I got up the following morning well before dawn, before Artemis awoke, determined to find Michael and speak with him. I left a note on my bedside table, explaining where I went just in case Artemis woke up. Then, dressing as quietly as possible in my outdoor clothes, I headed for the downstairs sitting room.

I was adjusting my collar and about to trot down the stairs when a pair of hushed voices stilled my progress. I paused uncertainly in the dimly lit corridor and strained my pathetic human hearing to the best of its abilities. Surprise caused me to frown; Tobias and Michael were speaking, and they were in Tobias’ room.

I had never been one to spy on my family or friends during my childhood, but there was something in the manner in which they spoke that caught my attention. Carefully, quietly, I crept along the wall and lingered beside Tobias’ agape door. I squinted inside.

They were seated on the plush maroon divan set out beside the large Trieschean windows, a breakfast tray delicately perched on the coffee table across from them. Michael was clothed in his riding gear, but his demeanor was listless and distracted; his hair was unkempt, the dusty tresses windblown as if he had just come in from some violent storm outside. Beside him, Tobias was immaculately dressed in his Kalaven City finery, Astrology robes draping him and catching on the angles of his body. Their shared manner was pleasant enough, but I sensed something as I watched Michael that made me bite at my lower lip. I’d learned as a small child what a betrayed expression looked like; the moist eyes, the lower lip swollen from much gnawing, vague hand gestures… Tobias listened to him speak, quiet.

"Even as children, he always treated me as if I was ignorant. Granted, I’m not the most intelligent of men, and you’re bound to come across smarter—but Stell’s balls—" I saw Tobias wince at the oath, "I’ve always protected him! Whenever something went wrong in our lives, I was always there to make sure that he didn’t get hurt by anything. Mother used to get so angry when Rocielle stayed out later than he was supposed to playing, and she would threaten to beat him senseless. I would… I would let her hit me instead, because he was such a fragile little thing, and I didn’t want her to hurt him."

"Rocielle has never spoken of his mother to us," Tobias answered simply. "But he has told us of how thankful he is that you were there for him during his early years."

"He’s got a damn fine way of showing that gratitude," Michael shot back, and I could see the shimmer of tears in his eyes. He stood up, unable to remain still anymore, and paced the length of Tobias’ room. He raked one hand through his dust-colored hair. "Do you have any idea how much I worried about him while he was gone, Mr. Ferrin? Every day, I wondered if something absolutely terrible had befallen him, because he didn’t write me. He promised me that he would write me, and yet… and yet…" He stumbled to a stop and stared miserably out the Trieschean windows.

Tobias turned on the divan to watch him, but made no response. Michael’s sobs were barely audible, but caused his shoulders to shake. "Yet," he went on, a new vehemence in his words, "he managed to write to that Stein lad almost every day."

"How do you know that?" Tobias inquired politely.

"He told me!" Michael seethed and leaned heavily against the windows; my heart quickened in my chest. He clenched one fist tightly at his side. "The little scoundrel made a point of accosting me on my way out of the stables at midnight shortly after Rocielle left; I had no idea what he was doing out so late, save perhaps to find some other nance to have a roll in the hay with before his fiancee showed up. But he asked me if I’d received any word from Rocielle yet, and I told him no." He looked at Michael, his eyes flashing angrily. "The most sickening smile of triumph passed across his face, Mr. Ferrin, as he showed me the letter that he had received. He was flaunting it, that Rocielle had written to him and not to me. ‘He’s forsaken all of you,’ he told me with a sneer, ‘for keeping us apart. You’re being punished for it now.’" He swallowed hard. "How I wanted to break his neck after that, you have no idea!"

"Then you were jealous of him?" Tobias asked.

"No!" Michael snapped, then caught himself. He closed his eyes slowly. "Yes… At first, anyway. But put in my position, wouldn’t you be jealous as well? Jealous and hurt that your only brother was punishing you for something that you played no part in? You must understand, Mr. Ferrin, that if things had gone my way, Rocielle would never have left the du Monte estate and he and Ulrich Stein could have been married. I love Rocielle, you see. I may not love his preferences, but his preferences are not him. He is my brother, and I’m not going to forsake him over something he can’t control.

"But no where was it written that I had to love Ulrich Stein.

