Now he gaped at her, flustered. "Magic? Me, do magic?" Magic was a thing of schools and books. No proper Acalon did magic. They were harriers. They had always been harriers, or the spouses of harriers, or the parents of harriers. "Oh, no—please, you're mistaken, my lady. I'm no mage."

She met his eyes squarely. "You just danced a magical working, Pasco Acalon. I am never mistaken about such things."

"Tell her," Pasco said pleadingly to Osas grand mother. "You know I never had any sparkle of magic, not the tiniest."

"That he never did, my lady," admitted the old woman. "He and my grandson have been friends all their lives. There's nothing odd about Pasco. Just as ordinary as mud, 'less he starts showing more of a knack for harrier work."

"Not quite like mud, Gran," protested the boy Osa.

To Pasco's deep embarrassment, Osa told the lady—and by then,Duke Vedris, who had ridden over to listen—of the other times Pasco had danced for luck, and gotten what he'd danced for. Pasco stared at the sand, wishing he could just leap into one of the fishing boats now being launched.

When Osa finished, the duke leaned forward in the saddle. "Pasco Acalon—you are related to Macarin and Edoar Acalon?"

Pasco bowed to Duke Vedris. "My father and my grandfather, your grace."

"Then your mother was Zahra Qais before her marriage, and your maternal grandfather is Abbas Qais." The: dukes quiet voice was soothing. With a smile he added, "'Were all my servants as faithful and thorough as the Qaises and the Acalons of the Provost's Guard, I would be the most fortunate ruler on earth. My dear," he said to the young lady, "is it possible you are mistaken?"

"No, Uncle," the lady replied. She slid cool fingers under Pasco's chin and forced him to look up, to meet her eyes. "I didn't mean to startle you, but you do have power, if you didn't know it, then you need a teacher."