Spiderlight

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

“I just . . . I need to make a decision, you know that. So help me, Cyrene. Tell me what the creature did.” “Nothing.” “Very evidently not true.” “It’s just . . .” Cyrene put her head in her hands. “It’s just . . . he was there.” Dion frowned at her. “We go to face the Dark, and it was late, and I was . . . I wanted . . . You won’t understand. You can’t understand. I was lonely, Dion. I was lonely and I wanted to reach out to someone. And he was there, and he’s . . . there’s none of the complications that there would be with . . . well, you know how Harathes is. One ride and you’re in his stable, as far as he’s concerned.” “He’s a knight of the church.” “He’s a prick. He’s an insufferable, scheming prick. And it’s always the same. You’re all right. You’re a priestess. That means people don’t think of you the same way. But believe me, most of us basically can’t talk to a man without him looking us over and deciding whether or not he wants to give us the shaft. And if he does then, whatever else we are, whatever else we do, it’s always there, somewhere in his mind. And if he doesn’t fancy us, then that’s a judgment too, writing us off as a thing without value. You can’t get rid of it. And either way it means you’re always a woman, first. You’re not a warrior, or an archer, or even just a friend to drink with. You’re a woman, and that means you’ve got a place, and a use.”