“Oh, of all the blithering circus tricks! Watch this!” said Elymas and held out his palm. He turned his hand this way and that, until it was wrapped in shadows, then shook them away. On his palm was a likeness of the flower, though the petals were rounded. 

            The crowd made no sound. The King’s specter, now held by his page, stayed lifted in the air.

            Oren allowed the crowd to be impressed, then said, “But can you do this?”

            Holding out his palm, he made a clucking sound with his tongue. The outline of the Outer Flower began to move, a pistil of skin rising until a small bird flew out. Small as a bee at first, the three-spotted falcon grew to its actual size as it winged it way above the crowd, dipping and swooping, making squawkish sounds. Two ladies and a lord fainted. The bird began to spiral upwards and, when it reached the ceiling, tapped the wood with its beak, then disappeared. 

            The image on the Earth Skyll’s palm was gone as well. 

            “A wonder,” Elymas’ voice dripped with sarcasm. “Have you visited the fairies in Glynnis Fen?”

            “I’m too large for a fairy glen,” replied Oren, and despite the raised scepter, the crowd twittered. The King was still chuckling when Oren turned to him. “As soon as the Gibbor sealed the scroll, I came here. I stopped only to kill and eat.” He gestured to his spattered vest. 

            “So, we have a scroll which bears an urgent but untrue message and a palm, which may or may not be magicked. Tell me, Oren, though you visited our city on several occasions, no one actually saw you.” With a dramatic sweep of his cloak, Elymas turned to face the crowd, “Is there anyone who can identify this man?”          

  Seconds stretched into minutes. Fulcruchen was urgently whispering to the King, but the crowd was growing restless and the eyes of the Red Robes glittered with malice.