He drew forth a handful of coins from his pocket as if he neither knew nor cared what they were, and cast them down before her. Gold glittered in the lamplight and caught the banners of afternoon sun that streamed through the tent’s entranceway. She gasped in surprise and he smiled despite himself, certain that such a consummate performer normally prided herself on keeping such emotions to herself.

“Is that enough for the real thing?” he asked her.

She looked up at him, as if seeking understanding in his eyes. Another day he might have indulged her, but today he didn’t, so he made sure that any witchery directed at him would slide off him like water from oilskin.

“What is it you wish to know, sir? And do you care which medium I use?”

Ah, the paraphernalia, the paraphernalia … was it just part of the show for this one, or a genuine focus? Some home-grown witches were ignorant enough that they thought they actually needed tools to draw upon their own soulfire. It never ceased to amaze him.

“You may use what you wish. And my question is …” He glanced out of the tent, to where the gossiping villagers milled and mingled. “The reception that the city has prepared for its foreign guest, is this a welcome in good faith? Or something less benign?”

She had been reaching out for the deck of cards as if she were about to use them, but as his words settled into warm scented air that hand withdrew, and she leaned back and studied him.

“You know I can’t answer that, sir,” she said at last. “If the king is keeping secrets then his Magisters are protecting them, and all the cards and crystals in the world won’t get past their safeguards. And if I did learn such secrets, and passed them on to strangers for a handful of coins … then I wouldn’t last very long in this city, would I?” She pushed the coins back towards him. “I’m sorry. Please take them.”

There was hunger in her eyes, he noted. She wanted the truth but she dared not ask. It was always that way with the witching folk, for they could sense on a visceral level his true nature, yet did not trust their own instincts to name it.

“Loyalty has its own value,” he said quietly. “Keep them.”

He left the tent without further word. He was sure that as soon as he was out of sight she would pick up her cards again and begin asking questions about him. He did nothing to stop her from finding the answers this time. If she was willing to waste precious moments of her life searching out who and what he was, who was he to render that sacrifice meaningless?