“Race you.” I touched the beast’s arm as I passed, caught a flash of his bright eyes in my glance.
Each step carried the shining world and the memories closer.
So many events in our port city had brought a fair to the streets—St. Ifan’s day, the harvest feast—and I relished each one. There was no better home to whimsy than a festival. One year, Rob took a prize in archery, and his hug lifted me clean off the ground. Even Astra’s usual impatience softened at a festival, enough to include me as she and Callista flitted from the perfume stall to the wood carvings to the display of rings fine enough to grace the hand of a queen. We laughed together—There, Astra, a ruby to match your complexion. Callista, a lily perfume, your favorite! Oh, Beauty, see the instruments!
I burst through the line of tents, and I circled in wonder. The scent of pies and ale carried from one vendor, the aroma of roasting meat from another. The lively music brightened the air. One tent had a collection of furs, another held happy songbirds in gilded cages. There were spices, foreign fruits, rugs, jewelry, even a collection of clucking chickens.
And not a soul besides us.
Beast approached slowly, shoulders hunched, his wide eyes taking each sight in carefully, like it might disappear.
It would. But not yet.
“Alright, Andre”—his eyes swung to mine, and I spread my arms wide—“where to first?”
He darted a look in every direction, and he appeared so lost, it plucked my heart. I hesitated, then reached out to grasp his hand. And then we stared at each other, his palm warm against my fingers, the softness of fur strange beneath my thumb, until I tugged him forward to the first tent, and then I pointed at each rug as if it were a wonder, as if his castle weren’t full of them, and somewhere along the way, he curled his long fingers gently against mine, so gently that I felt the cold of his claws without a prick.
I pulled him from tent to tent, and invisible vendors raised wares for our consideration while a lute bobbed in and out of our path. I reached out once to pluck its strings, and it offered itself to me.
“Do you play all instruments?” Beast asked, with so much faith in his voice, I couldn’t resist.
With full confidence, I strummed a discordant note. The lute shuddered in my hands.
“If I had a bow,” I said.
“If you had a bow,” Beast agreed.
We laughed as the lute bobbed away.
We visited the food stalls, and although Beast declined each offering, I did not. I bit into a pear that dripped sweet trickles down my chin.
“This is where a juggler would perform,” I told him, gesturing to the empty places between tents. “And here a stilt walker. You are tall enough to fill the part. Imagine how you would tower if we raised you on wooden planks.”
He wrinkled his nose at the concept. With his unsteady balance, I couldn’t blame him.
“Then a juggler you must be.”
Two leather balls appeared for me. I tossed both in the air and managed to catch one though the other hit the grass.
“Strange game,” Beast said.
“The point is to keep both aloft, but alas, my skill extends only to instruments. A fearless cabin boy may have a better chance.”
I handed the juggling balls to him. His fingers gripped them awkwardly, and he stared more awkwardly still.
I laughed. “Just try. You saw my attempt.”
He tossed both at once and caught neither, but I applauded anyway.
“The most spectacular juggling I have ever seen!” I waved an arm behind me at the empty tents. “And no witness to contradict!”
He gave a little snarl in my direction, but his eyes remained bright.
At the end of the line of tents was a wooden platform. I leapt up the three steps and shouted from its center, “Upon this stage, a play! The great battles of men and angels, the miracles of God, enacted for your entertainment and edification!”
Father had always enjoyed the plays most.
“Which shall it be, wee beastie?The Great Flood? PerhapsThe Prophet Among Lions?”
