Mr Morghis's accusation shocked Esmera into silence. That was if "shock" was the word for a pounding heart, sweaty palms and ears that burned like wildfires during a drought, but what other name was there for this feeling?

The truth was, Esmera liked the rain well enough. But that was when it fell gently, cooling the earth and flicking life into her skin, not when it blinded her. Not when it endured for hours, running down her neck and soaking into her socks until she didn't remember what it was like to be dry.

"I..." She tried for a shrug, but it felt more like a tense jerk than the casual movement she'd intended. "Sometimes storms are unavoidable."

Tauram Morghis scanned her. His dark eyes gleamed, unreadable in the dimness of the room, yet they still managed to unravel Esmera.

"I can see that."

Esmera's cheeks grew hot. They must be drawing heat from the fire set into the wall on the opposite side of the room. It had nothing to do with those eyes that could judge and tease and study her all with one look.

"Sorry for wetting your coat." Esmera tucked her hands into the pockets, which were still dry.

"Don't be." Mr Morghis waved a dismissive hand. "Coats are meant to get wet. People are not." He gestured at the coat stand beside the door.

It had been hidden behind the door when Belaren opened it. Now that it was closed, the rack stood proudly, enough shades darker than the wall to separate itself from it.

"Why don't you hang up the coat and dry off by the fire?" Even if Mr Morghis's voice wasn't one of the most inviting Esmera had ever heard, she would've been unable to resist such an offer.

"I'd like that." It had been hours since she had been dry and warm, and years since she sat beside a fire.

She'd had a fireplace in her room when she lived with the Thomas family. Since then, Esmera couldn't help but think of it whenever she saw one. The simple sight took her back to happier days. It was worth it to feel cosy and loved for a moment, even though she knew she would always return to her cold, harsh present.

Mr Morghis stepped out from behind his desk. Esmera draped his damp coat over an empty hook, then joined him in front of the fire.

The flames glimmered off the glossy coffee table in front of Mr Morghis. Strangely enough, they gave off no smoky scent, no aroma of burning wood. It was an electric fire, Esmera saw on closer inspection.

Of course it was. Whoever had thought to design an apartment like this would see to it that a fire couldn't stain its walls with soot or taint its furniture with the smell of smoke.

"Please, sit down."

Mr Morghis's request sounded an awful lot like a command, but Esmera cast a doubtful look at the chair he indicated. It was a beautiful tub armchair, with paisley patterns embroidered in more shades of grey than she knew existed.

Such a chair was made for the sophisticated guests Mr Morghis no doubt had over, not slouching, rain-drenched baristas who could barely scrape together their monthly rent.

"No thanks. I think I'll dry off quicker if I stand by the fire." Without waiting for his reply, Esmera crossed to the fireplace and set her hand on the mantelpiece.

The flames may not be real, but the warmth they provided was. Esmera gave a soft sigh as it enveloped her. It was like a cushion she could sink into.

"Suit yourself."

It was only when she looked back at Mr Morghis, who was sprawled in the chair with all the nonchalance of the man who owned it that she saw the cat crouched in the shadows under his chair.

It was bigger than any housecat Esmera had ever seen, closer to the size of a dog. She had never seen a creature like it, with its large, gold-brown eyes. It looked like a miniature leopard with the dark splotches on its coat.

It snarled at Esmera. She started.

"Mr Morghis"—Esmera didn't dare to move any part of her except her lips, and even that she kept slight— "there's a wildcat under your chair."

Esmera expected that he might yell out for Belaren or curl his legs under him on the seat as she would've done in his place, but he only reached down.

"Oh, you mean Lundas?" He pronounced the name like Loon-dus.

The cat hissed at Mr Morghis's outstretched hand. Esmera's eyes widened in fear at both suspecting and not knowing what might come next.

"Settle down, Lundas." Mr Morghis stroked the cat behind his ears. "One would think I never taught you to be welcoming to our guests."

Lundas purred as he reclined under Mr Morghis's chair. Esmera blinked. This meek, content creature couldn't be the same one who had been ready to pounce mere moments ago.

What was Mr Morghis doing keeping wild animals as pets anyway? The mystery surrounding the man only deepened the more Esmera saw of him.

Money could hide a lot of things but not the truth, not for long.

Mr Morghis raised his eyes to Esmera's, his half-smile highlighted by the fickle firelight. "So, I believe you have a question for me."

