“Obviously she was well enough off to buy that house and then just give it to your family,” Joachim had said, doubtfully. “But where that money came from, where she hid it, and what you’re to do now, I haven’t a notion.”

“You could come move to the Lodge and join us,” Pieter had offered.

But she had shaken her head vehemently at that. She’d visited there enough times to know that living in the old, tree-shadowed building, with its many tiny, dark rooms and small windows, would quickly drive her mad. She needed air and light, and plenty of both. The Lodge of the Bruderschaft der Förster was not for her.

“Then we must think of a way for you to have some money,” Joachim had said firmly. And although they did not think of it then, they did hit upon it fairly soon.

Although not all Air Masters were expert marksmen, all Air Masters could be—in a way. The flight of an arrow or a bullet to its target was easily influenced by movements of the air, and that, after all, was what an Air Master was in control of. With sufficient cooperation from one’s Air Elemental allies, even a poor natural marksman could hit marks that experts would have difficulty with.

And a good one, as Giselle was—well, she could be unbeatable. And so far this month, that was exactly what she was.

Joachim had opined that if she was careful, and never worked the same festivals at the same towns without at least a year between, she could continue to carry off the crowns and the prizes. He cautioned her that, at the largest contests, she must take care never to take first prize too often—and the largest contests provided very, very generous prizes for second and third place. And she had two opportunities a year to do so: Maifest and Oktoberfest. For Oktoberfest she might even venture into one of the big cities and take the shooting prizes there; they were substantial, and second or third place would more than suffice.

Right now, though, well, the crowds in their colorful festival clothing—the loden green wool of hunting costume, the bright dirndls and embroidered aprons, the lederhosen and embroidered bracers, and Sunday best suits—were making her uncomfortable and claustrophobic. If she hadn’t been constrained by custom, she probably would have gone straight to the inn, claimed her horse and ridden off. But she couldn’t do that. No, part of the prize for winning the shooting contest was a full barrel of Maibock. And the winner was expected to share it with all of the other contestants.