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A week after their initial meeting, the princess and her unicorn had made peace with each other. I stood beside Falak outside another impromptu riding ring somewhere along the road to Barsava, watching the rider and her mount trot around with surefooted determination. The princess had managed a few simple tricks: riding while standing on Ynnua’s back; performing a brief but unsteady handstand in the saddle, but nothing like the vaulting routine she’d demonstrated the morning of her impromptu audition.
Her efforts had attracted other onlookers, including Camilla Bianchi, who stood in the shadows with her little granddaughter, or great-granddaughter, perhaps. Their eyes followed horse and rider around and around the ring, and the little girl applauded each of the princess’s meager successes.
Falak shifted his weight as he studied Genevieve’s performance. “It’s not nothing, but it’s also not enough. The audience will demand a refund if this is all she has to give them.”
“It’s only been a week,” I said. “They’ve come far in such a short time.”
He clicked his tongue. “Not far enough.”
“It’s not something they can hurry. She fell last night and was lucky she didn’t break anything. Ynnua is very skittish.”
A muscle flexed in Falak’s jaw as he gritted his teeth.
I studied him from the corner of my eye while pretending to focus on the princess. “Tell me how that can be.”
“How what can be?”
“How can a mechanical horse be skittish? That’s not clockwork, that’s emotion, personality, feelings. I know there’s more to these animals than meets the eye.”
“I’ll tell you their secret in exchange for another of yours.”
I huffed. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”
“Fair is fair.”
“I don’t have any more secrets to give you.”
“Then I guess you’re out of luck.”
I folded my arms over my chest and frowned. We stood in silence as the unicorn cantered by, Genevieve erect on her back, spine straight, chin raised, shoulders thrown back. Carefully, she adjusted her footing and executed a pirouette. Her balance shifted, and her arms cartwheeled as she struggled to maintain her position. My heart lurched in anticipation of her fall, but she recovered her equilibrium.
Falak turned, giving his full attention to me. “The princess’s performance has given me further inspiration.”
A cold current stirred in my stomach. I sidestepped, not realizing I’d moved away from him, an unconscious reaction to a sudden urge to flee, to escape his wry grin and all it implied. “I’m afraid to ask.”
He crooked his finger in a beckoning gesture. “Come. I’ll explain it to you.”
“Why?”
“This involves you.”
Falak strode away from the riding ring and the torches surrounding it. Evening shadows swallowed him, and still I stood in place, wary and hesitant. “Are you coming?” he called from the darkness.
“Do I have a choice?”
After a moment’s hesitation, he answered. “Not really. No.”
I squared my shoulders and followed him into the night. We stopped beside one of the huge menagerie wagons, and after opening a side door, he held his arms out wide in an affected gesture of someone used to having all eyes upon him. “Sher-sah. Come.”
I gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Trust me.”
Something shifted in the gloom beyond the wagon door. A floorboard creaked. The click-clack of metallic claws tapping across the floor echoed through the interior. A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck. “Trust you? Maybe. Trust the lion? How can I? I watched him nearly maul you less than a week ago.”
“That was a mistake.”
“Forgive me if I’d rather not be around to witness his next one.”
Ambient light from the distant torches illuminated Sher-sah’s head as it emerged from the doorway. Something whirred, and a low rumble vibrated through the air—like the purring of a cat, but so much deeper and more resonant. I felt it in my chest—it vibrated against my ribs.
“He’s....” My words faded as I searched for a term that encompassed both my awe and terror.
Falak shoved his hands in his pockets and crooked his neck. “Beautiful?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but...yes. He’s terrifying, but he’s also an amazing work of art. He should be on display in one of the great museums in Prigha or Pecia, except I’m sure he’d scare all the patrons away.”
My companion chuckled. “He’s old enough to be a museum relic.”
“Really?”
“Well, parts of him.”
I arched my eyebrows, but either it was too dark, or Falak was ignoring my questioning expression. “So,” I said. “I’m a little afraid to ask, but why did you bring me here?”
“I told you before that I’ve always wanted to make the animals a larger part of the show.” He stepped closer to the wagon and raised a hand. Sher-sah snuffled the ringmaster’s empty palm. He lowered his head, and Falak stroked the cat’s big brass jaw. The low rumbling sound rolled through the air again—a subtle expression of feline pleasure. “People enjoy the experience of seeing the animals up close, but so long as they’re relegated to the menagerie tent, they waste so much potential.”
“Why now?”
“Why now what?”
I pointed at the lion working his head against Falak’s hand, demanding more attention. “Why haven’t you thought of this before, making the animals a part of the show. It seems kind of obvious, don’t you think?”
He harrumphed. “I didn’t have the performers to spare. The aerialist and the tightrope walker have their unique talents. They think.... Well, they think animal tricks are beneath them. Everyone has a specialized routine and all are highly skilled. None of them have the inclination to change their performance, and I don’t force the issue because I can’t afford to lose them. This circus has attracted some of the best, and I plan to keep it that way.”
A vague idea itched in my mind like a loose hair in my shirt collar—it was an inclination of what Falak had brought me here to tell me, and I was dreading it. “But now you have the princess.”
“And you.” He raised his hands and gestured to the invisible crowd behind me. “Presenting Evelyn Stormbourne—lion tamer extraordinaire! We’ll have to change your name, of course. Evelyn has no glamour. Plus, I suppose you’ll want to keep your identity secret.”
I gaped at him, lost for words.
He raised a hand, flat palm facing me. “Don’t say anything, yet.”
