He winked. “Know me so well, already, do you?”

“An educated guess.”

Sher-sah appeared in the wagon’s doorway, and he gave a massive yawn before shaking his head like a cat shaking off drowsiness from a nap. The blades of his mane clinked together like wind chimes, and I couldn’t help smiling. He really was a beautiful beast, even if he could bite me in half in a blink. Holding out my open palm, I let him sniff me. He nuzzled my fingers, and I stroked his sleek jaw.

“Come.” Falak flicked his fingers at the lion. He stepped back, leaving an open space between himself and the wagon. “Sher-sah, come.”

With a subtle whirring and clicking of machinery, the lion shifted. As graceful as any household cat, he leapt from the doorway and landed on the ground with a light touch that belied his immense size and weight. He prowled a circle around me, snuffing, huffing, breathing me in as if learning my scent. After completing a thorough examination, the cat stretched—rear end high, tail extended, head low to the ground. He raised up and dropped his haunches, sitting up, chest puffed out as proudly as any king of the jungle—a thoroughly mechanical jungle made of brass, copper, and iron, of course.

Falak bent low for a bow, stood up, and presented his colorful rope to the lion, who sniffed inquisitively at the ringmaster’s offering.

“Now...” Falak jerked his chin toward me. “Offer him a bow.”

I blinked at him. “Bow to a lion?”

“Don’t offend him. He’s very proud. That’s lesson number one.”

“Don’t offend the lion. Got it.” I crossed my feet, bent my knees, and bowed low enough to scrape my knuckles on the ground. “It’s an honor, King Lion.”

“Don’t get smart. He doesn’t like sarcasm.”

“Lesson two?” I asked.

“Perhaps you should have brought ink and paper so you could take notes.”

I scowled at the ringmaster. “Don’t get smart. I don’t like sarcasm, either.”

“But you don’t have fangs.”

“Don’t be so sure about that.” I pointed at Falak’s multicolored cord. “What have you got there?”

“A harness, I hope. If his majesty allows it.” Carefully, Falak twined the ribbons around Sher-sah’s tree-trunk neck below his bristling mane. “He’d never allow a full bridle or a bit, but this is a bit of decorative finery I had Camilla devise. He likes pretty things.”

The lion did, in fact, seem to approve of his new accessory and preened as Sher-sah fastened it in place with a series of loops and knots. Before he handed over the rope, Falak produced another gift, a pair of leather gloves, and presented them to me. “I’m not completely cavalier with your safety, you know. Those should help protect you from any, um, sharp encounters.”

With a thick swallow, I accepted the gloves and Sher-sah’s beribboned leads. Falak stepped back to allow the lion and me room to get acquainted. There, in the open space beyond Sher-sah’s wagon, in the faded distant light of the torches surrounding Genevieve’s riding ring, the lion and I established a loose friendship based on tentative respect. I respected his size and strength, and he respected Falak’s assertion that I was trustworthy, enough so that the massive king of all the circus beasts deigned to let me climb onto his back and sit astride. Standing on all four feet, Sher-sah’s shoulders rose as high as my chin, and when I rode him, my feet dangled several feet above the ground.

I clutched the rope around his neck until my knuckles turned white. “Maybe I should have a saddle, too?”

The ringmaster shook his head, upsetting his little white hat. He grabbed his cap before it slid off and set it in place atop his dark mop of hair. “That will never happen. He’d strip the meat from our bones first.”

I arched a brow. “Too proud?”

“Exactly.” Falak studied me on my perch. He rubbed his chin and squinted. “Have you much experience with bareback riding?”

I huffed. “Of course.” His question flooded my mind with memories of Nonnie, my beloved horse whom I’d had to leave behind when fleeing Inselgrau. As a little girl, I’d often stolen away with her, not bothering to saddle or bridle her first. I would throw a blanket over her back and thread my fingers through her mane, and we’d wander wherever inspiration led her.

Sher-sah’s smooth, polished flesh had little in common with a horse’s hide, however. I shifted my weight, testing my balance. “It’s a bit slippery, but I suppose we can make it work.”

Falak pointed at my costume. “Leather knickers instead of velveteen. That should help your grip. Leather slippers, too. Give your toes some flexibility to grip him when you’re standing.”

“Standing?” I squeaked.

The ringmaster nodded, his brow furrowed in all seriousness. “I think, perhaps, Genevieve’s act will follow yours. As she rides in, you’ll join her for a lap around the ring, and you’ll both perform a serious of synchronized tricks.”

My insides rolled over, and an uneasy cramp took hold of my gut. “You’re insane.”

He shook off his solemnity, flung his arms out wide, and grinned. “No. I’m brilliant. The audiences will go wild.”

“I can’t do this in a week, Falak.”

“You have less than a week.”

“But you said—”

He raised a finger. “It will take us approximately a week to reach Barsava. Part of the time will be spent crossing the Thaulgant Mountains. Even if we stopped and made camp, the passages are narrow and dark. There’s no place to practice. But we won’t stop for the night because it’s too dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” I frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll give detailed instructions about the changes in our travel plans as we approach the mountains. Until then, the only thing you should worry about is learning to ride. We’ll start simple and build up. Now, come.” He motioned for me to follow as he strode toward Ynnua’s riding ring. “There’s no time to waste.”

As I watched him walk away, the lion shifted beneath me. He huffed. “I know. I don’t like it either.” His low rumbling sound—not quite a purr, not quite a roar—rolled through his body, vibrating hard enough to rattle my teeth. “He’s very hard to say no to. I’m at his mercy, Sher-sah.”

“Are you coming?” Falak shouted without turning back.

“Look,” I said to my brass companion. “We’ll try it one time. If it’s horrible, we’ll find a way to talk him out of it. I’ll hold him down while you gnaw on his arm or something. What do you say?”

The lion’s sides heaved, and he let out a low grumble. He started forward. I squeaked, nearly tumbling off, but I latched my legs around his ribs and leaned over his shoulders, centering my weight. The lion padded toward the riding ring, and I prayed for a bit of good luck. “Father, give me strength and grace. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll live long enough to find my thunder again.”

***

By the time Falak called a halt to training, my thighs ached from the strain of holding tight to the lion’s back. After releasing Sher-sah for his nighttime guard duty, I hobbled to the costumes wagon and collapsed to the floor. Genevieve lit the oil lamp and eased onto her pallet beside me. “Velveteen knickers were a bad choice, huh?” She tittered. “You were slipping and sliding so much, you polished that lion to a high gloss.”

I groaned. “I need pants made from rubber and glue if I’m going to stay on that beast’s back.”

“It’s ridiculous, trick riding a lion. Falak’s stolen my idea and turned it into a cheap spectacle.”

Despite her snooty tone, I couldn’t disagree. “Maybe when he sees how terrible Sher-sah and I are, he’ll change his mind.”

“You were pretty terrible. An embarrassment, actually.”

I rolled my eyes at her and eased to my side. With a huge groan, I turned the rest of the way over and shoved myself to my knees. After stumbling to my feet, I set my hands on my hips and scanned the room.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“A trunk.” In one corner, a huge steamer with brass latches sat atop a small bureau. A heap of fabric bolts perched in a precarious stack on top of the trunk, and I shifted them to Z’arta’s small fabric-cutting table.

“There’s another one over there.” The princess pointed to a large wooden chest on the floor in the opposite corner, also buried under an avalanche of cloth and notions.