dug into the bushes, climbing completely inside them to get the juicy berries that no one else bothered to pick.”

She shook her head ruefully and looked at me curiously. “Have you seen sweetsap bushes before?” I shook my head. “Well, they come by their name honestly. They’re filled with sweet, sticky sap, so much that it blisters the bark and leaves little bulges of sap that burst at the slightest touch.” She laughed again. “I ended up covered in sap. It clotted my hair, smeared across my face, and clung to my clothes.”

I chuckled, imagining that picture. “Sounds pretty cute,” I admitted.

“Well, it might have been – except that the bushes use their sap to attract alibnivs. You might not have seen those, either, but they’re small beasts about the size of your little finger, bright pink and green striped, with six legs. They fly around, eating sap and nectar from trees and flowers, and they help the plants to grow by spreading their seeds and pollen.” She shivered. “They also sting, and each sting feels like a hot knife being driven into your flesh.

“A swarm of them chased me all the way back to the village, where I collapsed. The Sorvaraji healed me, but I almost died. When I woke up, Matron Branduska tutted over me, fussing and making faces, telling me how foolish I was to pick those berries and how glad she was that I was okay.”

Renica’s face fell as she spoke, and the joviality slid from her voice. “The thing is, I could tell that she was lying, Ionat. Her words said one thing, but everything else about her screamed that she wished the alibinivs finished me off. When she talked about how I might have died, I could tell she felt – relief.”

“That’s probably her beast magic,” Sara said softly. “It’s all about emotions, and she can probably feel strong emotions like the kind most people have when they lie.”

“I learned that most people are like that,” the hunter went on in a sad, soft voice. “They say one thing, but they think another.” She made a face. “I also learned that people don’t like you knowing that about them, and they hate when you point it out.”

“Most people don’t like being called liars,” I agreed.

“I don’t think it’s lying, really. It’s more that they say what they think people want to hear or what will make others happy, instead of what they really think. Sometimes, I think that even they don’t realize that they’re being dishonest. Matron Branduska is a good example: she didn’t dislike me, but I was a handful, and if I’d died, it would have made life in the village easier. She didn’t actually want me dead, I don’t think, but part of her wished maybe I had died.”

She shrugged. “Either way, I found myself getting frustrated dealing with people, so I started spending more time in the woods. Omeni are complicated, and I like things to be simple. The beasts are simple, Ionat. To them, you’re either prey to be hunted or another predator to be respected and avoided. There’s no gray area, nothing in between. So long as they know you’re dangerous, they’ll usually avoid you, and I spent entire days out among the trees, perfectly happy.

“At some point, I started following our former hunter, Claudu. He tried to forbid me, but I went anyway, just to see what he did in the Darkwood all day. Eventually, he realized that it would be easier to take me with him, and once he realized that I had a talent for finding the animals he hunted, he trained me. I became his assistant, and when he died tracking the leurik, I took over as the village’s hunter. I stay away from the village, talk to people as little as I have to – and I’m happier for it.”

“I’m sure some of the villagers were okay,” I protested. “The children, for example. And Viora seems fairly honest.”

“She is, but even she deceives herself. There’s something…” She looked at the walls, then shook her head. “I do like the children, though.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “I also enjoy being around you, Ionat.”

“Me?” I said blankly. “Why me?” I lied as much or more than anyone in that village – probably much, much more – and my intentions weren’t always the best ones, after all.

“Because with you – I feel nothing,” she said slowly.

“Nothing? What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can’t tell what you’re feeling. I never feel anything from you. It’s kind of comforting.”

“That might be part of your Twilight Magic,” Sara suggested. “You might be resistant to her lunar abilities – or you might not give off bestial raju that she can pick up.”

“I think the Lomoraji could tell that I was lying,” I pointed out. “I can’t be immune to that sort of thing.”

“You’ll note that I said resistant, not immune. Renica’s using her natural talents passively, without training of any kind. The Lomoraji probably trained those abilities and used them actively. Resisting her would be a lot easier than resisting him.”

“Good point.”

Renica cleared her throat uncomfortably, and I realized I’d been silent a bit too long. Before I could say anything, though, she continued. “The point is, Ionat, I became a hunter to keep my life simple. I always thought the people of the village were difficult and complicated, so I avoided them when I could.”

“And now, away from the village, life is far more complicated than you ever imagined,” I guessed.

“Exactly.” She shivered. “The people here – what they say and what they feel are completely at odds. I was listening to them as we rode through the streets, Ionat. You know how I said that most people in the village meant well when they weren’t honest? Here, that isn’t always the case. I felt people’s satisfaction with their lies, the malice behind their words.” She shook her head. “It scares me a little.”

I couldn’t really argue that. People weren’t always very good or nice, after all. I didn’t know, but so far, the omeni of Soluminous seemed to think and act more or less like humans on Earth, and that meant that, by and large, they were probably selfish and short-sighted to some extent.

