"She is attuned to you now, is she not?"

"Only just, yes. But I shan't be monitoring her thoughts constantly, and I hope she abides by the courtesies I taught her not to do me that injustice."

"Because she would find out you love her?"

"That, Leochleánne, and many other things."

The owl ruffled her feathers, perched on his shoulder as usual. Reaching on eleven in the night, it was, and he was unable to sleep as always. He sat on the deck, a glass of scotch in one of his hands, still full – he'd been trying to sleep without drinking. In the night air, he felt somehow more free and more content than by day.

"Vincent, the masquerade is getting difficult to continue."

"Don't I know it."

"If it comes down to it, boy, you'll have to tell her. I would rather she feel guilty for a time than she find out from your own thoughts. That would hurt her more."

"I know, Leochleánne, I know . . ."

The owl simply looked him in the eye with her great big golden ones and shook her head – although that might have been a fly buzzing about. Sometimes he felt that here was where he truly planned his lessons, not when he wrote them down. The thought was sobering enough to make him down half the glass of scotch in a single gulp, though he immediately wished he hadn't as the liquor burned his mouth and throat.

"Careful there, Vincent."

"I can hold far more than a glass of scotch."

"Not when you're sad, you can't."

"True." He smiled, in spite of himself. "I wonder if she knows?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Lyra's been tapping into my thoughts involuntarily, or it would have taken much more than a single try to attune herself. She most probably knows where I am at the moment, even if it comes to her in the form of a dream."

"Actually, I couldn't sleep either."

He spun his head around and majestically cricked his neck doing so, but it was only Lyra. She sat down beside him, hugging her knees, and after a few minutes glanced at him. He noticed a very non-Lyra-like smile on her face, a tranquil, serene smile with no sort of deep-seated deception or charm in it. She was happy, and that was that.

"Why?"

"It's hard listening to you and Pan at the same time."

"I've had the same problem before."

She gave him the benefit of that beautifully quiet smile, and then laid her head on his shoulder. He felt Leochleánne's talons tighten on the other, but he wasn't paying too much attention to the owl at the moment. Instead, he put the glass of scotch on the deck without moving his shoulder much, and put his now free arm around her shoulders.

"It's a beautiful night, Vincent."

"Not quite as beautiful as you."

"Really?" She smiled up at him. "You think so?"

"No, not really. I know so."

He settled into a more comfortable position, shifting his weight slightly onto her, and stroked her hair as they sat there under the night sky. For a moment, he thought he saw the fleeting image of an angel; but it could have equally been a shooting star.

"I saw it too."

"Yes, I know. Quite a sight, this sky, isn't it?"

"It's lovely, Vincent."

He felt Leochleánne tighten even further; if she made her talons constrict any more, she would likely make him bleed, but he held the shoulder fast. She was warning him, after all, and that was her function; but now, in the night sky, he almost felt as if he didn't want anyone nearby while he was alone with Lyra. He told her this without words, however; a good daemon like her would know, and for once in her life, she accepted it all without question, and flew below decks, presumably to accompany Pantalaimon.

"Why'd she leave?"

"Who knows, Lyra. She's a complete question mark to me."

She grinned and lay closer to him, her chest pressing against his side, so that he completely encircled her with his arm about her shoulders, and he saw suddenly that she was crying. Not yet a full cry, to be sure, but he saw the tears in her eyes, and held her even tighter, though this only served to increase the rate at which she shook and sniffed.

"I'll never see him – never see him again . . ."

"Who, Farder Coram?"

"Him too . . . but I meant – I mean, you're not going to cross over into another world with me, aren't you? You won't let me . . . you just want to teach me how to . . ."

"That could not be farther from the truth, Lyra."

"Don't lie to me, Vincent! We're alone, the way you've wanted it since I stepped on this boat, and you're going to lie to me? Don't. Please."

"W-wait. I don't understand."

"You never do," she said, now sobbing against him. "Vincent, if I told you that I wanted to see Will again, and I told you that I hated you, would you accept that? Would you still teach me? Would you let me go when I decided to leave?"

"As long as you followed my orders, yes, I'd teach you."

"And you would let me go?"

"That wouldn't be up to me. The Watchers–"

She struck him, a backhand crack with not too much strength in it, but just enough for him to recoil and hold his cheek in amazement. Yet she continued to cry.

"Don't dodge the question."

"Lyra, what do you want me to say?"

"Just tell me the truth."

"The truth?" He scoffed. "The truth, Lyra, is that when you come into a room, my heart quickens a beat per minute. When you speak to me, I find it hard to breathe well enough to respond. When you touch me, even as much as a finger, my entire body feels as if it has been electrified. And yet I have to sit here, stolid, unmoving, for it is not my place, or anyone else's, to tell you who to love and what to do."

"Vincent . . ."

"Tell me, Lyra, have you ever danced in your life?"

Well, she had, if only for a few of the school's events. But she felt as if now, she couldn't say no, no matter what he asked her. He had shared a most intimate sentiment with her; dancing was possibly the least she could do in return.

"Don't do it because of that."

"Then–"

"Would you like to learn?"

"Yes," she said after a beat. "All right."

"Very well. Let us stand up, and I'll teach you das Gespenst Steigend."

"Das what?"

"A German piece," he replied immediately. "His composer was Fredric Martin Bindfaden, unique to my world. In most others, he was never born. It is an energetic one, so if you feel tired, we will stop. It would not be right to tire you on your first lesson."

"Is it hard?"

"Not particularly. The third, fifth, and ninth movements tend to be the fastest, but I won't teach them to you until the end. Now come, stand – it is already morning."

"How"–she stood and gave him her hand–"did you know?"

"An experienced eye."

He took one of her hands in his, placed her other hand on his shoulder, and placed his free arm around her. He drew her to him, then stepped to the left – she followed – and began a pattern that she learned, after several rounds. He would step to the left twice, to the right, to the front – and here he did a double step that tricked her the first time; in the same motion he stepped to the front, he stepped to the back. What amazed her was how he knew where every obstacle was, and how capably he danced around them; he seemed to know, instinctively, where the railing was, and could easily direct them around it. And yet all the time his eyes remained locked on hers, their hearts beating so close to one another. Lyra remained in his arms even after as they looked at the water. It was nearly three in the morning – they'd danced for two hours without stopping – and they again sat on the deck, Vincent having picked back up his glass of Scotch.

"You won't drink, will you?"

"Not if you don't want me to."

She took the glass of Scotch from him and threw it over the railing. For a moment Vincent seemed to be speechless, but then he simply smiled placidly and held her tightly.

"Thank you, Lyra."

"For what? I've done nothing."

"For helping me see the world the way it was meant to be seen."

"And how is that?"

"Oh, you'll know. Perhaps it's by age, but I doubt it – I think the world is far too random to give us knowledge after a set amount of time. No, Lyra, I think the way I see the world is a way where I know my purpose, and my goal."

"And what's that?"

"To be your teacher, at the moment. As for greater goals, we shall see . . . but for now, I am content to help your learning, and to allow you to become more conscious."

"No, you're not. But you will be."