Kit allowed Vanari to pull her into the Silver Sliver, set her down. Kit breathed in deep, closed her eyes, kneading her belly as though it would quiet the unsure flittering in her stomach while Vanari was busy getting everything together. It didn't work. She closed her eyes, looked at the ceiling and breathed out of her nose, slowly. Ria could so brave, confessing that. Braver than Shy . . . Maybe even braver than Kit.
They had settled dwn in a little corner table, a flickering lantern casting shadows in warm red light like a hearth long burning. Kit put her hands on the table, looked down, fidgeted slightly. At the mention of the House of Immortal Pleasures Kit looked up, bit her lip, curled her toes. Vanari had more experience with it than Kit did, then . . . But the things that Vanari alluded to were beyond Kit's comprehension. How could Kit hope to measure up to that? It would be like going from the best meals money could buy to a thin broth.
To have this conversation properly, Kit would need to give up some parts of herself for Vanari to see. Kit felt naked . . . Not the way she had propped up on the pavilion of the slave market, naked in truth. Then she had the shield of her defiance, her anger to guard her. Now Kit was offering to let a stranger in a little, and it scared her. Kit rubbed her eyes, blinked furiously. Where were her defenses now?
In the end, Kit picked out a harmless little anecdote from Alvadas. "Where I grew up, they ran plays all the time." Kit clutched her hands together on the table and looked up in Vanari's eyes. "They changed the plays up every time, so much it was hard to recognize them. The swineherd in one showing became a prince in the next, a soldier in another, a barmaid or princess in another. Sometimes it was a serving girl who swept a young lady off their feet, took them to a dance, kissed under leth's light, won their father's approval. It didn't matter. Ionu adores variety in all things."
"I've never actually . . ." Kit shrugged. "You know. And I think I like boys, too." Kit's eyes latched onto the wine that Vanari had picked out. She wanted to be clear headed, she didn't want to give herself away . . . But she needed liquid courage. Kit grabbed the wine, poured it into her own cub with an uneasy hand and downed it all, felt the warmth of it settle into the pit of her stomach. "They can both be a joy to watch. The boys and the girls."
"I think . . . illusion means something more than just a convincing lie." Kit took poured more, drank more. "I think it means you get to decide. An illusionist can change their face, their bodies, they can be whatever they want to be, and no one can tell them that they're not."
Kit chewed on the inside of her lip, shifted in her seat. "I think we can be whatever we want to be."
They had settled dwn in a little corner table, a flickering lantern casting shadows in warm red light like a hearth long burning. Kit put her hands on the table, looked down, fidgeted slightly. At the mention of the House of Immortal Pleasures Kit looked up, bit her lip, curled her toes. Vanari had more experience with it than Kit did, then . . . But the things that Vanari alluded to were beyond Kit's comprehension. How could Kit hope to measure up to that? It would be like going from the best meals money could buy to a thin broth.
To have this conversation properly, Kit would need to give up some parts of herself for Vanari to see. Kit felt naked . . . Not the way she had propped up on the pavilion of the slave market, naked in truth. Then she had the shield of her defiance, her anger to guard her. Now Kit was offering to let a stranger in a little, and it scared her. Kit rubbed her eyes, blinked furiously. Where were her defenses now?
In the end, Kit picked out a harmless little anecdote from Alvadas. "Where I grew up, they ran plays all the time." Kit clutched her hands together on the table and looked up in Vanari's eyes. "They changed the plays up every time, so much it was hard to recognize them. The swineherd in one showing became a prince in the next, a soldier in another, a barmaid or princess in another. Sometimes it was a serving girl who swept a young lady off their feet, took them to a dance, kissed under leth's light, won their father's approval. It didn't matter. Ionu adores variety in all things."
"I've never actually . . ." Kit shrugged. "You know. And I think I like boys, too." Kit's eyes latched onto the wine that Vanari had picked out. She wanted to be clear headed, she didn't want to give herself away . . . But she needed liquid courage. Kit grabbed the wine, poured it into her own cub with an uneasy hand and downed it all, felt the warmth of it settle into the pit of her stomach. "They can both be a joy to watch. The boys and the girls."
"I think . . . illusion means something more than just a convincing lie." Kit took poured more, drank more. "I think it means you get to decide. An illusionist can change their face, their bodies, they can be whatever they want to be, and no one can tell them that they're not."
Kit chewed on the inside of her lip, shifted in her seat. "I think we can be whatever we want to be."