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He started, stared at her with surprise, then lifted both hands, waving them a little. The move seemed panicked. “No.”

“But you put the goat here.” She was only guessing.

He gave her such a shocked look, she knew she was right.

“You saw me?”

She said nothing, and he began to back away. “Take it. I only put it there because it’s such a difficult animal.”

“You’re abandoning it?” Melodie crouched down and studied the twine, narrowing her eyes to see past the glow. It was dark copper, almost invisible against the goat’s fur, and once again she saw the outline of a cage.

Within it was a man. Curled over. Trapped.

She nearly fell backward.

Just for a moment, she saw the shape of him; crouched, in agony.

Her gaze locked with the goat’s—the man’s—and as if he knew she had seen him, he walked toward her on four little goat legs.

She had only once before seen someone trapped in another shape by spell work. She had been seven, and just like now, it had been in a market square, although that time it had been even busier. It had been a bigger town and on market day, as well.

She had tried to explain what she was seeing to her father. That the bird in the cage at the back of a cart was a woman, not a canary. Tried to make him understand that she could see the woman in brief flashes, battering at the magic that held her.

He had taken some convincing, and when at last he understood, and they went back to find her, the cart was gone.

She had cried for a long time after that, and eventually her father had packed up and moved them away.

One of the many times he had done that.

She had felt the guilt of forcing them to move yet again, along with the agony of wondering if the woman had ever gotten free. The worry about it had never left her.

She would not let this end the same way.

The goat reached her and butted her knees with its head.

She crouched and curved a hand over its neck and turned to look up at the old man.

Something in her gaze must have alarmed him, because he took a quick step back.

“Whose goat is it, if not yours?” she asked.

He looked over at the line of stalls, then back to her and the goat. “Look, I found the goat a few days ago. I tried to look after it, but it’s been nothing but trouble. I’m off to Taunen tomorrow morning, and I thought someone might take it if I left it by the bridge.” The old man hunched his shoulders. “It’ll have enough to eat from the tributes. Or children might feed it.” He glanced down at the river. “There’s plenty of water for it to drink.”

“Found it, where?” she asked.

He paused, mouth working, and then he shook his head. “I can’t remember.” He glanced back at his stall again. “I’ve got to go.”

“I thought you were only leaving for Taunen tomorrow morning,” Melodie said.

He looked at her sharply, sucked in a breath. “I’m leaving tonight to get a little way out of town on the road to Taunen, so I can make an early start.” He suddenly fumbled in his pocket, taking out the coins she’d paid him for the paints, and holding them out to her. “To feed the goat,” he said.

She extended her hand and he dropped the coins onto her palm.

“You stole the paints, didn’t you? And the goat.” Whoever he had taken both things from was someone dangerous. He had twoof the most powerful spell-worked items she’d ever seen. And he would be looking for them.

No wonder the trader was nervy.

He had to know he was being hunted.