Prodigal Steelwielder (Seals of the Duelists Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

gilded costume. The swell of applause reached its highest crescendo, and Bayan drew himself up once more and offered formal bows in all four directions. The cheering went on so long, Cresconio gestured to him from below with a circular finger swirl. Bayan bowed again to the audience, waving as well and even blowing dramatic, graceful kisses to the loudest of his fans. After one more spin on his heel to wave to his adoring fans, Bayan stepped down and slipped through the curtain that led below the stands.
    The waiting area was crammed with performers. Sabella and Ordomiro led the near-silent clapping and foot bouncing as they caught sight of Bayan. Sabella threw her arms around his neck and planted a gigantic kiss on his cheek. Bayan gave her a brief hug in return, crushing the delicate ripples in the soft green fabric of her short dress.
    “That was beautiful, Bayan,” Sabella murmured in his ear. “Your best yet.”
    “You could open your own performance center with a show like that.” Ordomiro, in black leather pantalones and the large, dark ink symbols from his earlier performance, punched him in the shoulder.
    Ansio, the props master, flicked Ordomiro’s ear and hissed, “Sew your lips, Ordo. We lose the Wanderer now, we go back to playing the outer circuit of the mining towns in obscurity. You ask me, we need to chain Bayan to the palisade so he never, ever leaves, and we can all actually make some money at this performance trick.”
    Bayan heard Cresconio begin to introduce the final act of the night and remembered his first, clumsy performances nearly two years ago, when the dust from his exiled wanderings still seemed to cling to his scalp despite Ordomiro’s borrowed soap. Cresconio had learned of his talents, and within ten days, Bayan was practicing on the noonday crowd as the first act of the show, thrust into their regard with nothing to follow and no way to let them down. His had been the act that everyone else was supposed to be better than. And that very first night, everyone was. But Bayan had studied the audience, seeing what they liked best, for nearly forty days. Over his next ten performances, Bayan worked on his showmanship, his gestures and timing, and it wasn’t long before Cresconio moved his act smack in the middle of the show.
    Bayan had Sabella to thank for all of his success. She anchored every performance, every night. She danced her way into the hearts of everyone in the audience without fail. And she danced for Bayan after the show was done. True, her dancing had begun as practice, experimentation, once she had recognized Bayan’s skill with elemental magic. She knew her place in the circus, and that place was at its heart. Bayan was both humbled and thrilled that he had drawn the attention of such a powerful performer. But deep down, he suspected that her attention, her affection, was nothing more than a “thank you” of the highest order for his small contributions to her own performance improvement over the past year.
    Not that I’m not grateful. Any man, in the circus or in the audience, would trade places with me in far less than a heartbeat. I know three performers who would literally try to kill me if my magic weren’t stronger than theirs, just for the chance to bed Sabella.
    “And that’s my cue,” Sabella chirped, offering an expansive wave to the gathering. She slipped through the curtain and spiraled her way through the air, letting the green fabric tendrils of her skirt twirl around her legs like tender vines, until she stood atop the palisade next to Cresconio. The audience cheered once again, though its tone had become distinctly manlier.
    The musicians hidden in the wings at each end of the arena struck up a sultry tune. Cresconio descended the center steps and joined Bayan and the others behind the curtain, then folded back one edge so he wouldn’t miss his cue at the end of her performance. Others crowded behind Bayan, forcing him forward to the edge of the