“You're crossed wizh me.”

“Yes.”

“You said you wouldn't be.”

“I never said that.”

“You implied professionalism.”

“I am being professional.”

“Zhis is you being professional?”

“Yes.”

Kimia considered.

“Fair.”

Tarkhe approached.

He did not immediately begin an examination.

This was possibly more threatening than if he had.

“How much?”

Kimia looked out the window.

“Tarkhe.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

His expression hardened.

“Kimia.”

She sighed.

“Two.”

“Two what?”

“Vials.”

He closed his eyes for one second, then opened them.

“No kilcane?”

“No.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Alcohol?”

“No.”

Tarkhe studied her. 

Kimia held his gaze.

This answer, at least, was true.

He stepped closer and touched the back of his fingers beneath her jaw.

Temperature, then wrist. Pulse.

Kimia endured it.

“You're still warm.”

“I know.”

“You hydrated?”

“Yes.”

“Eat?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Fruit. Shellfish.”

“Enough?”

“No idea.”

“That means no.”

“It means I didn't weigh it.”

Tarkhe released her wrist.

“You should eat a proper meal.”

“I intend to.”

“Here.”

“No.”

He paused. Kimia realized the answer had emerged before the thought.

Interesting.

“Why not here?” he asked.

Kimia looked toward the city.

Because here contained everything. Because the palace had become too good at permitting her to disappear. Because every corridor led eventually to some room where she had done something stupid. Because Vehm was probably somewhere drinking himself toward oblivion and she had begun thinking that joining him sounded reasonable.

She could leave.

The thought arrived complete.

Kimia stood. The indrel's head turned. Tarkhe looked wary.

Kimia walked several steps into the room.

“I'm going out.”

“No.”

She looked at him.

Tarkhe corrected himself.

“Where?”

“I haven't decided.”

“Then you're not going.”

“You've become very ambitious about your auzhority.”

“You are still intoxicated.”

“Barely.”

“That is not sobriety.”

“No.”

Kimia thought.

Somewhere outside the palace existed restaurants. Cafes. Public rooms. Places where she could sit with Vehm and drink something if she chose, but where obtaining whiteblood would require effort and kilcane would require considerably more.

A place with witnesses. A place with limits.

Not safe.

Safer.

That distinction had governed more of her life than she wished to admit.

She looked at Tarkhe.

“If I'm going to try to escape from myself tonight, I should probably do it somewhere that makes escape inconvenient.”

Tarkhe said nothing. Kimia continued.

“Less temptation.”

“That is not how I would phrase a treatment plan.”

“I am not asking you to.”