Branna turned out to be a human lass—blonde, pretty, and about Wynni’s own age—a relief, she realized, after all the strange-looking folk she’d seen and met. She also spoke the language that Wynni had come to think of as Deverrian, another relief.

“Dalla told me that you’d lost your man,” Branna said. “My heart aches for you.”

“My thanks.” Wynni managed to keep her voice steady. “I’ll be missing him always.”

“Well, now,” Salamander said. “I have hopes that in a while you’ll—”

“Oh, please don’t try to make light of it,” Branna interrupted him. “It sounds so condescending.”

Salamander winced and muttered an apology. Wynni decided that she liked Branna immensely, even though it surprised her to see her uncle defer to one so young.

Branna accompanied them as they continued their stroll through the camp. As they walked between a pair of tents, they came face-to-face with a small child, perhaps four years old, who held a small green snake in both hands. The child ignored them, and Branna and Salamander turned to go back the way they’d come.

Wynni lingered, watching the child, who had eyes as green as the snake and slit the same vertical way. She was assuming that the snake was a pet, but the little lad calmly pinched its head between thumb and forefinger of one hand, then twisted the creature’s body so sharply with the other that it broke the snake’s neck and killed it. Wynni yelped and stepped back as the child bit into the snake’s body. Blood ran down his chin as he spit out bits of green skin.

Salamander touched Wynni’s arm from behind. “Come back this way,” he said. “That’s one of our changelings, and he won’t move for you.”

A changeling, Wynni assumed, must be the same thing as a half-wit. She followed Salamander out of the narrow passage, but she glanced back to see the child still eating the raw snake.

“My apologies,” she said. “He just took me by surprise.”

“No doubt,” Branna said. “We never know what they’ll do.” When they reached the last tent, Berwynna looked out into the open country and saw dragons lounging in the grass. She stopped with a little gasp and stared at them, the enormous black dragon, her glimmering scales touched here and there with copper and a coppery green, and the smaller wyrm, her scales the dark green of pine needles, glinting with gold along her jaw and underbelly.

“They be so beautiful,” Berwynna said. “How I wish my sister Avain were here to see them! She does love all things dragonish so deeply.”

“Well, if the gods allow,” Salamander said, “mayhap one day she will. Now, the black dragon is Arzosah, your father’s second, well, wife I suppose she is. The smaller is Medea, a stepsister.”

As the three of them started toward the dragons, Wynni heard Dallandra calling from behind them, though she couldn’t understand her words. She glanced back to see the dweomermaster running after them, waving her arms.