“Is your aim to lead me away from the bed?”

”No.” She set the tray of bread and cheese on the table and looked up. “Did you want the bed?”

Not revulsion. Not fear. Simple curiosity in the question. If he wanted, he thought he could coax her back inside with no trouble at all. But that wasn’t why he’d sought her out today.

“If I had my way, we’d never leave the bed,” he said. “Just you and me with the empire locked outside the door.”

The corner of her mouth quirked. “Who would empty the chamber pots?”

“You’re so practical.” He peered over the side of the balcony. “We could toss everything down and hope Serat walked by at an opportune moment.”

Her smile widened. “That is tempting.”

“Or we could allow only the servants to enter,” he said, “to bring us food and restock the fire.”

“You know that’s almost exactly how I imagined the consul spent his days before I came here.”

“And now?”

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “I can’t imagine anyone willing to lock themselves in a room with Serat for that long. Except perhaps you.”

“Believe me, I don’t do so by choice.”

She accepted that with a nod and finished slicing the cheese with quick, elegant movements. She was efficient with a knife. But efficient in the way of a cook, not a trained assassin. He could tell the difference, and it reassured him.

She looked up when she was done. “What would you like to eat? I should have ordered meat. Or fish. You prefer fish.”

He thought about accepting the food simply because she offered it but shook his head. “I’ve already eaten, but don’t let that stop you. You don’t eat enough.”

Everyone on the island bore the marks of malnourishment. He wasn’t the nurturing type, but there was something about Lorel that made him want to take care of her.

She selected a sliver of cheese, popped it into her mouth and washed it down with a healthy sip of wine.

“How did your meeting go with the consul?”

“Well enough,” he said. “As well as it ever goes and nothing to do with the weather. Serat complains as loudly when the sun shines as when it doesn’t.”

“Is he homesick?”

“I think so, yes.” Serat wasn’t homesick. He was a prick, but Lorel didn’t need to hear that. Besides, she was a smart woman. She couldn’t possibly have missed that fact.

She brushed a crumb from her skirt and then dismissed the food. Today, she wore a plain gown. The sleeves came to her elbows and her overskirts were made of a light pale blue. He’d seen the peasants wear much the same, but had so rarely seen Lorel in anything but her dancing costumes it seemed exotic to him.

Joining him, she rested her elbows against the stone railing and he turned with her. Their shoulders brushed.