“I don’t think that the people here are necessarily more complicated than the ones in your village, Renica,” I answered her slowly, thinking my way through what I wanted to say. “I think that the people in your village had no choice but to act simpler, is all.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she protested.

“Sure, it does.” I shifted in my seat and leaned forward. “See, in Borava, everybody relied on everyone else for survival. Everyone had to pull their weight, and everyone had to rely on everyone else. If they didn’t, people might be hurt or even killed. There was no choice except to work together because if one person wasn’t looking out for the village, it could hurt everyone, right?” She nodded slowly.

“Well, that sort of arrangement requires trust, but it also means there can’t be any secrets because secrets and trust don’t go well together. Everyone had to watch everyone all the time, and everyone knew they were being watched constantly, so they always behaved the way everyone wanted and expected them to – because they had no other choice.”

I held my hand out toward the door. “Here, though, people don’t rely on one another the same way. I’m sure that most of the people in Panja don’t stand on the walls during close moons or hunt down moon-cursed. Here, people are free to behave how they want a little more, and how most people seem to want to behave is to look out for themselves first and everyone else second.”

“That seems like a terrible way to live,” she said softly.

I shrugged. “Maybe, but in a way, the people in the village lived like that, too. Sure, they looked out for one another, but they did it for survival. If they didn’t all work together, they might all die together. It was in their own best interests to help each other out.”

I looked intently into her eyes. “That doesn’t make them bad people, Renica. You have to look out for yourself. If you don’t, you won’t be able to look out for anyone else. If Vasily didn’t spend money on his books, he wouldn’t have the knowledge he needed to lead the village. If Serghei didn’t take the best weapons, he couldn’t fight as well for everyone else. Sometimes, self-interest is a good thing.”

“And those people who enjoyed lying to others?” she asked simply. “The ones who did it out of spite?”

“Those probably are bad people,” I admitted. Sure, it was the pot calling the kettle black, but that didn’t make it any less true. “But I’m sure you’ve had bad people in Borava, too, people who wanted to hurt others or who only cared about themselves.”

“Yes, but we removed the Sun’s Peace from people like that once we realized who they were. They weren’t allowed to live in the village with us.”

“Exactly. Here in the city, there are more people, and that makes it harder for those in charge to locate everyone with bad intentions, so instead, they punish people for doing harmful or dangerous things, instead. In Borava, you probably sent people away for the possibility of their harming the village because, well, you had to. You couldn’t wait until they did something that hurt or killed someone else. In cities, they just wait until the people actually do those things before punishing them, is all – because they don’t have a good way to know who’ll do those things in advance.”

I smiled at her. “Actually, your ability to sense when people aren’t being honest could come in very handy.” I looked around. “Did you get a bad feeling from the Razvaraji?”

She shook her head. “No. He seemed to be genuinely concerned, as far as I could tell.” She smiled. “He feels strongly for the Sorvaraji, though, I think.”

“Yeah, I got that, too,” I chuckled. “I have a feeling she’s aware of it, as well. She’s a pretty smart lady.”

“She is.” She looked at me. “Did you know that Vasily had feelings for her, as well?”

“I guessed that, but I didn’t know,” I shrugged. “I mean, they spent decades working together, it sounds like, and they admired and respected one another. It kind of makes sense that it turned into something more, at least for him.”

“I suppose.” She looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Honestly, I’ve never really thought about things like that.”

“No?” I asked, surprised. “I would have thought that in a small village like Borava, you’d have had someone you were close to.”

“Well,” she said uncomfortably, “there were boys – and later men – I found interesting, but when I spoke with them…” She shrugged. “It never worked out.”

My eyes widened as I put the pieces together, and I snorted with laughter. “You could tell when they were lying, couldn’t you?” I chortled. “Those poor boys!”

She looked at me a bit indignantly, then laughed herself after a moment. “Yes, pretty much,” she admitted. “When I was fourteen, Serghei courted me, in fact. We walked together for months, and one night, beneath the moons, he told me he loved me.” She grimaced. “I knew that he didn’t. He just found me attractive.”

“What did you do?”

“I punched him in the stomach.” I laughed again, and she sighed. “He meant well, but we were young, and he wanted me – and I didn’t know how to deal with that.

“After that, few boys tried to court me, and the few who did were careful not to say that they loved me. I tried to be with them, tried to make it work, but – knowing that what they said they wanted and what they truly wanted were vastly different things made it difficult, and it never lasted long. Eventually, I ignored their advances, and they finally stopped trying.”

“Well, now you have a whole city of young men you haven’t met,” I smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure you’ll find one who’s more honest than most.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. She stared off into the distance. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever really thanked you, Ionat.”

“Thanked me? For what?”

“For everything you did for the village. For helping me avenge their deaths and rescuing the Sorvaraji.” She looked back at me. “For saving my life.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t do any of that to be thanked, to be honest.” That was true. I did it because I had a job to do, and I wanted to get that job done ASAP.

