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

curtain as well. He had seen Sabella’s public performances hundreds of times, as well as dozens of private ones, but he never tired of watching her graceful motions. Not to mention the magic they produced.
    As the music rose in sinuous rhythm, Sabella danced and twirled her way from one end of the palisade to the other, throwing swirls of bright color out across the audience, teasing them with hints of jasmine and spice, giving them moonlight, starlight, sunrise. She drenched herself in honey-light, created a forest glen with Biona’s mythical milk pool, danced her way into it, then transformed it into a sparkling waterfall that was lit by the radiance of a languorous bonfire and bore her sinuous silhouette.
    Long-tailed birds glided around her, and their pale feathers grew across her skin. Gold and ruby snakes twined their way up her calves. She threw her head back, rippling her arms from side to side, swaying her torso in one of Bayan’s favorite motions, and letting her head loll, eyes closed, before falling backward, gracefully and slower than humanly possible, into a black, starry void that caught her a hand’s breadth above the floor. Her back arched, and her long blond hair rippled on unseen wind. Delicate tendrils of vine grew across her skin, sprouted lacy leaves, and blossomed delicate pink trumpets that hid and drew attention to her most delicate areas.
    Sabella’s body rose higher, twirling slowly, rotating her so that the audience could see her from all directions, and all the while she held her pose of ecstasy, mouth open, eyes closed, limbs outstretched.
    Bayan felt himself harden. Every time. I should never have taught her that anima magic. At this rate, every town we visit is going to have a population explosion three seasons later.
    Her act over, Sabella descended to the palisade, where she accepted the ardent cheers of her adoring audience. As usual, at least a dozen hot young blades called out proposals of marriage, to which Sabella simply blew kisses and turned away.
    She traded places with Cresconio, who went out to bid his aroused audience a fortunate night. The other performers congratulated Sabella in a kind but perfunctory way—everyone knew whose acts kept the circus in coin, and Bayan knew well that none were so jealous of creativity as other creatives—then dissipated into the darkness to pursue their own ends. Ordomiro gave Bayan a goodnight punch on the shoulder. “See you at breakfast.”
    Sabella shifted to her other foot and tipped her chin down. Her left eyebrow rose, and a look of invitation sparked in her eyes. When she stepped closer, Bayan felt her body heat radiating against his skin. “Someone’s up.”
    He breathed in her scent. “Someone is too skilled at anima for her own good.”
    She stepped closer still, pressing her taut body against his. “But not for yours.” Her fingers twined with his, and she led him from the arena’s back entrance to her tent. Though it was made of silk like all the others in the encampment, hers was not only the largest personal tent, but it was made of the rarest golden silk, a mark of importance so rare that Bayan hadn’t heard of Cresconio ever granting such a gift to anyone else.
    As they entered, she ignited a low orange light in each of her three lamps and used a puff of wind to secure the clasps on her tent flap. She pulled him past her to the edge of her round feather mattress, laden with round pillows stuffed with sweet spices and aromatic flower petals, and gave his shoulders a push with two fingers each, toppling him backward. He grinned as he let himself fall.
    She flowed forward and settled atop his hips, then bound his wrists with bands of air, trapping them against the mattress. Her smug smile tantalized him. “What, no gag this time?”
    Her voice was like silk. “Surprise me. You’re the hexmage. I want you to prove it.”
    The beads of his necklace lay heavy across his neck. So many beads, so hard won. The magenta