"He was always rude to the servants, both his and the servants of this manor. He treated them as inferior, and even when Rocielle told him to stop, I don’t think the lad paid any attention. But Rocielle was blind to his faults. Perfect Ulrich, flawed? Impossible. Oh, but it was quite possible, let me assure you!"

"Did your jealousy ever fade?" Tobias gently drew him back towards the original topic.

Michael shifted uncomfortably, then walked back to the divan. He sat down and leaned on his knees. "Eventually, yes," he said grudgingly, "but only after Otto Stein’s death. His lordship had always been a perfect gentlemen to me and had treated me with respect, despite my choice to work with the horses as opposed to becoming a banker or something similar. And when he died, I think that some of Ulrich’s triumph died with him. I think he realized that even though he was receiving letters from Rocielle and I wasn’t, there was no way that a relationship could happen. Ulrich was engaged to be married, after all, and Camilla Carmain, though very sweet and loving to the Stein family, was determined to kill any love that Ulrich had for Rocielle."

Tobias was speculatively silent, his brows pulled together in a frown. "Jealousy is the motive for all of a man’s vindictiveness," he mused after a few moments, then stirred himself from his reverie. "Go on, I’m sorry."

Michael took a breath. "She took him to Temple with the family and forced doctrine down his throat, condemning him to hell for his ‘evil’ attraction to Rocielle. She had a priest bless him. She told him that if he continued living a homosexual lifestyle, she would divorce him and let Rowan and Daniel control the Stein family’s fate thereafter."

"Lifestyle?" Tobias repeated curiously.

Michael nodded. "Oh yes," he said with a slight smirk. "Ulrich couldn’t bring himself to touch Camilla, but he needed some form of release, and he was far too ascetic a man to touch himself. So he plunged back into the seedy taverns that he and Rocielle had spent their early teenage years frequenting, and he stumbled across a young barman named Lain. There was no true affection between them, but both of them were stuck in relationships that they hated and could not escape from, and they came to an ‘agreement’ of sorts. Ulrich stayed out until the early morning ours with Lain doing only Stell above knows what in those filthy tavern chambers. The last circulating rumor I remember before Ulrich stopped going out completely was that they often invited a third party member in to join them. Some young thing barely out of primary school."

Tobias appeared apprehensive. "Do you know this for a fact?"

"Most definitely," Michael said. "I saw Lain and he together on numerous occasions. It was blatantly obvious the nature of their relationship, especially when they thought no one around was paying attention. But Lain was a good enough chap, and his wife didn’t mind too much. She was having an affair of her own with one of the sons of the Rivamonte family, and so they really couldn’t call each other on the carpet for anything. But Ulrich…" His words tapered off into silence, his eyes closing again.

Tobias gently prodded him, "Ulrich…?"

Michael sighed sadly and chewed at his lower lip. "He finally understood that simple physical release was not what he wanted, and that even if he had felt something other than lust for Lain, Camilla would never let him go. And she was determined that she would carry his child before her fifteenth birthday.

"It was horrible for him, I don’t doubt it. And finally she managed to get him drunk enough that he did it."

"Made love to her?" Tobias asked.

Michael nodded. "A lady servant I met in the Diamond Quarter marketplace told me the night after it happened. She was changing the sheets, and she found virginal blood there.

"But Ulrich was distraught, she told me. He’d locked himself away in his room and wouldn’t let anyone in to see him, especially not his wife. Only one good thing came out of it, as far as I can tell. And that is that the Stein’s next heir is secure and on the way. Camilla is pregnant, at fourteen."

The news made me stagger. Camilla Carmain, pregnant? Ulrich… a father? It didn’t seem possible, and appeared almost dangerous. Ulrich and I were of the same age, and I was seventeen, nearing eighteen. This was no time for my former lover to be having children! He wasn’t old enough!

But, considering it more carefully, I realized that now was better than never. Now that the child was on the way, at least Rowan, Lenore and Daniel would be unable to squander the family fortune anymore than they already had.

"How long has she been pregnant?" Tobias asked.

"Four months, and with very few problems."

Tobias smiled gently. "Surely Ulrich is pleased that he will be a father?"

