"I see." Mielle would say no more, brushing down her steed as they waited for the carriage to reach the temple, the tension in the air far thicker than Ammas had expected.

Slowly he paced up and down the portico, gesturing for Casimir to stand up. His belly seethed with anxiety, and by the time the carriage came to a halt in front of the temple he had convinced himself he had made a grave error; that whoever Varallo Thray and the Emperor had sent to learn his trade would prove to be no more than some brute whose true goal was to seize Ammas's newfound status for his own. The Emperor would get the last laugh in the end, as he had so often.

As Barthim had predicted, the porch of the Prideful Lioness was crowded with curious onlookers, Barthim himself grinning and chuckling as he bustled to and fro, topping off his patrons' tankards and glasses with the spirits he carried on a silver tray.

The carriage driver hopped nimbly from the bucket and hustled to the carriage door, opening it with a flourish and bowing. Ammas braced himself, a polite smile painted on his face. At his waist he folded his gloved hands, willing himself not to seize the hilt of his dagger.

A small figure, clad in simple but elegant black dress, stepped from the carriage. Lightly it tugged back its hood, revealing a cascade of midnight-hued hair. The crowd on the Lioness porch gasped as one.

"Carala," Ammas said faintly.

She smiled brilliantly, curtseying deeply. "Master Cursewright," she said, the smallest tremble in her voice.

With no thought for who was watching, not the crowd, not the guardsmen or their Captain-Commander, not Casimir, not even Barthim as he gawped with his mouth wide open, Ammas swept her into a fierce embrace, the warmth of her body against his a comfort he had never imagined, the delicate hand cupping the back of his head just under the edge of his hat a touch he had missed beyond words. They stayed that way a long while, so long the carriage driver had to clear his throat three times before Carala broke away to tip him.

When Ammas finally recovered himself enough to escort her and Casimir into the temple -- to commence her apprenticeship, he thought with amazement -- Barthim the Beast began to applaud, joined by entirely too many of his half-drunk patrons. Mielle Thalia shook her head, smirking.

"I will make him pay for this," Carala hissed under her breath.

Inside, she and Ammas faced each other across the table, Casimir's chessboard between them, the boy himself watching them with a dizzy smile from the table's edge. It might have been that early autumn afternoon, when she had come in desperate need, seeking a cursewright who had nearly decided to murder her instead of treat her.

"How did this come to be?" he asked, slipping his hat from his head with trembling fingers.

"Oh, no great mystery. I have been deemed unmarriageable." She said this in a more cheerful tone than Ammas suspected those words had ever been spoken.

"You have? Why?"

Her smile faded somewhat. "The wolf of light," she said hesitantly.

"The wolf of light," Ammas repeated, frowning. "What of it?"

"It returned. More than once, and where others in the Palace could see it. And there were dreams. My father was half-convinced your cure had failed. Varallo Thray thought it might be something else, but he made me wear this." She raised one delicate wrist, adorned with a simple bracelet of pure silver. "It never burned, I will tell you. Varallo does not understand these things as well as you do, but he thought it was a wolf spirit that had attached itself to me. He told me and my father that such a spirit might be the basis for a cursewright's bargain -- so he called it. I did not know what that means, but surely you do."

"Yes," Ammas said slowly. "A cursewright forges an alliance with a spirit of some kind -- airy spirits -- spirits of the dead -- and so is protected from curses and other maledictions. There are other benefits, and disadvantages. But a wolf spirit -- that would be most unusual."

"But not unheard of?"

"No."

Carala smiled, her eyes shining. An amber gleam lurked in them, and Ammas wondered if this wolf spirit were present at this very moment. It would make sense: it had been happy here when it had been a simple airy spirit, and clearly it adored Carala.

"Well, you cannot expect the nobility to understand such things. The rumor went out that I was still afflicted with the wolf's blood. That I roamed the streets of Talinara at night, hunting alley cats and stray dogs. I suspect they remembered stories of my brother Vetilius and applied them to me."

"Carala, I am sorry -- I should have -- "

Laughing, she shook her head. "Ammas, you have many gifts, but killing rumors is not one of them, not when those rumors are so wonderfully sordid. Lady Greythorne made me the subject of one of her insufferable salons, I heard. Ever since Denisius and I broke off our betrothal, there had been offers for my hand arriving from every noble with an unwed son you can imagine visiting the Palace. Do you know Meros Kerrell? They were discussing a dual wedding with him alongside his sister and Denisius's brother." Carala shuddered with distaste and poured herself a cup of seretto tea, lightly inhaling its aroma and sighing happily. "No one in the Palace knows to put in the cinnamon." She took a long sip and continued. "After that salon -- and a few other incidents -- all those offers were withdrawn. They began vying for Sarai's hand instead."

"Was she pleased?" Ammas asked uncertainly.

Carala shook her head, her lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Not in the way they hoped. She was more than happy to meet with anyone who made an offer, provided they explained in an audience with her and the Emperor why she was suitable for marriage now, when she was not only a little while ago. I cannot tell you how much that pleased my father." Her smile faded and she looked away. "Not that pleasing my father is something I am much interested in, Ammas. Not after -- everything." When she looked back into his eyes he saw the gleam of tears. "I cannot forgive him. I tried. And not just because of mama. But your father, your family -- everything. He does not know all the things I learned, I don't think -- "

"He is sly," Ammas said softly. "Do not underestimate the depth of his slyness, Carala. When I was younger, it was said he sees everything, in every corner."

"I have heard that said," she nodded. "But he does not see everything. He does not see this is not the humiliation he thinks it is. He thinks he has exiled me, and he thinks it an insult to saddle you with me -- an unmarriageable twelfth child, fit only to be thrown to a low tradesman far beyond any place of power in his empire." The hand that bore the silver bracelet reached for him, and Ammas took it, squeezing it fiercely. "And he is wrong, is he not?"

"He is."

"You will teach me your trade?"

"Anything you want to learn."

She smiled and looked to Casimir. "I missed you both terribly. And Barthim. The Chalcedony Palace will never be a home to me again. Perhaps this could be."

A smile touched Ammas's lips. "A cursewright's way is the way of the road. We must go wherever we might be needed, and there are so few of us now."

"Not for much longer." With her free hand she embraced Casimir, tugging him close to her and kissing his temple. The boy twisted away, blushing and smiling.

"Casimir," Ammas said, turning to the boy. "Could you go to the Lioness and tell Barthim we'll be taking that dinner? I imagine once he saw who was in that carriage he decided to prepare a feast."

Casimir grinned and nodded, setting for the doors at a full run. Ammas and Carala rose from the table, and quite before either of them realized it they had embraced again, sinking into a gentle kiss that seemed to wash away the trials of the strange and twisting journey that had brought them to this place.

The apprentice made sure to take his time at the Lioness, he and Barthim settling in for a hard-fought game of chess in a corner of the inn's kitchen. Over the Old Godsway the white moon shone down, the smell of Barthim's cooking a pleasant haze, its aroma faintly sweetened by a lingering woodland fragrance. When the late dinner crowd had broken up and gone home, Casimir roamed out to the porch, eying the brightly lit temple with a smile. When Ammas and Carala emerged on the portico he raised one hand in a wave. Though he had seen many strange and wonderful things on the long road, he could not imagine a better home.

September 26, 2017 -

January 20, 2018