Midwinter

"I am Nafaeel, of the Bittersweet Wayward Mestina. I am at your service, lords." The man bowed deep, his cap scraping the ground.

"Come out, my precious ones. These are not the highwaymen who attacked us."

Mauritane looked around and saw trees and boulders on each side of the road begin to melt and form into people, horses, and carriages. All of the men and women were brightly dressed and the horses gaily caparisoned. The wagons were filled to overflowing with enormous wooden apparatuses, planks joined with metal struts, pulleys, and hinges and devices Mauritane did not recognize.

"No," said Mauritane, once the transformation was complete. "We are no threat to you. Go in peace."

The men and women of the Bittersweet Wayward Mestina gathered behind Nafaeel.

"Gentles," said Nafaeel, bowing again, slightly. "I was about to offer a suggestion. May I inquire your name, sir?"

"I am called Mauritane. What is your suggestion?"

"You'll forgive me for eavesdropping on your conversation a moment ago. The lovely lady there mentioned that you are soldiers of some stripe?"

Mauritane frowned. "We are eel merchants from Hawthorne."

Nafaeel nodded knowingly. "Of course, of course. Eel merchants." He smiled. "I was not aware that the transportation of eel had become so perilous." He raised an eyebrow, indicating Mauritane's sword.

"These are dangerous times," said Mauritane.

"Just so! Just so, good sir. You treat upon my point precisely. You see, we are but a poor band of traveling entertainers, and the proceeds from our most recent performance were taken from us at knifepoint by a band of ruffians this very morning. I believe we could use a few, er, eel merchants to keep us company and provide a bit of protection for the rest of our journey."

"I see," said Mauritane. "And why would we do such a thing?"

Nafaeel tapped his lips with a finger. "Why, indeed? Hm. Let's say that I were a captain of the local constabulary and I were searching for five purveyors of eel, four men and a woman on horseback, carrying swords. Just hypothetically, of course. It seems to me that if those eel merchants were, shall we say, commingled in a company of traveling entertainers, they would become much more difficult to spot. Wouldn't you agree?"

Mauritane patted Streak's neck. "I take your point," he said. "But I do not feel it would be a beneficial pairing. I do, however, appreciate the offer." He began to turn away.

"Wait!" said one of the women, coming forward and taking Nafaeel's hand. They were roughly the same age, though her hair and makeup conspired to give her the appearance of youth. "My husband means well, gentlemen, but he's rarely able to speak without orating. The matter is this: we have been stopped by highwaymen twice since Saurdest, and some of the girls have been poorly treated by them. We need help, and while we have no money now, we can pay you well when we reach Estacana. Please."

"Woman!" said Nafaeel angrily.

Gray Mave nudged his horse toward Mauritane and leaned in to him. "We must ride with them," he whispered.

"It wouldn't be wise," whispered Mauritane.

"Please, Captain." Mave's eyes were wide and a single bead of sweat trickled down his forehead despite the cold. "Trouble comes for them."

"You've seen this," Mauritane frowned. "With your Gift."

"Aye, sir." Mave shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. "You believe me, don't you?"

Mauritane sighed. "All right," he said to Nafaeel. "We'll ride with you to Estacana. But we won't accept payment, and you'll ask nothing about us or where we're going. Are we agreed?"

Nafaeel nodded gratefully. Many of the Fae behind them breathed sighs of relief, although some appeared skeptical.

"Urn, what's a mestina?" Satterly said to Raieve.

"What is a mestina?" said Nafaeel, overhearing. "My children, this oddly flat-eared gentleman has never heard of a mestina!" That brought smiles and laughter from the troupe.

"They're glamourists," said Mauritane. "Actors."

"Glamourists, yes," said Nafaeel. "Actors, no. We purvey the dewdrops of reality the way others purvey, well, eel. We are the precise opposite of those who strut and preen on the stage pretending, reciting lines written by another; we are the voice of what is true. Only larger."

"Much larger," said one of the women, stepping forward. She was young and beautiful, her features sharp and her body graceful and petite. A sultriness burned in her eyes as they passed over Mauritane's group, finally resting on Silverdun. She peered at him for a moment before speaking again. Then she turned to Nafaeel. "Father, may I offer a demonstration?"

"By all means, Faella."

The girl removed her outer robe and stood in the road wearing only a skintight body suit of a dark, flexible fabric.

"This is called Snowflake," she said, "in honor of the recent weather." Her companions applauded.