Michael scoffed and shook his head; the familiar malice I’d seen earlier crept across his features. "You would think that, wouldn’t you?" he said, sullen. "You would think that he would be mature enough and old enough to realize that his life was of little importance now, that he would have to make sacrifices for his unborn child and for his pregnant wife, wouldn’t you? But no. That would be logical and selfless approach."

Tobias paled. "He didn’t…"

"He was back in The Tom Cat almost every night, drinking himself to retching, and then shacking up with Lain until the morning. When he did go home, it was just to scream and throw things and demand that Rocielle be brought back from Kalaven College. One day, he just stopped going out altogether." He glowered darkly. "I would have more pity for him had he not shirked his duties as a soon-to-be father just to go out and give in to sexual impulses.

"You know, my brother’s name used to shame him when the city nobles gathered to share gossip and insult one another behind their backs. Now, they speak of Rocielle sympathetically and wonder what he ever saw in Ulrich Stein."

I couldn’t listen to them any longer, and crept out of the manor as quietly as I could. Once I’d closed the giant cherry wood doors behind me, I took off at a sprint for the stable. I kicked up gravel and freshly fallen snow in my wake, not caring that the temperature was below freezing. Anger pulsed through my veins, heating me where I was cold. How could Ulrich do such a thing? How could he behave in such a negligent fashion, treating his family with such disrespect! It was shameful behavior, and I would see to it that he stopped it immediately.

How? Stell above knew.

The stables were shut tightly; what had I been expecting? I glared at the unwelcome, bolted doors and stormed away from them towards the city. If necessary, I would walk the entire length of Crystal City to the Stein residence and climb into Ulrich’s window myself. I could still trip the latch on his window, and if Camilla was inside then I pitied her that she would have to witness the quarrel I was sure Ulrich and I would have. For I meant to instigate a quarrel. I meant to castigate him for his debauchery and let him know that though I’d had no intention of seeking him out upon my most recent return to Crystal City, learning of his horrendous behavior and treatment of his wife left me with no choice. I would not see his child grow up in such an unhealthy environment as the one he was building for her.

Her? Was I already attaching a gender to the little thing? It seemed so.

My angry words flew like daggers through my mind, and it wasn’t until I nearly walked out in front of a late-night carriage that I realized I had entered the Diamond Quarter. I heard the cabby shout at me to get out of the way, and I jumped back just in time to see a pair of black horses rear up and kick the air where I had just been.

"Watch yourself, boy!" the cabby snarled without recognizing me as a member of the du Monte house. "You’ll get yourself killed if you go on like that!"

"Sorry," I apologized.

A face peered out of the carriage window at me—a pretty white, porcelain face framed by locks of glorious black hair. Vishali de Musé.

Quickly, she signaled for the cabby to stop. He appeared somewhat flustered, but obeyed and pulled the carriage over to the side of the road. Vishali stepped out of the carriage before the cabby could get to the door to open it.

"Rocielle du Monte," she said with a calm smile; I noticed a nervous glance she favored the sky. The sun was not yet touching the horizon. "I had not been expecting to see you here." She took dainty little steps across the side walk, pausing before me with her hands folded gently on her skirt.

I stared at her in astonishment. Vishali was never seen without Alecielle—they were an inseparable pair. To see her on her own was disturbing for some reason, like seeing a man with only one arm. Nevertheless, I bowed politely.

"I am visiting family," I told her courteously. "May I ask after Master de Lemiux?"

"Alecielle?" she said with a small laugh, then smiled. It was such a predatory expression, and it made me shiver uncomfortably. "My little songbird is still in Kalaven City, still arguing politics with lost artists in those avant-garde taverns that he is so fond of frequenting. Still pretending that he is beautiful."

"But he is," I told her pointedly, before I had quite realized what I was saying. An embarrassed blush colored my cheeks. "Er—what I meant to say was…"

Vishali laughed, a musical sound. "Oh you needn’t apologize, child. Alecielle would be flattered indeed that you thought he was as lovely and charming as he thinks he is. He’s nothing but a pretty face with slanted morals, if you want the honest truth."

She was warning me; I could see it in her eyes, but I was too busy remembering the lucid blonde seraph I’d seen on the stage so many times to pay much attention to her words. I smiled listlessly.

