Free A Play of Shadow by Julie E. Czerneda

had, or the words wouldn’t be staring back at her, the last one a little wobbly—but still, she’d been thinking about travel and masks and magic. She chewed her bottom lip. This was Peggs’ doing. Between the news and the celebrating—not to mention Kydd’s face and their father’s—fine, and her own joy at becoming an aunt, which was suddenly a new distraction, because if she was an aunt, she’d need to be wise and wasn’t.
    Not yet.
    “The baby’s not even born,” she told the Emms’ house toad, who’d shifted closer and closer to the little stove as the coals took. “There’s growing up, you know. By the time she’s my age and ready to listen, I’ll be—” Ancestors Ancient and Aged, she’d be old!
    Inspiring another question, Mistress Sand having been a child once, according to Wisp, and now seeming as mature as Riss.
    Do turn-born grow old? Do they sicken and die?
    Darker, deeper questions than she’d originally thought. Her chin firmed. Good questions and important.
    ~Elder sister. The candle?~
    A most excellent one, putting out more light than she’d expected, really. Puzzled by the toad’s anxious tone, Jenn glanced at the candle, then winced.
    The flame sat on the wick like a glowing balloon, wider and taller than any candle flame should or could, gleaming in the mirror like a little sun. The wax below wasn’t so much melting as bubbling, and there were runnels pouring over the books she’d stacked to raise the candle exactly where it needed to be to light her desk.
    Light presently filling the main room of the Emms’ log home from rafter to toy-filled corners.
    She’d made a wish.
    Hurriedly, Jenn blew out the candle and found herself sitting in the dark with the toad, her important questions on her lap, and an open inkpot. “Oh, dear.”
    ~You saved the home from burning, elder sister,~ the toad said, ever stout in its generosity.
    Given this was her first night in charge, Jenn didn’t find that a comfort. Not to mention the books, but the wax would come free of the covers; having read late more nights than naught, she’d plenty of practice at that. But saving the Emms’ home? “You did, and thank you.” Wishing not to wish didn’t work at all; she’d tried. If the faint glow from the embers had been sufficient to put quill to paper in a legible manner, she’d have written another question.
    How can I not be a danger to those I love?
    A small foot found her ankle, a foot tipped with sharp little claws. ~We matter to Marrowdell.~ As if it had heard and dismissed her concern.
    A cold foot. “We could not manage without you,” Jenn said truthfully. She put the desk on the floor, careful of the inkpot. Aware of the great dignity of house toads, who weren’t dragons but deserved every bit as much from her, she chose her next words with care. “Little cousin, I would find it a comfort if you sat with me a while. I mean no—” disrespect, she’d intended to add, but given the lapful of soft, heavy toad immediately making itself at home, she just smiled.
    Marrowdell, every part and being, mattered to her.

    Redolent of hay, horse, and warm mash, the inn’s stable might have been any such near Vorkoun. Bannan held the lantern at eye level as he walked the well-worn floor between the long row of stalls, its light surrounding him. Battle and Brawl were outside, in the paddock shelter, the ceiling being too low for their heads, but the other Marrowdell horses were here, slack-hipped and already half-asleep. All had been groomed and pampered and now had a rest in store. There were more horses, for the fair drew from far and wide. Bannan took a good look at each. Most were the sturdy sort of use on a farm, thickset and hairy. Three nondescript bays caught his eye, stabled side-by-side. Good legs, wide chests, and recently shod. Fast, he judged. Their tack hung nearby, any metal darkened. By age or intent? He’d know more once he’d met their riders.
    Eyes reflected cold disks in