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Laughter, then voices—both men and women—flowed past us, followed by children chanting a game. Nicolette and I peeked around our bush to finally locate the caravan, moving at such a slow clip that some had paused to eat a meal, and children chased each other between plodding pack elephants. There were so many people in the clan, they couldn’t be mistaken for a single-family unit but an entire colony.
“Who are they?” Nicolette asked, staring in awe.
I shuddered, not a fan, and hissed, “Gypsy scavengers.” Tugging on her hand, I compelled her to retreat with me. “Come on. We don’t want to be discovered by them.”
“Why not? Who are they?” she repeated, backing away as I did.
“Magical folk,” I told her. “But the lowest of low. They’re the ones who don’t pass purity tests or get chosen to work in castles for kings and queens and the like.”
Nicolette nodded, even as her brow knit with concern. “You know, just because you don’t pass one of those tests, doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a bad person. I hear it’s incredibly difficult to achieve such spiritual cleanliness.”
And yet I had a feeling, were she a magic-bearing person and was tested, she’d pass with flying colors. Nicolette of Donnelly had to be one of the most transparently open, pure, and honest people I’d ever met. Every emotion she felt—joy, irritation, self-doubt, sympathy—she wore them all on her face like a banner. It was refreshing how guileless she was. Dangerous for her own well-being but enticing all the same.
“Aye,” I tightened my grip on her hand to draw us back to our campsite with more vigor. “They’re not necessarily bad. Not necessarily good either. They’re just people. With more supernatural abilities than they should probably possess, which tends to make the rest of the realm terribly uneasy. They’ve gotten shunned out of every community they’ve ever tried to inhabit, so they’ve taken to eternally traveling, aimlessly wandering the kingdom for meaning, and many times getting themselves into mischief along the way. It’d be wise if we just steered clear of them.”
“Alright,” Nicolette said without requiring any more explanation than that. She quickened her step to keep up with me, and I admired that trust she had in my word alone. It made me want to be the kind of man who actually deserved her loyalty.
We crested a knoll and slipped between a tight nook of trees, only to plow to a halt when our campsite came into view.
And was already occupied.
Nicolette squeaked out her alarm and grabbed my arm. I tugged her closer, and we both gaped at the four who’d made themselves at home to our things.
“What the hell?” I growled.
The invaders paused and looked over. The two who’d been going through our satchels innocently yanked their hands free, the third—a small, dirt-splattered boy—paused in petting Mint’s flank, and the mammoth woman who’d been sitting on a stump by the fire lifted the spit of rabbit to us, waving hello with it.
“Howdy,” she called, grinning as if welcoming us to her domain.
She had to be quite the tallest person I’d ever seen before in my life, with large, manly shoulders and the sides of her ice-blond hair buzzed short only for her ratted ponytail to fall most of the way down her back.
“Greetings,” I returned tightly, keeping Nicolette clamped against my side as we slowly approached our guests. “Something we can help you with? This here is our campsite.”
“Oh, we know,” the woman answered cheerfully. “That’s why we’re here.” She shot me a smirk. “Since you decided to spy on us first, boy, we’re merely returning the favor.”
“We were only curious about who our neighbors were,” I explained. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“Yes,” she agreed heartily. “Nor do we.” Then she bit into the meat I’d just spent the last hour and a half roasting, and she moaned in delight, closing her eyes over the pleasure. “Mmm. Good squirrel.”
“It’s rabbit.”
The woman shrugged and kept chewing. “I’m Mydera,” she announced. “That handsome one over there by the mare is Wicket, the woman’s Spice, and the child’s called Bewler.”
Upon hearing his name, the filthy kid hurried to Mydera, crawling on all fours with every few steps, nearly like a primate. Once he reached her, he made frantic motions with his hands, communicating in the language of the deaf.
Her smile turned satisfied as she hummed deep in her throat. “Does he?” she asked the boy as she lifted her eyes to me. “Fascinating.” Addressing us, she finally said, “And you two are…?”
“Farrow,” I introduced myself before nudging my chin toward Nicolette. “And Neeka.”
“Neeka?” Mydera repeated with a hint of surprise as her gaze washed over the princess. She knew I was lying, but she made an indifferent sound in her throat and added, “If you say so.” Then she reached out to stroke the boy’s hair when he sat in the dirt beside her like some kind of pet.
“Bewler here’s what we call a magical bloodhound,” she told us. “He can scent people or things infused with magic from over a mile away. And he smells magic coming from both of you right now. From you especially, Mr. Farrow.”
Nicolette glanced at me in shock, then eased an untrusting step away, staring at me as if I’d betrayed her.
I shifted my head back and forth, assuring her I was clean, before turning back to Mydera. “Well, Bewler’s mistaken,” I snapped.
“Is he?” Her eyebrows lifted. “So you’re saying you don’t have an everlasting flagon on your person right now?”