"I do, Mr Morghis." Esmera fixed her gaze on the cat under his chair even though he had long lost interest in her and was now licking his paws.

His owner might trust him, but Esmera sure didn't.

Mr Morghis smiled. Once again, it was like he was holding back a laugh. "Please, call me Tauram."

Esmera nodded, speechless. Still, she attempted to compose herself. She didn't usually get so swoony when people asked her to call them by their first names. What was wrong with her?

Tauram must've read Esmera's feelings on her face because his smile widened.

He was a wicked man because he liked to tease her, but she was equally wicked for liking it.

Esmera inwardly smacked some sense into herself. She wasn't allowed to get swoony over anyone. She was barely two months out of a marriage she couldn't survive, and she was legally bound by it until Stephan decided otherwise.

All the same, there was nothing wrong with a little swooning. It could be harmless if she only kept back all the feelings that followed it.

She looked away from Tauram. The simple motion realigned her thoughts with her purpose.

She had come here for answers, and she wasn't leaving without them, no matter how distracting her host was.

"Okay, Tauram." Esmera tested the name out in her mouth, putting the emphasis exactly where he had.

Tor-aam.

Esmera had never heard the name before, but it rolled off her tongue as naturally as if it had its roots in a language she had always known. That couldn't be right. Esmera only spoke English and some Spanish, having taken a class at school.

"Yes?" Tauram prompted, and that was when Esmera realised she had gotten lost in her thoughts again.

She cleared her throat. "I saw a painting of a lark in the Himalayan exhibit at the museum."

Once again, Tauram's eyes betrayed nothing. He cocked his head as he studied Esmera, still stroking his strange cat's ears.

She took that as a cue to continue. "I was wondering who painted it. I asked a tour guide who didn't know, so she sent me to you for answers."

Esmera's heart beat in her ears. Her hands tingled as they did whenever she was nervous or excited—two feelings that felt too alike to distinguish between.

Only when the words had left her mouth did she realise how weird they sounded. Hopefully, Tauram wouldn't think that because everything hinged on his response.

Only he could make this visit worth Esmera's time or a waste of it.

"I'm glad the guide sent you to me." Tauram leaned back in his chair with his familiar smile. "I'm the one who painted it."

Esmera's mouth fell open. She had thought the day was done with its surprises, but she was wrong. What was new?

"You?" Esmera's voice rang through the room with incredulity.

"Yes, me." Tauram's eyes glittered as if challenging Esmera for a response.

She blinked, unable to lift her jaw off the ground.

She had pinned Tauram as an art collector and connoisseur, not an artist himself. She couldn't imagine paint smudged on his hands or speckled on his crisp white shirt. He seemed too polished for an art form that could get so messy. Despite that, she believed him.

Only an artist could have given that analysis of the painting of the royal family in the museum. Only an artist could experience feelings through mediums that were merely a means to an end to most other people.

Could that mean Tauram had painted the other pieces in the Himalayan exhibit too? Even the one with the family that he said was his favourite?

Before Esmera could verbalise the questions going through her mind, Tauram smirked.

"If you have something to say, just say it."

"No, not at all. I..." As usual, Esmera's words deserted her when she needed them most.

She was flustered. She could feel it in her hot cheeks, and she knew that had nothing to do with the fire that burned so nearby.

It wasn't as if Esmera had never spoken to a man before. Then again, she had never spoken to a man who had his art displayed in the museum he owned and lent his coat to strange women who had been soaked in the rain.

"Well, is that all you wanted to know?" Tauram traced a finger over Lundas's head.

The big cat purred like a tame pet, but Esmera wasn't fooled for a second.

"No." Esmera bit her lip.

This was the craziest part of what she had to say, but surely she had nothing to worry about. If Tauram had humoured her this long, he would hear her out until the end.

Only when Esmera had convinced herself that this wasn't a lost cause did she continue. "You see, the lark in the painting looks just like the one who has been visiting me for the past five years. He brings me similar pebbles and flowers too. Since you're the artist, I was hoping you might be able to tell me where the lark comes from and why he keeps coming to me." Esmera hated how vulnerable the hope in her voice was. It was a snail without a shell, a footstep away from being squelched.

But Tauram wouldn't squelch her. He wouldn't be so unkind.

