It doesn’t matter.
If they don’t know I’m gone, they will very soon.
I wish I were further away, but I can’t think about that now. I need to run as fast as my legs will carry me.
8
Isla
I arch my back, and the final note leaves my throat, soaring up into the vast tent. I hang suspended in the silks, my arms burning from the exertion as I pant heavily. Sweat drips down my spine, making my costume stick to my skin. I feel hints of magic still running through my veins. I’m exhausted, both from suppressing my magic and from the hard work it takes to stay suspended without using too much of it. It needs to look real. It needs to be believable. I walk a knife’s edge, and the blade is deadly.
I hold my breath because there is utter silence, then the crowd erupts.
Cheers and applause thunder throughout the tent. People jump to their feet, stamping their boots against the wooden planks of the seating. Some call my name like a chant.
“Isla! Isla! Isla!”
Relief floods through me so intensely I nearly lose my grip.
They loved it.
I don’t think that anyone suspected anything. At least, I hope they didn’t.
I begin my descent, hand over hand, my muscles trembling. The applause continues, growing louder, if anything. As my feet touch the ground, I dare to look around me, taking in all the faces.
There are no looks of confusion or uncertainty. No eyes narrowed in suspicion. It’s just pure excitement and happiness. Aside from needing the coin, this is exactly why I do what I do.
And why I will miss it so much.
“Encore! Encore!” the crowd chants, saying the word over and over as they continue to stomp their feet.
I smile, lifting my arms. I already performed one encore this evening. I’m exhausted but will push myself if Master Roland decides I should proceed.
I look over at the man in question.
The tent master strides toward me. He is smiling, and his eyes twinkle. He takes my hand, raising it high above our heads.
The crowd roars.
He waits until they quieten down.
“I can’t allow another encore, I’m afraid. This lovely lady needs to save her strength for tomorrow night. Please put your hands together for the incomparable Isla!” he shouts. Then he turns to me, speaking low enough that only I can hear. “Well done, girl. Well done indeed.” He beams at the audience as the applause dies down. “Isn’t she wonderful?” he shouts, and they all go crazy all over again.
I force a smile, nodding my thanks.
Just three more performances,I think to myself as I start to walk from the stage.
The crowd continues to call for an encore, but Master Roland raises his hand, gesturing for quiet.
“The great Isla of the Air will return tomorrow night to dazzle you once more with her extraordinary talents,” he tells them. “But now, please welcome our next performers – the spectacular Flying Falcons!”
Three acrobats tumble into the performance circle, drawing the audience’s attention. I use the opportunity to slip away toward the exit.
My breathing is still ragged as I leave the tent. My bodice feels overly tight and scratchy. All I want is to get out of this costume and into something more comfortable. My bed is calling to me. I think I will sleep like the dead again tonight.
“Well done, Isla,” one of the performers tells me as I walk past.
“Thanks.” I smile as I hurry away.
