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turned to look out Lionstar's window, only to find it had gone away as well.
    With such a dark interior and no lamps, it should have been pitch black in the coach. But light still filled it. She bit her lip, wondering where the luminance came from.
    "Here." Lionstar tapped the ceiling. His voice had a blurred quality to it.
    Puzzled, she looked up. A glowing white strip bordered the roof of the coach. It resembled a light panel, but made as thin as a finger and flexible enough to bend.
    "That's what you were looking for, wasn't it?" he said. "The light?"
    How had he known? "Yes."
    He nodded, then reached into his cloak and brought out a bottle. Shaped like a curved square, it was made from dark blue glass with a gold top. He unscrewed the top, lifted the bottle into his cowl, and tilted back his head. After a moment he lowered the bottle and wiped his hand across whatever he had for a face. Then he returned the bottle to his cloak.
    Kamoj blinked, catching a whiff of rum. Then Lionstar turned and slid his arms around her. With one black-gloved hand, he rubbed the lace on her sleeve, rolling it between his fingers. Then he folded his hand around her breast, under the vine of roses, and pressed his lips against the top of her head while he caressed her.
    Embarrassed and flustered, Kamoj sat utterly still. But his hand soon stopped moving. In fact, after a few moments, it slipped off her breast and fell into her lap. His whole body was leaning on her now, making it hard to sit up straight. She squinted up at him, wondering what to do. While she pondered, he gave a snore.
    Her new husband, it seemed, had gone to sleep.
    She gave him a nudge. When he made no objection, she pushed him into an upright position. He lay his head back against the seat, his mail-covered chest rising and falling in a deep, even rhythm.
    Just as she started to feel grateful for this unexpected reprieve to absorb her situation, he tried to lie down again. The coach didn't have enough room for his legs, so he stretched out on the seat with his feet on the ground and his head in her lap. Then he went back to snoring.
    Kamoj scratched her chin. Of all the possible scenarios she had imagined for their ride to the palace, this wasn't one of them. She stared at his cowled head in her lap, the hood lying across his face. Was he truly as hideous as everyone claimed?
    For a while she resisted her curiosity. The longer he slept, though, the more the thought nagged at her. How would he even know if she looked?
    Finally she could take it no more. She tugged on his cowl. When he made no protest and showed no sign of waking, she pulled more. Still no response from Lionstar. Emboldened, she brushed the hood back from his head-and nearly screamed.
    He had no face.
    No eyes, no nose, no mouth. Just metal. His head was man-shaped, with the contours of a face, but instead of skin and human features, he had only silver scales.
    "Hai," she whispered. She drew in a shakey breath. So. Now she knew.
    As her pulse calmed, she took in more of his appearance. He had human hair. No, not human. It too had a metallic cast. Thick glossy curls spilled to his shoulders, a mixture of gold, bronze, and copper, with silver at the temples. It was glorious. She had never seen those colors, though. Some farmers in Ironbridge had yellow hair, but nothing like this multi-hued mane.
    In fact, it fit his name almost too well. A remarkable coincidence, that someone named Lionstar happened to have such a leonine mane, like the skylions of the upper mountains, with their six-legged scaled bodies and feathered manes. Then again, maybe his ancestors adopted the name because such hair ran in his line. People had done stranger. She was named for a plant, after all, and the Current only knew what Quanta meant.
    Kamoj brushed a finger over his curls. He kept on sleeping. At least she thought he was sleeping.
    How did one tell when a person had no eyes? In any case, he gave no evidence he disliked her touch.