Braun and Maksim slept together for the comfort they took from each other, body touching body. They shared a deep affection. One might have called it love, if the word hadn’t so many resonances that had nothing to do with them. Maksim found his loves in Kukurul, young men who stayed a night or two, then left, others who loved him a longer time but also left.

Brann went through a short but difficult period during the first days they spent on Jal Virri; she wanted him, but had to recognize the futility of that particular passion. It was a brief agony, but an agony nonetheless, a scouring of her soul. His voice stirred her to the marrow of her bones, he was bigger than life, a passionate dominating complex man; she’d never met his equal anywhere anytime in all her long life. She shared his disdain for inherited privilege, his sardonic, sympathetic view of ordinary men; her mind marched with his, they enjoyed the same things, laughed at the same things, deplored the same things, were content to be quiet at the same time. Anything more, though, was simply not there. She too went prowling the night in Kukurul, though it was more distraction than passion she was seeking.

There was enough of a nip in the air to make her snuggle closer to Maksim. He grumbled in his sleep, but again he didn’t wake. She scratched at her thigh, worked her toes, flexed and unflexed her knees. It was impossible; how did he do it, sleep like that, on and on? She never could stay still once she was awake. Her mouth tasted foul, like something had died in it and was growing moss. Her bladder was overfull; if she moved she’d slosh. She pressed her thighs together; it didn’t help. That’s it, she thought. That’s all I need. She slid out of bed and scurried for the watercloset.

When she came back, Maksim had turned onto his stomach.