“I’m beginning to get the notion that those of us born to magic are not easy children to raise,” she said, finally.

“Oh we aren’t. It’s just as well it generally runs in families. And to change the subject entirely . . . am I going slightly mad, or is your hair longer tonight than it was this morning?” Rosamund looked at her with her head to the side, quizzically.

Giselle realized that the braids wrapped around her head had begun to sag and put her hand to them. “Oh bother. Yes it is. It grows ridiculously fast, but it grows faster when I am perturbed. Mother said it had to do with the fact that the sylphs like it, but she never told me anything more than that.”

“Probably because she didn’t know, herself. If I were you, I’d ask another Air Master if you ever meet one. None in the Brotherhood, I’m afraid. Mostly Fire, then Earth, and a few Water. But I can ask the Graf if he knows one.” Rosamund nodded, and poured the last of the tea for herself, as Giselle put her cup aside. “It’s a good thing that I’m taking your place as an Indian maiden, then. If your hair grows that fast, you’d soon have a hard time stuffing it under that wig.”

“I’ve been cutting it,” she replied.

Rosamund shook her head. “Don’t. I mean, stop cutting it, unless it actually gets so long it gets in your way.”

“Oh?” That was interesting. Mother had always insisted she keep her hair as long as possible. “Why?”

“Two reasons. The first is showmanship. A pretty lady sharpshooter with long golden hair is just too perfect. The second is . . . I think the sylphs might be using your hair as a place to store Air Magic.” Rosamund held up a cautionary hand. “It’s just a theory! I have nothing to base that theory on!”

“My hair . . . as a place to store Air Magic.” Giselle giggled. “That’s a very silly theory. But I do think your notion of showmanship is a good one.”

There was a tap on the doorframe, on the other side of the curtains. “It is Leading Fox, who wishes to speak with Miss Schwarzwald.”

“It is Rosamund, and it will be a little crowded but you are welcome to join us,” Rosamund called back.

Fox held the curtain aside to mount the steps and enter the wagon. This time the bird on his shoulder was a magpie. “Kellermann said that you wished to speak with me?” the Indian said gravely. His very presence made the vardo feel much smaller.

“Since I’m to be part of your tribe, I wondered if you would mind teaching me Pawnee?” Rosamund asked, with an ingratiating smile. “You know, the usual way we do it.”