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Barryn persisted. “The southern continent? He still ought to be able to make it up here to see you once in a while while you're convalescing. If he really cared for you, that is.”

At that, the flying snake lifted its head from her shoulder to stare fixedly at him. Could it have sensed something? True telepaths were only tall tales—the empathetic kind as much as any other.

“His work is difficult and very demanding,” she told him, not smiling now. “There's a lot of stress. The kind of stress no one can imagine.”

Barryn took mild offense. “I work with seriously hurt people. That involves a lot of stress, too, you know.”

“I know, Tam. You're a good person and you work hard.” Reaching out, she gently patted his right arm. He would have accounted it a small triumph had he been able to escape the feeling that she was patronizing him. The prospect of killing lunch notwithstanding, he decided the time had come for directness.

“Look, you know how much I like you, Clarity. What is it about this guy, who can never find the time to visit you when you're hurt? Why can't you just shake him? Is he better looking than me? Smarter, richer? What? I at least deserve to know what I'm up against.”

She stopped, staring out across the lake whose hues so often mirrored what she was feeling. “Philip and I go back years, Tam. We've been through a lot together. More than I can explain.” Turning back to him, she met his gaze with a look that was at once compassionate and unyielding. “If you want me to be specific, yes: he's richer than you and smarter than you. None of which matters. Nothing matters except what's inside him. I've been lucky enough to have been allowed to see that. I've been damned to have been allowed to see that. You know how people sometimes say they feel like they have the weight of the world on their shoulders? Well, Philip has the weight of the whole galaxy on his.”

Barryn was taken aback. How did one respond to something so outrageous? If it was a testament of undying love, it was the most outlandish one he had ever heard.

“But,” she finished with a sigh as she resumed walking, “you can still take me to lunch. I won't deny that I don't get lonely sometimes, even with Bran and Tru's regular visits.”

“The old guy and the bug?”

Her smile returned. He was glad to see it, though the words that accompanied its resurgence left him feeling, for a second time, that she just might be patronizing him.

“Maybe one day there'll be a chance for you to meet and talk to them. I think you'd be surprised. They also have a tendency to get around….”

Barryn felt that he was making progress. Slow progress, to be sure, but moving in the right direction. Though the occasional condescension she displayed toward him was offensive, he chose to ignore it. If she wanted to feel superior, as long as it advanced their relationship he was perfectly willing to let her. Given time, he was confident that would change. While not the brightest guy in the world, or even the brightest at the medical complex, he knew he was not stupid.

It was a routinely beautiful morning. They were lying side by side on the beach, relaxing atop cooling air lounges. From time to time he felt free to admire her out of the corner of a shaded eye. With the body bandage now gone she was more beautiful than ever. And her joy at its removal had only increased his determination to forge a liaison.

Then, and for no discernible reason, that damned cold-eyed pet of hers suddenly went nuts.

One minute it was lying at her feet, a coil of somnolent iridescent color. The next, both he and Clarity were jolted from their dozing by a loud retort. What sounded like a large piece of canvas cracking in the wind was the snap of a pair of pleated wings opening wide. Sitting up, Barryn gaped at the flying snake as it shot skyward. He had watched it take to the air many times before, but never so explosively.

Clarity was no less bewildered. “Scrap—get back here!” The minidrag didn't hear her. It was already rocketing inland, heading straight for the heart of the medical complex. “Scrap!”