Ariadne could find a fine dancer or two on her own, but to say so might sound like bragging. No one liked to hear that sort of talk. Anyway, the book was distracting. She ran the pad of her thumb along the gold, embossed designs on the cover. Stylized images always in groupings of three. "It's the holy scriptures of Mudorism," she murmured. "The religion of the Elves of Valeria. I started to follow their ways, when I was brought to court as an apprentice."

And, likewise, coming to Folkmore had changed Ariadne's religion again. Now she worshipped Thirteen, although she wasn't always sure how. Mudorism had clear, prescribed rituals and practices. Things in Folkmore were a little more chaotic, a little less predictable.

She was always afraid that she was doing it wrong, really.

The only holiday that they'd observed with any kind of fidelity was that Pride thing that happened in June. She hoped they would celebrate it again. And not just because it was a great deal of fun. It would give her more of a sense of a schedule.

Shaking her head, she looked back up at Javert. "I suspect the sharks possess some of Thirteen's abilities to reach into other worlds." She stroked the head of their host, who seemed pleased, judging from the way his tail swished. "Gifts, just like the tea and cakes."