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“They would happily be spared your frequent evaluations of same,” Dsossa said.
“I will sympathize after I see the accounting books of the Diadem dwarves, who you yearly visit with chest-laden pony,” Brok said.
“This is the reward for generosity, Wistala!” Ragwrist said, turning to the young drakka. “Wild tales! Accusations.”
“How would I earn?” Wistala asked.
“A dragon is an attraction, certainly,” Ragwrist said, pulling his hair behind his elegantly shaped ears. “One so well-spoken even more so. But while your aspect inspires admiration, and later awe as you grow, we must marry that quality to a reliable moneymaker for you and the Circus at large.”
“I’m all interest,” Rainfall said. “I thought she might just do fireworks.”
“Any competent chemist can make better,” Ragwrist said before turning back to Wistala. “I mean for you to be my new fortune-teller.
Intanta all this year has begged to return to her family, now stretching four generations beyond her, but I’ve hesitated, for her protégés have been disappointments.”
“I’ve tol’ ye manys,” Intanta said with a yawn. “A fair smile’s fine, but sen’ a girl of wits. Lev’ her know when to keep those teeth hi’ and be silent, for the signs are best read in silence.”
Some of Wistala’s warmth for Ragwrist left her. “I’ve no gift at that sort of thing. I can hardly foretell the afternoon weather on a fine morning.”
“It’s part skill, part showmanship,” Ragwrist said. “You can better both with practice.”
“To tell folk what they wish to hear takes no skill a’tall,” Intanta said. “The trick is the know of which wor’ their ears long for. Aye, there’s the magic.”
“That seems like . . . lying,” Wistala said.
“Not lying,” Ragwrist said. “Offering—guidance. Insight. Your opinion. People bring their dreams and fears into Intanta’s tent, and come out happier and better prepared for meeting both. Is that so bad?”
Wistala felt confused and crunched some fish bones to hide the fact.
“Ragwrist can talk a falcon out of his talons,” Brok said.
“I should decline,” Wistala said. “Kind as your offer is.”
“Don’t be so hasty!” Ragwrist said. “Talk to some of the other performers. Join the circus and see the world! See the fishing boats come in across an Antodean sunset, or the Grand Arena of Hypat, the crystal waters of Ba-drink under the mountain towers of the Wheel of Fire, the red pennants flying from the walls of Kark—”
“Rainfall! Save us from this travelogue!” Brok said. But Wistala didn’t hear him. She’d stopped listening as soon as Ragwrist mentioned the Wheel of Fire.
“How often do you visit these places?”
“We have regular routes,” Ragwrist said.
“And you’ll return to this good elf and enjoy his gentle talk that washes all road-weariness away,” Dsossa said. Wistala marked warmth in her gaze and new softness in her voice.
“When does the circus leave?”
“We’ll perform again tomorrow, and then pack up,” Ragwrist said. “The winter is rather ahead of us.”
“You will have my answer before you leave.”
Wistala spent a sleepless night thinking of dwarves and the Dragonblade, promises and parentage. Unable to sleep, she walked around and around Mossbell and the barn, until one of Widow Lessup’s daughters tossed the cold ashes from last night’s fire on others in the dustpile.
The next day Hammar and a party from Galahall rode in to see the circus and sample the wine and drink of the inn. Rainfall, at the urging of his granddaughter, offered him the use of Mossbell’s stables. Fortunately his party arrived early, before Lada was properly dressed and coiffed.
Hammar paid only the briefest call on Rainfall, and Wistala watched from her former nook. After barely perceptible bows and cold pleasantries Rainfall invited Hammar to dinner after the show.
“I will decline,” Hammar said, refusing a chair brought by Forstrel with a wave. When he didn’t have the oversize helmet on his head, he was a more pleasing youth, especially when clad in a dark riding cloak and festive winter neck-cloth.
“Have you read my letter?”