It is amazing how one memory can squelch one person of an emotion so carefully honed and fueled that it is almost forgotten. My frustration with and disappointment in Ulrich Stein dissipated, leaving me only with the pretty visual of Alecielle de Lemiux turning magnificent flips across stage and singing a beautiful melody that demanded someone sing in harmony with it. I was more than willing to give in to that demand.

"You haven’t the slightest clue as to what you’re thinking, you stupid little boy," she said tersely, and so quickly did her voice lose its sugar sweetness that I actually staggered. I stared at her in shock. Never had someone so blatantly insulted me to my face!

"What—?"

"Your fascination with him has already put you in danger," she told me coldly, her sharp eyes keen and piercing. "He’s interested in you, he’s following you, and he’s taking note of things you do, things you say, your emotions, the way you react to things, the faces you make when you and your charming Kakarah make love—everything." She raised one thin eyebrow. "Do you want to lose it all?"

"Why do you care?" I demanded; embarrassment and anger made me reckless and rude. "If he’s looking for someone else to travel with, then that means that you’ve lost his interest, doesn’t it?" I scoffed. "What a pity that would be! Perhaps he realized that your appeal is fading with your age."

If my words had insulted her, she hid it well. A sly smirk curved up the corners of her lips. "My appeal far exceeds your wildest dreams, Rocielle," she said coolly, "and Alecielle would be hard pressed to find another who rivals my vivacity in certain departments. He would certainly not find it in you, so don’t even entertain those fantasies."

"I’ve no wish to join him," I lied laconically through my teeth. "Artemis—"

"Your guilty conscience is what speaks for you now," she smirked. "You forgot him, didn’t you?"

"Never!" A nervous anxiety rippled through me. Temporarily, I had forgotten him, had forgotten the gentle way he smiled at me and the comfort I felt when wrapped in his arms.

But now I remembered. I met Vishali’s gaze resolutely. "I will never part from Artemis Jezera. Not unless he demands it, or unless I am dead."

"Careful," she cautioned me with a little smile. "You may find out that that is more true than you realize." She turned her back on me and walked towards the carriage. Within a few moments, she was disappearing down the narrow Crystal City street.

That was the last time I saw her.

I glared after her departing figure, then stalked towards the Stein residence again. The brief quarrel I’d had with Vishali had stoked my anger, and dwelling on Ulrich’s horrible treatment of his wife only made it flare even redder and hotter. To dismiss his only child so easily—it seemed so unlike the coy, playful Ulrich I remembered to behave in such a manner.

I crept onto the Stein estate the same way I had during my adolescence, and found that the thickly overgrown ivy that crawled past his window was still as firm and gnarled as ever. Looking up at the window, I noticed that it was flung open and a dim candlelight caused it to glow a warm orange.

My heart thundered in my chest as I realized where I was, what I was doing, and just who it was I was visiting.

He wasn’t even fifty meters away from me, and his misery was almost tangible on the air. Again, my anger dissipated, replaced by melancholy and cobwebs of the passionate love I’d once felt for Ulrich Stein. For a moment, I considered turning back and returning to the du Monte estate. But I decided against it. I’d come this far, and I did have words that needed to be said.

And I hadn’t seen the first love of my life in over a year.

I gripped the ivy vines tightly and began my careful assent. Most of the footholds I remembered were still there, but a few had become covered by leaves in my absence. Irately, I nudged them aside, seeking out better footholds and trying to remain as silent as possible. Moment by moment, Ulrich’s window grew closer and closer, until I could touch the brick ledge of it with my fingertips. Cautiously, I pulled myself up, and chanced a glance inside.

Everything was swathed in an orange-yellow hue from the numerous candles that illuminated his room. A few garments were strewn across his carpet, his formal jacket slung across the back of a chair. His door was locked, bolted, and braced by another chair. The hearth was cold, and the ashes inside indicated that it hadn’t been used in quite some time.

Ulrich himself lay sprawled on his back on his bed, eyes closed and lips barely parted in a sodden sort of sleep that only the drunk were capable of attaining. My fears were confirmed by the half empty bottle of liquor that he clutched loosely in one hand. I listened carefully before climbing inside. The rest of the mansion seemed to be asleep, but then I realized that only four other people of significance occupied it any longer: Camilla, Yvonne, Yvette, and Helena, Ulrich’s mother. His sisters slept on the ground floor, as did Helena. Camilla… I did not know where she was, but she was not in Ulrich’s bed room. And the manner in which he had barred the door prevented anyone else from entering.

