“I’m terrified,” Shan said, carefully circling him. “But you’re probably right. It just might be ugly enough.” He shook his head in repulsed wonder. “You look like a pumpkin.”

“Oh, no, do you think so? The cloakmaker will be distressed; he was extremely proud of the work.” Val Con grinned. “I have a genius for design.”

“what you have a genius for is for driving me mad! Do you mean to say you actually designed this monstrosity? Why? You hate cloaks! You’ll never wear it. Unless it’s your idea of a joke on Society? Everyone will rush out to have a cloak like Korval’s—and you’ll have a grand time laughing up your sleeve. Delightful. Except you’ll be off-world for most of the time this new fashion of yours is the rage. I’ll have to look at the stupid things every time I go out for the next—”

Val Con was laughing.

Shan regarded him sourly. “OK; I bit, did I? Explain. Include,” he added after a moment, “why it had to be orange.”

“Ah, you see, orange doesn’t suit everyone. But with my lovely dark hair and pure golden skin tone…"

“Stop.” Shan took a breath. “Val Con, you’re my brother and I love you. Don’t make me kill you.”

“Orange is my aunt’s favorite color,” murmured the other. “I thought, since she so kindly bears the expense…”

“I see,” Shan said, “paid good money to hide you, has she? so it’s orange and you’ll be hidden for everyone to see. Now: Why is it at all?”

“So that we will win the race at the Little Festival.”

Shan blinked. “Yes? Could you be more specific, please?”

“Certainly.” Val Con linked their arms and gently turned his brother back toward the trees. “If you will only walk with me to the skimmer and have the goodness to give me a ride…”

* * *

THEIR SISTERS comfortably established in the stands, Shan and Val Con walked leisurely toward the qualifying field. To the left, the jewel-colored pleasure pavilions rippled in the flower-scented breeze. To the right, Te’lesha Lake reflected the colors of the afternoon sky. Already there were people abroad with love-garlands in their hands.