By the stars, she's beautiful, he thought. The young woman—she seemed about twenty, five years younger than him—wore only thin bits of cotton over her tall, curvy figure, and tresses of red hair cascaded across her shoulders. Her eyes were green, her nose freckled, and Tanin felt his face redden.

Just the type of woman I'd want to impress, he thought. And I'm sitting here like a—

"Clumsy sack of shite!" someone shouted from the crowd. "Off the stage!"

A gob of brown, gooey mud sailed from the crowd to slam against Tanin's face. At least he hoped it was mud and not one of the many cow pies dotting the village. Wishing he could vanish in a puff of smoke like the magician who had performed before him, Tanin all but fled the stage, slipping over a bronzed skull and crashing down into the dirt.

He moved through the crowd, any trace of lingering dignity gone, and wiped the mud off his face. The crowd cheered behind him, and Tanin turned to see the red-haired woman step onto the stage and begin her dance. She swayed like reeds in the wind, jingling bells in her hands. Tanin gulped to see the seductive movements of her near-naked body. It had been so long since he'd held a woman, even talked to one—aside from talking to his sister, that is, but Tanin often thought her more an enraged warthog than a woman. Watching the dance, he imagined holding this dancer, kissing her lips, and seeking in her arms some respite from loneliness. As she swayed, she met his eyes across the crowd and gave him a knowing, crooked smile. Tanin felt his face flush.

I'm a fool, he thought. She knew what he was thinking, yet after his travesty of a performance, surely she only mocked him. Besides, if she knew my secret, knew who I really am, knew why I was banished from my own town . . .

The shame grew too great to bear. Tanin turned and walked away.

Leaving the stage behind, he walked through the village. The harvest festival was in full swing. Farmers displayed their largest gourds, turnips, and cabbages upon tables for judges to measure. Shepherds haggled over prize bulls. Gardeners swapped wreaths of wheat and flowers for meat pies and mugs of ale. Several dogs ran underfoot, tails wagging furiously as they begged for treats.

Grunts, curses, and the thud of fists on flesh rose from within a ring of cheering men. Tanin approached, peered through the crowd, and a saw a pit of mud. In the dirt, his sister was pinning down a hairy man twice her size, pounding his face with her fists. All around, the crowd raised their own fists, cheering for her. A brusque woman, her powerful arms tattooed with coiling dragons, Maev could have been beautiful if not for the black eyes, fat lips, and cuts that always marred her face. Blood dripped down her face today, and more blood matted her long blond hair, but she smiled as she pummeled her victim.