Giselle licked lips gone dry. “I would rather it . . . wasn’t out in the open. Most people don’t know about . . .” She gestured vaguely. “Well, only a handful of the people in the show even know about magic in the first place.”

“Of course, and I can understand you not wanting them to know about your misadventure. It could have a negative effect on your new companions. Have you a more private place to talk?” the woman asked. “I’m Hunt Master Rosamund, by the way.” She held out her hand, and Giselle shook it, gingerly.

“My wagon,” Giselle replied, took the time to put out the campfire, and led the way. She had left a lantern burning on a hook beside the door as she always did and brought it inside for light, carefully closing the door, the window over the bed, and the curtains to indicate she wanted privacy.

Rosamund looked around curiously and took the little stool, leaving the chair for Giselle. “This is very nice,” she remarked. “I spent some time traveling in a wagon, but this is much more comfortable. Quite cozy and homelike, and it should be snug in the winter as well. I think I’ll ask the Graf if he can find me a gypsy vardo after this. It would be more convenient than taking rooms in inns, much more private, and given the arsenal I often travel with, it would be much easier than having several trunks to haul about.”

“The Graf?” Giselle asked, putting the kettle on over the spirit lamp to heat for tea.

“Hmm. Yes, the Master of the Munich Lodge, Graf von Stahldorf. I work more with him than with the Bruderschaft, but I was visiting my guardian in the Schwarzwald, and he asked me to come have the needful chat with you.” Rosamund settled herself on the stool, putting back her hood, but not removing her handsome red cloak. “He thought that it needed a bit of a woman’s touch, I think. So. Tell me what happened. From the very beginning. Assume that I know nothing. Why were you in disguise as a young man in the first place, and what did you do to catch the Hauptmann’s attention?”

Giselle sat on the chair, her hands knotted tensely in her lap, and once again forced herself to recite, as clearly as she could, the entire story. She didn’t spare herself, either; she made it very clear that she blamed herself for setting the night-sylphs on the Hauptmann and causing his death.

The stranger’s handsome face remained absolutely unreadable throughout the entire story. And when Giselle was done, she sipped her cup of now-lukewarm tea thoughtfully. The light from the lantern fell softly over her face. She looked—like a lady of good birth, an aristocrat of some sort. Without that aura of magic power, Giselle would never have taken her for an Earth Master.