“Why can I read the language outside?” His gaze wandered down to the sign beside the treat container, written in the same craggy symbols. It read Vegetarian, and he was not the least bit surprised that most of the other pots beside it read Carnivore. Clearly, some dragons were just as ferocious as he’d heard.

“It’s Lore-speak. Everyone who’s bonded with a Beast can read it, just like all Lore Keepers can understand each other, even if we’re from all over the world.” Viola shoveled a few treats into a burlap pouch. “Haven’t you wondered why you haven’t heard me make any more mistakes? It’s because I haven’t been talking in Woods-speak anymore. Admittedly, I am pretty good with languages—I’ve been taught all my life. But even I’m not perfect.”

Despite Viola’s oh-so-humble proficiency, Barclay still felt silly for not noticing. Even when they’d passed such a diverse array of people on Sycomore’s streets, he hadn’t considered why he’d never overheard any words he couldn’t understand.

Finished with the treats, Viola began rifling through a bowl of gold pins.

“How could you possibly need more pins?” Barclay demanded. Her coat was already covered in them.

“Mitzi likes them. They keep her from nipping at my ears.”

The shop owner rushed over and, to Barclay’s surprise, gave the two of them a deep bow. Barclay had only ever seen someone bow when they asked a partner to dance. Given that the shop owner was very old and bald, except for a few white hairs that sprouted from behind his ears like onion weeds, Barclay hoped he wasn’t asking Viola to dance. For her sake.

“M-miss Dumont!” he sputtered. “I didn’t know you’d be paying a visit. Anything! Anything you could want! No charge!”

“Don’t be silly, Mr. Buchholz,” she answered calmly while Barclay gaped. “I couldn’t.”

“But of course you can! Tell your father that I absolutely insisted, and—”

Viola pulled a coin purse from her bag and thrust a gold piece into the man’s hands. “I’d rather tell him that I insisted.”

After finishing with her, the man turned to Barclay. Except instead of saying anything, he crinkled his nose and hurried back to his counter.

“What was that about?” asked Barclay.

“That? Oh… He’s just very polite,” Viola answered.

“To you, maybe,” he muttered.

That was how it went in nearly every shop. Viola purchased new treats for Mitzi. (“The Buzzerbeetle juice and apricot flavors are her favorite,” she told him.) And the owners tried to gift her bundles of additional items she didn’t need. She also bought herself a new scarf because she claimed her old one still smelled like worm belly, but she walked out with a free pair of mittens as well. Meanwhile, all Barclay got was a few disgusted looks and an uneasy half smile.

Next she and Barclay roamed the shelves of a cramped bookshop.

“It’s not just politeness. Why does everyone treat you like you’re a princess or something?” Barclay asked. “And why do they treat me like I have mold growing on my teeth?”