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me carry her to her bedroll, which spared her bare feet and delighted me. Soon Fisk and True settled down and the night became quiet. But I lay listening to Rose’s soft breathing, and it was some time before I slept.
    I had fallen in love with Rosamund almost a year before I quarreled with my father and took up knight errantry. I’d always known that she didn’t love me, at least not the way that I loved her. My dream was to accomplish some deed courageous enough to win her. Even in my practical moments, I thought I’d have some years to win her affections, since the marriage of an heiress is a time-consuming process and she was still young. But now my time appeared to be up; if I was to win her heart away from this player, I had to do it soon. And in this matter, failure would be unbearable.
    We were all glad to reach the coast, with its fresh, constant breezes. Looking over the water, I understood how Keelsbane Bay came by its name, for never have I seen a coastline so rocky. Jagged, dark stones broke the shining surface for a quarter of a mile out, and occasional rifts of foam out farther warned of more rocks lurking below. At low tide this coast was impassable—at high ’twould be a nightmare of hidden hazards. No wonder sensible shipmasters gave it wide berth.
    This had its effect on the countryside; there were no towns besides Huckerston for the length of the bay, and even the farming and fishing villages were small and precarious.
    Our good luck finally broke half a day’s ride out of Huckerston. I don’t mean that someone else saw my tattoos. I’ve learned to keep my shirtsleeves down, even in the warmest weather. ’Twas the weather that failed us, though we’d warning enough—you could see the clouds sweeping in over the sea for miles. The thunderheads’ bellies were near black, and the fringe of lightning flashing at the storm’s leading edge sent us scurrying in search of shelter.
    Unfortunately, shelter was scant, and the storm rolled in apace. The wind began to whip, and the thunder’s constant grumble was ominously louder when I located a shallow overhang that a small stream had cut into the bluff. ’Twas barely deep enough to give cover to a horse, but long enough to hold all three of them; we led them in and inserted ourselves between them. Fisk held Tipple and Chant, leaving Honey to me, for I’ve the Gift of animal handling, and unlike the others she was nervous of storms.
    This was a storm to make anyone fearful. In the scant lull between thunderclaps the drum of approaching rain sounded like an infantry charge. The temperature dropped as if winter had come upon us overnight, and ’twould have been as dark as night if not for the lightning.
    Gift or no, I had my hands full with Honey—so much so that the temptation to try to use that other Gift, or curse, that Lady Ceciel’s potions had left me stirred once more.
    Anyone we call Gifted has the reliable ability to detect magic in those plants and animals that possess it, but only by touch. With that Gift come a host of lesser talents, also called Gifts, which function oddly and unreliably though they can be trained to usefulness. None of these Gifts are magic themselves, for the only humans close enough to the Furred God’s realm to possess magic are the simple ones. And even in them ’tis so unnatural that those who possess it never live to adulthood.
    Lady Ceciel was a brilliant herbalist, obsessed with the desire to give magic to normal folk. Seeking to bring her to justice for her husband’s murder, I had fallen into her hands. I’d been an indebted man then, with no legal rights or recourse, so she’d seized on me as a subject for her experiments. At the time, as she forced her noisome potions down my throat, I’d thought ’twas only my magic-sensing Gift that changed. When I’d begun to see magic, as a visible aura around the plants and creatures that possessed it, that was horrifying enough.
    Months later, in the midst of a