“Still – thank you.” She leaned closer to me, placing her hand on my leg. “I – I’m really glad I met you, Ionat. I like being around you, and I – I think I’d like to be even closer.”

It was one of the more awkward come-ons I’d ever heard, but then, I figured it was probably one of the first times she’d ever done it. The thing was, she wasn’t relying on her words to get the job done. I felt the magic trickling off her in waves, the energy of it reaching out toward me and trying to envelop me, but it didn’t seem able to grasp hold. Even so, I sensed the intent of it and knew that if I wanted, I could give into it, to the lust and craving she emanated.

My body screamed at me to do what she wanted. I mean, no one would ever call Renica unattractive. She wasn’t particularly curvaceous – especially not in the loose-fitting clothing she preferred - but what I’d seen of her body looked firm and lithely muscled. He golden hair cascaded around her face in curling waves, and her large eyes looked like pools of darkness a person could sink into.

And the simple fact was, I wasn’t immune to loneliness and need. I was basically alone in this world, and Renica was the closest thing I had to an actual friend outside of Sara. Viora saw me as a star pupil and possibly a way for her to get back into her church or whatever it was. Vasily and Serghei had looked at me as a weapon, but Renica had reached out to me before she knew anything about me, right from the first day. When Vasily kicked me out, only Renica stood by me, and she’d stayed by my side through a hell of a lot so far. It seemed she felt the same loneliness and longing, something she’d apparently denied herself for far too long.

And that was why I knew I had to turn her down. Emilina’s offer was one thing. The logger had obviously had some experience, and all she wanted from me was physical pleasure. I could have hooked up with her, and the next day, we would have both acted like nothing happened. Tedor probably would have been pissed, but Emilina wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Renica didn’t strike me the same way. She didn’t want pleasure – she wanted comfort and companionship. Anything we did would hold deep meaning for her, but not for me. I could be a jerk sometimes, but I wasn’t a complete asshole.

“You’re welcome,” I smiled at her warmly. “I’m glad we met, too. You’ve been a good friend to me, Renica – really, the only friend I have in Soluminous, to be honest.” I placed my hand over hers. “And I would never want that to change – no matter how badly my body might argue with me.”

She blushed slightly and looked down. “It doesn’t have to change,” she said in a small voice.

“It doesn’t, but it might,” I said. “I’ve seen it happen too many times, Renica. It changes things, makes them complicated when they were nice and simple. I think things are plenty complicated right now, don’t you?”

“Yes, but…” She bit her lip, and I squeezed her hand.

“I’m your friend, and I’ll stay your friend,” I told her. “I can’t be anything more than that, though – and pretending that I could isn’t fair to you. If you want to talk, I’m here to listen. If you need to be held, I’m happy to do it. But as much as I want things to go farther – I want your friendship even more.”

She blinked rapidly and wiped her eyes, looking away. A moment later, she laughed weakly. “It figures,” she said quietly. “A man’s finally honest with me – and it’s the opposite of what I wanted to hear.” She took a deep breath. “Could we – could you hold me tonight, then? It’s just, I’m a long way from home, and I’m afraid to fall asleep, of what I might dream…”

I nodded. “That, I’m more than happy to do,” I said firmly. “I’m not looking forward to sleeping myself, to be honest.”

The room plunged into near-darkness when we finally finished talking and blew out the oil lamp. Renica told me more stories of the village, her childhood and growing up, and I responded with a few of my own – heavily edited so as not to give away my true nature, of course. She’d been a lonely child, a wild and free spirit in a village that frowned on such, driven to almost feral behavior by the latent beast magic she didn’t even know she had, then leery of those around her when she realized that she couldn’t always trust what they said and did.

The high bed didn’t offer a lot of room, and it felt even more crowded with Renica squeezed up against me. She snuggled her head onto my shoulder, and I wrapped an arm around her back, holding her close. The coarse fabric that the villagers seemed to prefer wearing wasn’t super comfortable for sleeping in, but neither of us thought it a great idea to take anything off, all things considered. Even so, the scent of her hair and the warmth of her soft body filled me, and I felt my own body react predictably. It was going to be a long night.

Sometimes, ethics and morals just made zero sense. It was the strangest thing; the thought of killing someone didn’t bother me in the slightest. I had zero regrets about the Lomoraji, the soldiers in Borava, and the Vanator. I wouldn’t dream about them, and in a few days, their deaths would blend into the background of my memories, not forgotten but unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

The thought of having meaningless sex with Renica when I knew that it would mean something to her, though – that made me feel guilty. Never mind that she tried to initiate it or that she seemed to want it. All that mattered was that I knew it would hurt her if we bumped uglies and I didn’t fall in love with her immediately. I’d made the high-minded and responsible decision, and my cock told me it was the stupidest thing I’d ever done.

Adulting was the absolute fucking worst.

At least, that’s what I thought right up until the screaming started.