Over the next few days, as Fëanor went from meeting to gathering to social event to quiet room where he could be alone and slowly begin to piece together the details of his plans, he thought of Marisa often.

In a bored moment, whenever what he was doing didn't engage his full attention (which was very often) her face would cross his mind. He remembered every tiny detail of her face, from the exact sparkle in her deep sapphire-blue eyes to the way her lips curved into an insincere but beautiful smile.

Stelmaria was not happy about this. "Why are you thinking about her all of the time?" she asked, repeatedly. "There are much more important things to think about than a mortal woman with half a brain and a pretty smile!"

He knew she was right, but he didn't stop thinking about Marisa. She wasn't distracting him, and he wasn't going to let her. Just thinking was harmless enough; there was no reason to stop doing it.

It was about a week later that he saw her again. He was going into the library to look up some figures when he saw her sitting at one of the tables, writing something.

"Don't," said Stelmaria.

Fëanor ignored her and went up to the table at which Marisa was sitting. He placed one hand on the table and leaned on it a little. "Hello," he said.

"Lord Asriel!" said Marisa, looking up from her paper and meeting his eyes. "What an unexpected surprise!"

There was a seat opposite Marisa's, which Fëanor pulled out from under the table and sat down on. "That is a tautology," he said. "If it were expected it would not be a surprise."

She glared at him. "There is such a thing as an expected surprise," she replied. "If one were to know that there were to be a surprise, but not what said surprise was, then that would be an expected surprise."

Fëanor had to acknowledge that she had a point. Far from being annoyed by this, however, he was actually pleased.

"I'm sorry I had to leave so suddenly last week," said Marisa. "Edward is so over-protective that he gets jealous if I spend five minutes outside his company. Which is much less entertaining than yours, incidentally."

"Thank you," he said. "Although, having met your husband a few times, I doubt that what you're saying is actually much of a compliment."

Marisa suddenly seemed to realise what she was saying. Here she was, a married woman, disparaging her husband to another man while complimenting him at the same time. "I'm sorry – " she said. "I shouldn't have said that – I'm married – if anyone found out – "

"Do you care about – convention?" he asked.

"No, but I care about what people will think if I don't follow convention."

"Well," he replied, a lazy smile playing across his face, "we'll just have to make sure people don't find out, then."

Marisa blinked. This wasn't what she had been expecting. After a long silence, she said "Yes. I suppose you're right."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Fëanor watched the golden monkey slip off Marisa's shoulder and into the middle of the table. Stelmaria unwound herself from his legs and slipped underneath the table with what, if he hadn't known her so well by now, he would have thought a purr.

The silence continued, but Fëanor could tell that something had changed between them. They were no longer wary and mistrustful, but comfortable in each other's presence.

"Shall we continue our discussion where we left off the other day?" asked Fëanor.

"Yes," replied Marisa. "What you were saying about the regulation of science could easily be seen as heresy, you know."

"Define heresy for me," insisted Fëanor.

"Certainly. According to the Decree of Geneva, 1876, heresy is defined as questioning or going against the word of God as shown by the Bible or by any officially recognised prophet or saint, or by a sign which has been approved by the College of Bishops or the Society of the Works of the Holy Spirit."

"And has God ever pronounced on the regulation of science?"

"…No, but many of the scientific works which could have otherwise been allowed to go ahead unchecked would be classed as heresy."

"But saying that regulation shouldn't be so strict isn't technically heresy, is it?"

Marisa nodded reluctantly. "Not technically, but… I doubt the Church would see it that way. If you said that in front of anyone…"

"Other than you?" asked Fëanor. "I presume you wouldn't – "

For one brief moment, Marisa's face clouded with a rebellious look. Maybe he had said the wrong thing.

"I wouldn't presume, if I were you. But… no, I won't. You're a controversial enough figure as it is. I wouldn't be surprised if they had their eye on you by now."

"Nor would I," replied Fëanor. "But I don't particularly care if they do."

Marisa gasped. "You don't care about the Church?" she said. "How can you – the Church is everything, you can't just not care about it!"

"I can," he replied calmly, "and I will."

Marisa stared at him in shock. "I care about the Church," she told him. "The Church is the only way to get anywhere in this world."

"Be careful," whispered Stelmaria, and Fëanor bit his tongue: he had been about to make a thoughtless remark about the phrase "in this world" which would have been giving away far too much.

"I should go," he said, annoyed with himself. "I have to look up some figures."

"I haven't offended you, I hope?"

"No," he replied, standing up, "not at all. I hope to see you again soon."

"We could meet," she said, the words coming out in a rush. "Here. The same time. Tomorrow?"

"Not tomorrow. I have a meeting in Parliament. The day after?"

Marisa nodded, and Fëanor turned to walk away, a feeling he couldn't explain burning inside him.