“Perfect!” called Betaan, stopping at a stall selling gold ornaments and gesturing for Storm to join her. She ignored the vendor, a thin old woman sitting in the shade of a canvas tent. Her fingers were so gnarled by arthritis it seemed impossible they had done the intricate work displayed. Storm gave the woman a quick bow and the woman blinked, as though in surprise. After a moment, she bowed in return. Something moved in the tent’s shadows. A cling-monkey leapt up on to the woman’s shoulder, bending its mouth close to her ear and chattering, its eyes on Storm. Then Talon’s daughter spoke, and Storm forgot the monkey.

“This, I think.” One long, curving, enamelled fingernail tapped a wrist cuff made of fine gold wires. “What do you think?”

Storm bent closer. The wires had been close-twined and braided to create the image of a seabird soaring over towering waves. “It is beautiful. I have never seen such fine work.” Or so much gold in one ornament! she thought. This would keep a family for a year on Yanlin.

Betaan peered sideways at her. “You like it?”

“Of course. Who would not?”

“Then it is yours.” Talon’s daughter plucked the bangle from the cloth and, taking hold of Storm’s arm, slid the cuff on to her wrist.

Storm stared at her arm, mesmerised. The gold was heavy; smooth, rich-feeling. She glanced at the stallholder, who was watching her with bright eyes set deep in her wrinkled face. Something in her expression reminded Storm of her old teacher and Elder, Teanu.

Disturbed by something she could not put words to – and by the strength of her own desire for the cuff – Storm blurted: “I cannot accept such an expensive gift!” She pulled off the bangle and held it out. “It is impossible.”

“Nonsense!” Betaan shrugged petulantly. “I want to give it to you. If you do not wear the trinket, it will lie in the dust. The beggars can have it!”

Storm turned to Mer. “I can never repay such a gesture.”

“You are a Weather-witch,” Mer said. “You will soon be as rich as any of us. Richer, perhaps. Besides, with Betaan all things are possible. Wear it and enjoy. It costs you nothing to accept, and it gives her pleasure and the old woman profit. Who loses?”

Mer’s words were convincing. Storm did not want to spoil Betaan’s pleasure. She slipped the cuff back on her wrist. It was a beautiful thing, and it covered the Salamander’s scar perfectly. Never had she worn anything half so lovely. She bowed to Talon’s daughter, pressing her hands together, unable to stop smiling. “It is beautiful. I will treasure it.”

“Good.” Betaan lost her marble-like aloofness. “By the Ancestors, that is an ugly scar on your wrist. It is shaped just like a hand. How did you come by it?”

“The scar?” Storm blinked. “I burned myself.”