"I'll be careful this time," Telo said, expression solemn as he remembered how easily he'd been swept up by the dancer's charm earlier.
"Let's just have fun," Dem laughed. "I'll tell you a foolproof way to avoid that sort of thing."
Telo leaned in. "Really?"
Dem nodded gravely. "Leave your money pouch in your tent. Once they realize you have nothing worth stealing, they'll move on. Unless," he added with a faint grin, "they happen to like you. Then maybe not."
"I like the sound of that last part." Telo handed him his pouch. "Would you hold mine, just in case?"
"Sure." Dem accepted it and, with an innocent look, slipped it into his storage ring instead of his belt.
The travelers' wagons had been arranged in a wide triangle, a stage set up at its heart. Lanterns glowed warm against the twilight, casting flickering light over the crowd. Travelers and tribals danced together, the air thick with drums, laughter, and the smell of smoke and spiced fruit wine.
Dem's eyes found Rave in the crowd, spinning with a young traveler whose quick hands were already easing her coin purse from her belt.
"May I cut in?" Dem said lightly, placing a hand on the man's shoulder before the thief could vanish. The traveler stepped aside with a grin, and Dem drew Rave into a spin.
Rave smiled, her pale hair catching the firelight. "Do you dance, Dem?"
"No," he said, deadpan.
She laughed, realizing a moment later that he'd been watching the dances closely—steps that alternated between long and short strides, spins, and quick reverses. Nothing complicated, but enough to keep the rhythm alive.
Dem led easily, and soon Rave was laughing breathlessly as he twirled her through the crowd. Each time they neared another couple, Dem slipped aside with instinctive precision, spinning her again until she was dizzy and clinging to his arm.
Afterward, they drifted to the refreshment table. Rave leaned against him, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
"I wish I were two years older," she said softly.
Dem smiled. "Really?"
She nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Then I could join the sentries."
"I'll save you a spot," he promised.
Rave's smile faltered as she noticed his gaze wandering back to the dancers.
The Travelers were moving through the crowd with practiced ease, hands subtle but greedy. Too many, too fast. One or two missing coins was amusement—dozens would draw trouble.
"You seem deep in thought," Rave said. "What's on your mind?"
Dem grinned faintly. "Mostly trying to avoid getting my feet stepped on."
Rave laughed. "I don't think I could, even if I tried."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "The Travelers are pickpockets. The one you were dancing with took your money."
Her eyes widened. Her hand flew to her belt. "I'll skin that—"
Dem pressed her missing pouch into her palm. "Already handled it. I'll take care of the rest."
Rave blinked, blushing as she leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."
Dem smiled and slipped back into the crowd. The music swelled again, a blur of drums and tambourines. He moved casually between dancers until he felt it—a hand brushing too close to his belt. His own shot out, catching the thief's elbow. He squeezed the joint just hard enough to numb the fingers.
The man's dark face twisted in surprise and pain as Dem released him with a pleasant smile. "Pardon me."
He moved on. Again, a hand reached for him. Again, a quick grip, a polite smile, and a retreat. Within minutes, Dem had repeated the process half a dozen times. The blatant theft slowed, then stopped altogether.
And that's when he felt it—the shift. Eyes on him. Someone was watching.
The music went on, but the air around him had changed.
Dem ignored the eyes watching him and stayed on the dance floor, spinning through partners of all ages with easy grace.
"You dance well," came a familiar accented voice behind him.
"I'm just having fun," Dem said without turning. "Elsie, right?"
Elsie nodded, holding out her hand. "Do you only dance with other tribals?"
"Nope." Dem took her hand, spinning them both back into the rhythm of the crowd.
Elsie's hands stayed visible—one resting lightly on his elbow, the other on his shoulder. "How old are you?"
Dem shrugged. "Much younger than you."
Elsie raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure how to take that."
"However you like," Dem replied, letting her guide him off the dance floor, not resisting when she slipped behind one of the wagons.
Three young men waited there—Travelers, the same ones he'd taught a lesson to earlier.
"Who are you really?" Elsie asked, stepping back and crossing her arms. Her dark eyes glinted, more curious than afraid.
"Dem Swiftwind," he said simply.
The moment the men moved to flank him, instinct took over. The air thickened—the music and laughter outside fading into a slow, muffled pulse.
Dem didn't summon his shadow blades. Instead, he drew the black knife he'd taken from Matrea weeks before. The blade caught the lantern light as he pivoted.
He moved fast.
The knife's pommel cracked against the temple of the first Traveler as Dem spun past him. A heartbeat later, his boot slammed into the second's groin; when the man folded, Dem dropped an elbow into his neck and spun him into the path of the third, who stumbled and fell—just in time for Dem's heel to catch him in the face.
Then he was gone from sight—reappearing behind Elsie, his blade resting lightly on her bare shoulder.
"Stop."
A woman's voice, rich and mature, came from the shadows. "Please stop."
Dem stepped back, lowering his dagger but keeping his stance ready. "They started it."
