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Talika touched the necklace at her throat and her face slowly changed to resemble Ava’s. “There is nothing I would like more.”

Something in her tone had Erdene sharpening her gaze on Talika’s now altered features, and she thought she saw a glimmer of something warm and inviting in her eyes.

She cleared her throat, unaccountably at a loss, and with the light weight of Talika’s hand on her forearm, stepped out into public view.

* * *

“Leave the poor soul alone.”

The call was from a woman, the voice gravelly with age. Ava could hear her, but curled up as she was, she couldn’t see her.

Sirna paused in shaking her and straightened up. “She needs to get up, otherwise she’ll get left behind.” There was a hard edge to his voice. A warning tone.

A touch of fear in there, too.

Ava guessed she looked bad. The way he’d stopped manhandling her at the woman’s call told her he was nervous of attracting too much attention.

If what she’d seen last night was correct, at least a few of the carts in this caravan were owned by Grimwaldians. The brightly painted doors gave it away.

Grimwaldians took a dim view of anyone who mistreated those who were simple or had lost their wits.

It dated back to when some were born with magic they hadn’t known how to direct or control. Or so she’d been told.

Nowadays it was rare to find young children unable to control their powers.

The accepted wisdom was that less and less spell casters were being born. Her father had thought more and more parents had decided to hide their children’s gifts.

Whatever the truth of it, she found it curious that Sirna had weighed up the dangers and advantages of attaching himself to the caravan—and the watchful eyes of the men and women who were part of it—and decided it was worth his while to stay.

It meant he would have to treat her with at least a veneer of decency.

“There are other ways to wake someone who is unwell than rattling their teeth.” The woman strode over, spry enough despite sounding old, and Ava sensed her crouching beside her.

She opened her eyes, fluttering them as if she had only just woken.

“There you go, my sweet.” The woman’s voice was soothing, and she stroked Ava’s arm with a sun-browned, calloused hand, then drew back, outraged. “She’s freezing!”

“We had a little too much to drink last night.” Sirna shifted on the spot. “We forgot to get her a blanket.”

“For shame.” The woman bent over her again, and Sirna, as if suddenly realising she might accidentally touch the rope, brushed her aside.

“I’ll sort her out.” He lifted Ava to her feet, careful to stay on the opposite side to the bag of coiled rope, and holding her slightly away from his body.

“What’s in that bag?” The old woman put out a hand, and Sirna yanked Ava away from her, so hard and fast, she stumbled.

“She doesn’t like people touching it. She’s a strange one, and once she starts screaming, it’s hard to get her to stop.” He pushed Ava in the direction of the cart.

“Well, she needs warmer clothes than what she’s got. And some shoes. At a minimum.” The woman’s white hair hung over her shoulders, and her eyes were a light, almost silver blue. Ava wondered if she was Madame Croter, of the velvet curtains and braided rope that had saved her last night.

Sirna nodded but said nothing.

He was in a bind now. He had no clothes for her. She wondered what he was going to do about that.

He realized a response was required and cleared his throat. “She threw her clothes out yesterday. We didn’t realize it until later.” He spoke as if he was feeling his way into the lie, but warmed up as he got deeper into it. “I’ll have to see if anyone here has clothes I could buy for her.” He gave Ava another push toward the cart, and Evelyn appeared in the doorway.

Sirna’s partner looked the worse for wear; her eyes were shadowed and her hair stuck up in disarray around her sulky face.

She’d heard the exchange, Ava guessed. And she was not happy about it. But even she must realize there was no way they could keep Ava in a thin shift with no shoes and not attract attention.