“What could I say? Would you even listen if I said no?”
He barked a sharp laugh. “Of course not.”
“I wash the dishes and do the mending. That was our agreement.”
“I reserve the right to amend all agreements.”
I stomped my heel. “What? Why?”
“Because”—he slipped a thumb under a suspender strap—“I’m the ringmaster, and what I say goes. Ask anyone around here.”
My mind reeled, searching for a proper argument, but I suspected nothing I said would change his mind. “This is insane.”
He let go of his suspender with a pop. “This is show business.” Ignoring my scowl, he locked his long fingers around my shoulder and dragged me forward. “Come, let Sher-sah get the scent of you.”
“Get the scent...?” The beast turned his massive head, and the distant torchlight glimmered on the fringe of his mane—copper and brass blades like stalks of metallic grass formed a wreath around his big, beastly head. He huffed and, although it baffled me, warm breath whisked past my face, stirring the fine hairs around my temple. “How in the Shadowlands does he do that?”
“What?”
“Breathe?”
Falak shrugged. “Svieta is a master engineer and mechanic.”
“Master something all right,” I muttered. Tentatively I held my hand out for Sher-sha’s inspection. He snuffled my palm in the same way he’d snuffled the ringmaster’s. Having found me acceptable, he lowered his head and my fingers grazed his chin. As with the unicorn, he was surprisingly warm, as though blood ran through him rather than gears and oil and whatever enchantment that had brought him to life.
“Svieta should be teaching at universities,” Falak said, “or working in laboratories funded by rich people looking to get richer by discovering the greatest new inventions.”
“But instead she’s here, working for you. Funny that.” Gathering my courage, I stepped closer and placed both hands on either side of Sher-sah’s face, stroking his wide, flat cheeks. The subtle rumbling noise he emitted vibrated through me, and my fear faded. In its place, something warm flared to life, but I couldn’t quite name the sensation. “Wonder why that is—why someone with Svieta’s skills would be content to ply her trade in a travelling circus.”
“Who said she was content?”
“Seems like it to me.”
Falak snorted. “You don’t know her like I do.”
What could I say? He was right. I knew no one in the circus beyond the princess and Falak. My relationship with Gepennio and Z’arta couldn’t really count as anything but a brief and casual acquaintance. It’s not as though they’d shared personal details other than the ones I’d gleaned from observation: Gepennio made ket tea when he was feeling sentimental, and Z’arta avoided me as though I carried a foul disease and might give it to her if she spent more than a few minutes in my presence. Perhaps it’s time I made a few friends.
“Looks like you two are getting along.” Falak inclined his head toward the lion. “I want you to start training together as soon as possible.”
“Training? What does that entail? Shall I stick my head in his mouth?”
He pointed at the riding ring where Genevieve and the unicorn were still practicing. As I watched, she executed another pirouette—this one nearly flawless. “Meet me there tomorrow night and I’ll show you.” He hooked his thumbs in his suspenders again and flashed me a mocking grin. “See if you can find something a little more stage worthy to wear.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Falak jabbed a finger at the lion. “Sher-sah, guard!” The ringmaster threw his head back and walked away.
I huffed at the lion still nuzzling my hands, urging me to continue petting him. “Do you know what he’s getting us into?” The lion ignored my question, and I sighed. “Just promise not to eat me, okay?”
Sher-sah rumbled his low purring sound again, and I hoped that meant he’d agreed.
Later, after Genevieve and I’d tucked ourselves into our beds for the night, I stared at the costume wagon’s curved ceiling. My imagination invented images of me standing in the center ring of the main circus tent in a sparkling waistcoat and velveteen knickers. Sher-sah perched on a platform beside me, pawing the air and roaring loud enough to shake the stands. He opened his huge mouth, and I shoved my head between his metallic fangs. The crowd gasped.
I snorted.
“What is it?” Genevieve asked.
“Falak is ridiculous.”
“He is, but I have to take his side on this. You’d make a fabulous lion tamer.”
“How do you know?”
“Tereza called me maličká lev sometimes. Do you know what that means?”
“No.”
“Little lion.”
I chuckled. “Appropriate.”
The silence grew between us until I was certain she’d dozed off, but I rolled onto my side and peered at the spot where I thought her face might be, although, in the darkness of the wagon, it was impossible to tell. “Do you know other languages besides Inselgrish?”
The princess’s covers rustled, and she snuffled a sleepy reply. “Of course.”
“Which ones?”
“All of them.”
“All?”
“All the major languages of the western continent. Gallandic, Dreutchish, Vinitzian, Espiritolish...”
Jealousy flared and faded like a spark from a flint. “I should have been taught. My father spoiled me too much.”
She snorted. “Perhaps. But why do you ask?”
“I want to talk to some of the other members of the circus tomorrow, but it seems none of them speak Inselgrish, or if they do, they’re playing ignorant. I was hoping you could translate for me.”
She paused, obviously considering my request. “You do my dish duty tomorrow and give me your dinner roll.”
I groaned, but even if she’d asked me to do her chores for a week, I would’ve accepted. Not that she needed to know that. “Deal.”
Another moment of silence passed. Then she asked, “So, are you going to do it?”
“What? The lion tamer thing?”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t really leave me a choice.”
“You sure you’re not just a little bit excited?”
I turned over, giving her my back and hiding my smile in case some wayward moonbeam through the wagon’s window gave me away. “Go to sleep, princess.”
She exhaled a long, petulant breath. “’Night, Evie.”
“Good night, Genevieve.”