"What?" Elsie rounded on him, eyes flashing. "No, we didn't! He—"
"Yes, you did, Elspeth." The woman emerged from the shadows—graceful, curving, her every step measured like a dance. "They tried to flank him. How was he to know your intent?"
"We wouldn't have harmed him," Elspeth protested.
"I know, dear. But again, he did not."
One of the downed men shifted to rise, and Dem said calmly, "Stay down."
"Do as he says," the older woman sighed. "This was handled poorly. I'll take the blame." She inclined her head. "My name is Isolinda, though my people call me Mamar."
"Dem Swiftwind," he said again.
Mamar studied him for a long moment. "Interesting. Perhaps we could start over. The Travelers aren't fighters or ruffians. We sing and dance."
"And pick pockets," Dem added. "More than three dozen in the last hour."
Mamar's expression tightened as she glanced toward Elspeth. "So many?"
Elsie twisted her fingers together, eyes down. "Yes. I stepped away to plan tomorrow's performance and… the younger ones got carried away."
Dem snorted. "You're surrounded by thousands of tribals. You should sound more convincing."
"What did you do to my dasai?" Ai's voice cut cleanly through the music. She stood at the edge of the lanternlight, bow drawn and arrow notched, with Tam at her side mirroring the pose. Both looked ready to start trouble.
"Shit…" Mamar muttered under her breath. "Elspeth, return to your wagon."
Elsie turned, but froze when Telo's spear pressed lightly under her chin.
"You're not going anywhere, charmer," Telo stepped out of the shadows. "Not until Dem says so."
The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring.
"Lesson learned?" Dem asked at last.
Mamar nodded. "We'll remain three days and entertain your people. There will be no more theft."
"Reasonable." Dem slid his knife back into its sheath. "Your people put me in a position I couldn't ignore. A few missing pouches might have gone unnoticed—but this? No."
"Do you want us to stay and watch them, dasai?" Ai asked, lowering her bow but keeping it ready.
Dem shook his head. "You can go back to the dance."
He turned away, the tension draining from his shoulders as music and laughter flowed back into focus.
Dem left with Telo. Ai and Tam lingered for a moment, waiting until the boys disappeared down the lantern-lit path.
Ai's hand still gripped her bow. Her dark eyes burned with a memory that never faded—faces she'd already lost.
"If you ever come at my dasai again," she said coldly, "I'll skin you like a rabbit and tack your hide to the nearest tree."
Tam gave a curt nod of agreement, then followed as Ai turned and walked away.
Elspeth let out a long, shaky breath before kneeling to help her fallen companions. "That kid's insane," she muttered. "A mad dog. Was that his sister? She's just as bad."
"Not insane," Mamar corrected softly. "Merciful. And yes—his sister's only protecting her family."
The young Travelers rose unsteadily, no serious injuries beyond bruised bodies and shattered pride. At Mamar's quiet command, they returned to their tents to sleep off the embarrassment.
Elsie followed Mamar into her tent, where Boph was already waiting. The older man listened silently as they recounted everything that had happened.
Boph's brow furrowed as he turned to Elspeth. "What in the saints' names were you thinking—leading him behind the wagons?"
Elspeth kept her eyes on the floor. "We were going to talk. Maybe… intimidate him."
Boph exhaled sharply. "We should leave."
Mamar's dark eyes narrowed. "Did you hear something?"
Boph nodded. "Plenty. The tribals are talking. This Dem—he's only fourteen. An expert in something called Sybasi knife fighting. Killed a hunter in a ritual duel not long ago."
"So young?" Elspeth murmured, recalling his offhand remark about her being much older. "He wasn't joking."
"Is he a Chief's son?" Mamar asked.
"No," Boph replied. "Just part of a small family within the Swiftwind clan. No direct ties to leadership. But…"
Mamar sighed. "Go on."
"He's been chosen to lead what they're calling a Sentry Force—a joint group formed to protect the clans after the Gathering disperses. Every Clan Chief has pledged him five warriors. It's all anyone's whispering about."
Mamar sank into her chair—normally a comfort, but tonight it felt like thorns. "At his age? Are you certain?"
Boph nodded grimly. "Certain. Half the younger tribals are already volunteering. Everyone wants to be part of it."
Mamar laughed—short, humorless. "Fate's cruel sense of timing. We won't leave. I told him we'd stay three days, and we'll keep our word."
Elspeth bowed her head. "This was my fault. I saw our people getting overzealous and made it worse instead of calming them."
Mamar's tone softened. "Then consider it a lesson—with only a few bruises as payment. I'll speak to Dem myself tomorrow."
"I'm sorry, Mamar," Elspeth said quietly. "What can I do to help?"
"Walk among the tribals," Mamar replied. "Entertain, talk, make friends. Many places aren't as welcoming as they once were. We can't afford to offend these people."
Elspeth nodded, chastened but determined. Outside, the drums still played—music bright and untroubled, unaware of the quiet storm that had passed through camp.