I hoisted myself over the ledge of the window and stepped precariously over his desk, careful not to disturb any of his papers from where they lay strewn across the tabletop. A canister of ink had been spilled before my appearance; the black liquid was staining the wood of the table a tarnished black. As quietly as I could, I scoured the room in search of something to mop up the ink with. I settled for an old sock. It looked like it hadn’t been worn in months anyway.

I don’t know why I spent the following thirty minutes tidying up Ulrich Stein’s bedroom. I put things to right, hung up rumpled clothes and placed tattered books on shelves. Something in me compelled me to do so, as if doing this could somehow mend the deadened, stagnant affection that hung like an oppressive odor between us. When I chanced a glance out his window, I noticed that the sky had become gray with the oncoming dawn. Artemis would be awake. He would be looking for me.

I let my mind open up to the stream of unconscious thoughts that those not sensitive to telepathy swam in each day. Artemis found me immediately, and I could feel his worry swathing me, swimming through me. I kept no secrets from him, let him sift through everything that had happened. When he drew away from me, it was respectfully and trustingly. He knew that anything that happened between Ulrich and me would remain in this room. He would love me despite it.

I knew at that moment that even if I felt compelled to stay with Ulrich Stein, I would not. Not with such a pure and virtuous soul waiting for me at the du Monte estate.

I extinguished the candles flame by flame once their light ceased to be useful, then took a seat in the chair at Ulrich’s desk. I reclined back against the wood and watched his ceiling; downstairs, no life stirred. It was as if no one was in the building save for Ulrich, and after a few moments of pondering over it, I didn’t doubt it to be a possibility. It was nearing the holidays, and during the winter Helena and the family often went to Haven to visit Otto’s brother, August. Perhaps the family had gone together, leaving Ulrich behind simply because he had ceased to care about anything in particular. I sat in silence and watched him sleep. His breaths were soft and even, the drunken flush leaving his cheeks as dawn finally gave way to the gentle white-blue of morning.

A bird gently chirruped, and I saw his eyes flicker beneath their lids. My soul quickened, emotions broiling inside of me. Words I’d wished to say for over a year rushed to my lips, but I held them at bay. I had come here to quarrel, had I not? To reprimand and insult and degrade? Suddenly my noble purpose seemed so shameful and ridiculous, and I was tempted to rise up and jump out of the window, to run back to the du Monte estate just as I had run here in the first place. But I didn’t.

I wanted to hear his voice, hear my name spoken by his lips.

The liquor bottle dropped to the floor with a thud, muffled by his carpet, and he rolled over onto his side so that his back faced me. His white shirt was wrinkled, his pants stained from mud and dirty water that I hadn’t noticed earlier in the morning. A soft moan of discontent exited his lips, and it took all of my willpower not to rise up and go to him then.

But I think he sensed something was amiss. I remained as silent as I could, save for the thundering of my heart in my chest. Slowly, he turned around, squinted over his shoulder with his coal black eyes. His silken black hair fell away from his face, and his shock was wrought there plainly.

"Rocielle," he whispered, breathless.

My resolve crumbled like a wall yielding to the demands of a river, and I stood up on shaky legs and crossed the room slowly. I sat beside him on his bed and reached out to touch his face. "Ulrich," I said, but I could find no other words, and stared at him in silence.

He sat perfectly still for all of ten seconds, black eyes flitting across my features and his breaths coming in quick, shaky gasps. Then, he ceased to breathe at all and grasped me by my shoulders, drawing me against him so quickly that I could not have protested had I wanted to. He kissed me feverishly, and I tasted alcohol and sickness on his lips and tongue, felt frailty and illness in his limbs. But I crushed him to the mattress despite it, tangled my fingers in his already tangled black hair, and reveled in the familiarity of him.

But he was exhausted, incapable of giving me what he thought I needed; bone-deep misery will do that to a man. In frustration he lay limply against the linens of his bed and stared up at me through half-lidded eyes, arms around my shoulders and hair strewn carelessly across his face. "Rocielle," he sighed softly. I leaned in to kiss his throat gently, and he tilted his head back. "I thought you had decided not to come back."