Esmera wasn't sure if Tauram's face hardened or if the fire simply sharpened it as he turned to the window. The rain tapping against the glass was the only sound in the room for a long, tense moment.

"That species of lark is only found in Milatanur. You can't have seen him in these parts." When Tauram finally spoke, his voice was sharper than Esmera had heard it.

He didn't sound like the man who had lent Esmera his coat and teased her about getting caught in the rain.

He sounded like a stranger, and at the same time, familiar.

Esmera shrank back against the wall. Her survival senses were screaming at her to get out before things escalated, before he called her a liar and told her she'd be nothing without him, before he grabbed her by the throat and made her apologise for a wrong she didn't fully understand.

"Are you okay?" There was a soft concern in Tauram's voice, not the edge that had always told Esmera when she and Stephan were about to fight.

Tauram wasn't Stephan.

Esmera didn't have to run.

"I'm fine." Her attack of fear turned her voice higher than it normally was.

If Tauram noticed, he showed no sign. His eyes rested on her, giving her no idea whether or not he believed her.

"And I'm not crazy."

Tauram raised his eyebrows. "I didn't say you were."

"But you're treating me like I am!"

He hadn't had to say his thoughts aloud for Esmera to know them. It was in the bewilderment in his eyes, so like the look Stephan wore when he was telling Esmera their fight didn't happen the way she remembered.

At the bite of her nails into her skin as she balled her fists, Esmera unclenched them. She blinked, and the man from her past and the one in her present split into their separate selves once again.

Esmera could get angry or she could get answers. Not both.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I know what I saw, Tauram."

Whether or not Esmera had convinced him that she was fine and completely sane, she had to make him believe her about her little visitor. This was the closest she would ever get to the lark.

Who knew if she would ever gain another audience with Tauram? She didn't know, and she didn't want to find out.

Tauram shook his head. "You must've been mistaken."

Esmera just stared at him, disappointment, disbelief and desperation all curdling into a sickening feeling in her stomach.

"But I have proof." With trembling fingers, Esmera reached into her purse and pulled out the lark's gifts from the morning.

It seemed like days ago when she considered everything that had happened since. The flower's bent stem seemed to agree. Its petals had dried out, but there was a poignant beauty in its ageing. The immortal pebble, however, still shone from within with a sun's might.

Esmera reached over the coffee table to set them in Tauram's outstretched hands.

His eyes widened as he took in the sight of the lark's gifts. "No. It can't be." He rubbed the brittle petals between his fingers, gentle enough not to break them. His gaze rested on the pebble next. He turned the white stone over in his hand.

Esmera watched him, expecting an answer, but he merely shook his head, muttering, "There is only one portal out of Milatanur, and Ruagu has it guarded. Nobody should be able to leave without authorisation, not even a little lark."

Esmera didn't know whether Tauram was talking to her, himself or the vicious furball beneath his chair, so she stayed silent.

Had she heard correctly? Had Tauram mentioned a portal? Esmera had come across the concept in a fantasy book many years ago. Such things didn't exist outside of fiction, but because Esmera knew her ears never lied, she couldn't help but wonder what craziness she had gotten herself mixed in.

Whatever it was, it was worth it. Esmera now knew where her lark came from and who might be able to help her get there, should she need to.

The cat watched Esmera. He receded so far into the shadows that all she could see of him was two large, bright eyes staring up at her from the floor.

They didn't leave her as he purred.

"It can't be." Tauram frowned, still staring at the stone.

Lundas gave a soft growl that Tauram understood even though Esmera didn't.

Tauram gazed at Esmera, his eyes wide.

Esmera looked down at herself to check that she hadn't turned into a ghost or an alien or any other being that would give Tauram a reason to stare at her like she wasn't human.

She hadn't. Her body was as solid as ever. She still had five fingers on each olive-toned hand.

Esmera met Tauram's eyes even though she was terrified at what thoughts ran through his mind to turn his face so stricken. She didn't even dare to think of it.

Lundas peeked out from the shadows. Tauram let out a breath as he rested his hand on his cat's head.

"I know she looks like a Finnaz, but the whole family was killed off almost 23 years ago."

Tauram lowered his gaze to Lundas, who hissed in typical fashion.

"Of course I remember they had a daughter, but she was a baby. She couldn't have escaped the massacre on her own." Tauram brought his eyes back to Esmera.

A realisation took flight within them as she watched.

"Unless she somehow did."