"And you can't talk things through with me?" StarDrifter said.

Zenith flinched, and turned her head away.

"You don't feel comfortable with me, but you can sit and chat comfortably with the man who raped and abused you?"

"He has changed —"

"Bah! WolfStar never changes*. Zenith, what can you possibly find with him that you cannot find with me?"

Her eyes blurred with tears. "I do not regard him the same way as you," she finally managed.

StarDrifter's face and voice were rock hard. "And that is?"

"As a grandfather."

Nothing else she could have said would have shocked StarDrifter more. He stared, helpless, his mind unable to come to terms with what she'd just said.

"And have you," he whispered harshly, "managed to go to his bed, then, if you can't stomach mine?"

She stared at him, then she lifted a hand and struck him hard across his face.

Without a word, Zenith bent and collected the linens, then marched, straight-backed, down the corridor.

StarDrifter stared after her, his entire world collapsing within him.

The room was cool and dim, only a single lamp burning on a far wall.

Zenith silently placed the linens in a chest, then turned and sat on the stool by WolfStar's bed.

He stretched out a hand, and she took it without hesitation.

"What is wrong?" he said.

Zenith let her tears slide down her cheeks. This was all wrong. What she wanted was for StarDrifter to so take her hand, and for her to lean against him and sob out all her woes and let him make them all better.

StarDrifter was all she wanted, and yet here she was with WolfStar. Why? Why? Why?

Because, strangely, she felt comfortable with WolfStar in a way she never could with StarDrifter.

StarDrifter was her loving, protective grandfather.

WolfStar was merely another man: one who caused her complex and conflicting emotions, true, but he was just another man.

Although he was also technically her grandfather, Zenith found it impossible to perceive him as such.

Just a man. But a SunSoar. A man of her own blood, and a man she could possibly learn to trust.

She pulled back her hand, and WolfStar let her go.

"Has the Healer seen to your wounds today?" she asked, even though she knew the answer from talking to the guardsman on duty outside.

"Yes. I feel ...better."

Indeed, WolfStar looked remarkably better. Whether it was the attention he was receiving from the Healers, or the undoubted benefit of breathing the untainted, undemonised air of Sanctuary, or simply his own remarkable recuperative powers, WolfStar was very definitely improving. His colour was good, his breathing unlaboured, his wounds scabbing and crusting over cleanly, and he could move about the bed without wincing with every minor effort.

Very soon, Zenith thought, he would be up and moving about the room.

She stiffened at the thought.

"I will not harm you again," WolfStar said, looking at her carefully.

Her mouth twisted. "But will I harm myself?" she said.

WolfStar struggled up onto one elbow. "Why should you?" he asked.

Zenith looked at him. His face and form were half-hidden with the shifting shadows cast by the lamp, but she could see the gleam of his eyes, the hard planes of his face, the rise and fall of his chest.

"StarDrifter and I," she said, in a matter-of-fact tone, "have been having some personal difficulties."

"Yes?"

Zenith stared at WolfStar suspiciously, trying to find the merest hint of sarcasm, or even triumph, in his voice. But it was not there. What she could see of his face was merely wearied by the effort of raising himself up to look at her.

Zenith shrugged, letting her eyes drift away. "We are SunSoar," she said. "And our blood calls each to the other."

She glanced back at WolfStar, but his face was unreadable, and he remained silent.

"But ... but however much I love StarDrifter, and I do, and however much I want to be his lover, and that I desire as well, I cannot."

"No," WolfStar said, and his voice was low, thoughtful. "You could not, could you?"

Now it was Zenith's turn to remain silent.

"You are Azhure's daughter," WolfStar said, "and you could no more sleep with your own grandfather than you could thrust your own child into the fire."

And then he burst out laughing, apparently with genuine amusement. "Ah! I forgot. That you could do, and that you did do, very well, didn't you? Oh no, Zenith, do not go. I am laughing, but at my own stupidity and careless words than at you. Please, stay. Please."

Zenith sank back onto the stool, and let WolfStar take her hand again.

It was warm and dry and very soft and reassuring.

"I used the wrong words," he said, "but the meaning is true enough. StarDrifter is your beloved grandfather, and as much as I like to belittle the man, there are some things he does well — and being the warm, protective grandfather is one of those things. But now he wants to bed you. Poor Zenith. Your Acharite reserve must be at full war with your Icarii longings.

"And yet I," his voice lowered, and his hand slipped down to grasp lightly her wrist, "am a full-blooded Icarii man with no such reserves. A man who abused and wronged you, true, but one who has now been suitably punished, is suitably regretful ... and who is of SunSoar blood."

"Shut up!"

His fingers tightened. "Hate yourself, Zenith. Not me. Not for speaking the truth."