I would not lie for him. I drew back to stare into his eyes. "I did," I said softly. "I came back to visit Michael, but I couldn’t stay away from you forever." I paused, then sat up completely and pushed my hair out of my eyes. "I heard the good news," I said. "About you and Camilla, that is."

He lay still on the bed, his eyes closed and his lips still delicately parted; everything exotic about him had become tainted and delicate now, like a withering flower parched of water. "Yes," he agreed, his tone barely audible. "I suppose it is good news. The child, anyway."

"Ulrich, surely you must realize that this is a blessing," I said earnestly. "Stell doesn’t give just anyone children—"

"Don’t preach to me about a god that isn’t there, Rocielle," he sighed bitterly and sat up. "The child is just that, and I suppose I’ll provide for it when it’s born."

"And for Camilla?" I asked.

"Yes, her too," he answered distractedly. His face formed itself into a scowl. "But if she demands another child, I’ll kill her. You know how much I loathed touching her, Rocielle. Everything about her body disgusts me; her lips, her hair, her entirely too large eyes, her breasts… If it defines her as female, I loathe it. I’d sooner be born a peasant than be forced to join with her again."

I wanted to answer, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Somehow, it seemed wrong, cruel almost, to reprimand him here, now. Even his passion for me seemed to have dwindled to nothing in a matter of seconds just by the mention of Camilla’s name.. I watched him lie back down on his bed, hands reaching up to push his hair out of his face. "I hope you’re happy in Kalaven, Rocielle," he whispered. "I would feel even worse if you were as miserable as I am. Have you met someone?"

"I… Yes," I said carefully. "Yes, I have."

Ulrich’s reply was long in coming, but his hands could not conceal the small clear tears that trickled from his eyes. His voice broke when he spoke to me. "Does he love you?"

I touched his hands and drew them away from his face, stared into his eyes. "Very much," I told him gently.

It pained him, I could tell, and he bit down hard on his lower lip. I knew I had just killed his hopes at ever being with me again, that this devastation would likely be the end of him, and guilt unlike I’d felt in months pervaded over me. He brought my hand up to his lips and kissed each of my knuckles. "And… do you love him?"

"Very much," I choked; a matching cry of dismay escaped his lips.

He sat up and brought our faces together in another kiss, touched every inch of me with his quivering fingertips, and I did the same, memorizing his body for the second time in my life. I loved Artemis, but surely he wouldn’t begrudge me this last opportunity to be with Ulrich, to let him touch someone whom he at least loved, and who would not hurt him intentionally.

What Artemis had given to me, I would give a portion of to Ulrich.

I could not make love to him. Physically, he could not handle it, and emotionally I would not allow myself to hurt him by giving him false hope. He wanted it, I knew; I felt it in the heated hardness between his thighs, but I cautioned myself against it. Instead I gingerly teased him under his clothes, listened to his soft though poignant cries of frustration and pleasure, and let him lie back against his bed only when his body had gone rigid in my arms, expelling all of his essence between us.

He breathed heavily and let his eyes close. "I love you," he whispered, and I realized that I’d never heard him speak the words to me before. Of course I had known, as had he… But hearing the confession from his lips to my ears struck a chord of misery deep inside of me.

I kissed him gently on his mouth. "Please don’t say such things," I begged him.

He returned the kiss hungrily and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. "I love you, Rocielle," he whispered against my lips, then into my ear, a desperation in his movements that made my eyes well with tears. His sincerity scalded my already bleeding heart.

"I’ll die loving you," he told me tremulously, "and I would never want it to be any other way."

"You know that I don’t—"

He silenced me with a ginger-soft kiss.

I left Ulrich later that morning with no words of love between us. There was a simple closure in our final moments together, a peace and ease of spirit that descended over me. A veil was drawn between me and the life that Ulrich Stein had been a part of. Of course I promised him that I would be a godfather to his child if he wished it; it would be an honor that I would never in my right mind refuse. But I would never touch him again in the manner in which I had that morning.

Michael and I spoke, however briefly, and repaired our relationship as much as possible. When it came time for Artemis, Tobias and I to return to Kalaven City, I parted with my brother with soft smiles and meaningful embraces. Cain and Aunt Jill urged me to write them often, to which I gave them my earnest promise. Uncle Mortimer did not come out to see me off; I couldn’t have cared less.