on her boss. His boss. Would be, he corrected. She thought he was on good terms with his androgynous chief spy in the town. But ah, that's the thing with spies, he thought. You cannot trust the goblins.

"Besides," she said, "why worry if someone did find out? Do you fear these Providencers will think you a great rogue, because you're gitano?"

"They know I'm a great rogue already," he said. "But it can be dangerous for others to know that other thing, nevertheless. As well you know, lass. I'll bet you didn't advertise your lineage in the fine castle at La Merced!"

She shrugged. "Melodía knows. So does her father, of course. Anyway, what does that matter? We're all outlaws together, here in the foothills of the Shields. And whoin black, for the rapidly approaching autumn.

"It is," Pilar said, as the flier commenced to hop about and peck among the lower-lying ferns.

Melodía thought to notice the slight catch in her voice that indicated she'd only just stopped herself from using the honorific Alteza—Highness. She opened her mouth to twit her for it.

From amidst the flowers a tawny head shot out. Tiny-toothed jaws snapped shut on the glorious flier with a crunch of lightweight bones being crushed. The flier squeaked.

Melodía yelped and jumped back in something like terror. Fixing her with a curious topaz eye, the predator raised its head, which was only roughly the same size as its doomed prey, and with a couple of gulps swallowed the faintly struggling pterosaur. With a final toss of its