Taking her to his house was a bad idea, but it was the only one Daivad had. Though he was doing his best to ignore it, his panic was mounting. He still had no idea what he was going to do with this girl, and the longer she was here, the more she saw of the camp. And the more the camp saw of her. Soon, they’d come to him with questions that would become expectations that would become demands, but Mother Light he hadn’t asked any of them to follow him. He hadn’t promised any of them guidance or protection or anything, but that didn’t stop them from looking for all of those things in him.

Her voice jerked him from his fuming. “What lives that way?”

He looked in the direction she pointed, but kept his grip on her firm. He half expected this to be a distraction to aid in another escape attempt. Her eyes had that distant look again, and she pointed to a random spot of leaves that looked like all the other random spots of leaves. They were at the edge of camp, the only house in sight his own, and she was gesturing away from the rest of camp.

Daivad ignored her question and continued along the bridge, toward his house. She followed without complaint, but kept her glassy eyes on that same random spot of leaves, mumbling a prayer to the Dark Mother. He took her to an open area in the middle of his house, a ceiling woven of vines the only thing between them and the sky. It wasn’t until he finally released her that her muttering ceased and she finally seemed to realize where she was.

Looking a bit surprised, she glanced around, then up. “Is this your house?” she asked the ceiling.

“Time to keep your promise.”

That tugged her attention to him. She countered, “The promise did come with conditions. I answer your questions if Clarix isn’t hurt.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“The beast isn’t hurt.”

She gave a large sigh, then a nod. As she’d done last night in the pen, she pushed the words around in her mouth for a moment so they stretched one freckled cheek, then the other.

“Is the name of the Great Cassiix Circus familiar to your ears?” she asked once she’d tasted out the words she wanted.

Her palate might need cleansing, Daivad thought. “I haven’t even given you a question yet.”

“I find stories satisfy questions better than simple answers ever do,” she said. “And this story’ll satisfy any of the questions you might want to give me.”

It was his turn to sigh. He crossed his arms and braced himself for whatever this story was going to be.

“The Great Cassiix Circus was older than Lushale itself,” Nyxabella said as she started to wander around the open area. Her tattoos glowed back into existence and she tugged her knives out and began to twirl them idly. Daivad didn’t even think she realized she was doing it. “It was as much a traveling village as it was a circus. This village, your village, has a similar magic to it. A place in the middle of this queendom, but wholly apart from it. Populated by those who either rejected or were rejected by the world around them. A community of Chaos and Order in balance.”

She continued to wander as she spoke, making a slow circle around the room, around him. “The Circus had a culture all its own, one that was both proudly shared and carefully protected. There were magics, some of the most powerful I’ve ever known, that were cultivated there and only there.” Eyes unfocused, she smiled and dragged the flats of her knives up her glowing sides. “Like these tattoos. Like the magic I used on Lenna. And almost all that culture, all that magic, everything except what I carry in me … died with the Circus.”

For just a moment, her chin puckered.

“This is the story of how I killed the Great Cassiix Circus.”