The sound of hands clapping made all of them, Pasco and the fisherfolk, turn. A party of riders had come onto the sand while Pasco was dancing.

Who was mad enough to be riding at this hour? Pasco wondered. He squinted at them, then gulped. His grace the duke of Emelan and the prettiest lady Pasco had ever seen were applauding him.

The lady dismounted from her horse and walked over. She was just an inch shorter than Pasco's own five feet five inches, but the way she held herself, back perfectly straight and head high, made her seem taller. She had a button of a nose, eyes of the brightest blue, and an open, friendly smile.

Blessed with four older sisters, Pasco took, note of the lady's clothing. The girls would love to know she wore a pair of green breeches with legs so wide that, when she was afoot, she seemed to be wearing skirts. Over that she wore a long, sleeveless tunic in pale green cloth, fastened down the front with a row of tiny buttons shaped like suns. A full-sleeved blouse with green embroidery kept her arms from the cold. A sheer green silk veil was fixed somehow to light brown braids wound, about the lady's head like a crown. She removed one of her tan, riding gloves and offered him her bare hand.

Pasco took it and bowed, feeling a little dazed.

"You dance very well," she said with approval. "What is your name, please?"

Pasco could not reply. Osa's grandmother said respectfully, "He's Pasco Acalon, my lady. A friend of my grandson's." She dipped a quick curtsy and nudged Pasco with her elbow.

"Wha—?" he asked, startled, and realized he still had the lady's hand in his. "I–I'm sorry. I didn't—," He dropped the small hand as if it had turned to fire.

"I thought I had seen nearly every kind of magic there is these last four years," the lady remarked in a friendly voice, "but never magic that was danced. Where did you learn it, Pasco?"