They weren't the only three members that Nikolas met. Faila introduced him to a dizzying array of names, names which he committed to memory with the reflexes of a lifetime listening in to Brytha's lessons. She had three wagons, one for herself and her daughters, one for the female troupers and one for the male troupers.

"We haven't got anyone married otherwise they'll have their own wagon, but," here she gave a chuckle, "usually when they're married they'll either settle down or start their own troupe."

She had a nice laugh, Faila, Nikolas decided. He liked her smile and how she sounded so happy to be telling him things. He knew he should remember the names, because it was polite to and he would be living with them for the time being. But it was nice to be welcomed.

"That's Eldis and Philipa's wagon," said Faila pointing to the smallest wagon, "Owall, Posilo, Jaufre and Erwing are in the other." At his questioning look she shook her head, "I believe they are asleep, Posilo and Oswall. Eldis as well. They do keep odd hours, the three of them, even odder than us, but I don't complain, they do draw the crowds when they bother to wake from their beauty slumber."

"And Eldis?"

"She's with the others," said Faila, pointing to where he thought he could see crowd of the LLandre. It was easy to tell them apart because all the Llandre men and women wore those kilts.

That was all the small talk he could think of. If he couldn't see the rest of the troupe there was none of that small talk that had to happen when one met new people. But perhaps that was a good thing because no doubt it would result in them asking what he was good at, and he didn't know the answer to that particular line of questioning. Faila was doing Aldeim a favor wasn't she, so it was highly unlikely she would just send him packing home. But what if she did? He took a deep breath, it would bode badly on him to panic now. He looked around, trying to think of something, anything, to focus his attention on.

There were clothes hanging on a line just outside the women's wagon, kilts he recognized, but the others he couldn't quite place. Perhaps they were costumes, like Tino had told him. Maybe if he asked nicely then Eldis and Philipa might lend him a hand and he could sneak up the city with his new friend. Tino would appreciate that he thought, and no doubt Brytha might like a picture he could maybe draw of the place?

Then the question that he had been dreading passed across Faila's mouth, "What can you do?" Faila said, hands on her hips and curiosity in her gaze. "You're Aldeim's child, I'm sure he's taught you something. A song or two, no?"

Nikolas blinked at her, and the ridiculous notion that Aldeim would even sing. Wait, no, his father did sing, but that was a long, long time ago and Nikolas could only hope to capture the dying embers of memory. "I don't remember him singing," he confessed. He glanced at the ground, at the one stubborn weed that survived the wheels of the wagon and decided he couldn't bring himself to scruff his boot on it. Then he glanced up. This is when he would see pity, he knew, pity for his father's suffering and if Faila knew Aldeim then this would be when the apologies and condolences would flow forth like Aldeim's endless glasses of wine upon hearing these things.

To his surprise, Faila looked crestfallen, and then her smile was kind when she said, "I understand. What else can you do?"

"My sisters are the ones that can sing," Nikolas said, trying to deflect the questions from him and the scrutiny in Faila's eyes made him feel like it was another query he couldn't quite honestly answer. "And my eldest sister's the merchant and the twins are—"

"Yes, you have many siblings," Faila nodded patiently. "But what about you? What can you do?"

"I can…" he glanced around, then it occurred to him maybe he could say he could draw. Not proper portraits that hung on the fancy manors, just regular things here and there. Brytha had said that he could capture the shadows just so. But to Nikolas it never felt perfect, he never managed to draw them quite right, all the things he drew on charcoal were as lopsided and uncomfortable as he was when he drew them.

"Ah," Faila frowned, then said more softly and quietly, gesturing for him to follow her behind the bigger wagon. When they were hidden away from prying eyes she said in a whisper, "You're not one of —" here she said something incomprehensible to him. Nikolas shook his head and she said again, sounding apologetic, "You haven't been blessed by the Goddess have you? I just want to ask, because some of them have trouble settling down. Most of them join us, in fact, so I thought I ought to ask. I do hope I am not being too forward but some of them prefer different names and such—"

"You don't want me to leave?" Nikolas blurted out. This was far from what he expected from her, and he didn't understand why she reached that conclusion. Then he decided that perhaps Faila and Aldeim had not seen each other in years, because if his family ever produced such a child they would be betrothed to someone very high up, possibly in the noble court. Aldeim would have let everyone around him knew, that would have been something special indeed, such a grand marriage.

"Oh? Oh no!" Faila shook her head. "No, Aldeim sent you and I'm always sure to do a favor or two for Aldeim. He never asked for them even though I told him he could." Here she let out a sigh and Nikolas had to wonder what happened between her and Aldeim.

There was that knowledge of her children's names, and he thought it was the right opportunity to change the topic, "He said you have daughters? Ainnar and Maera?" He bit down a pleased grin at his recall of the names. They were odd, so they stuck out in his memory. Certainly it was nice of Faila to give her daughters such interesting sounding names that he could remember from just hearing it once.

This question of his took her by surprise, he knew, because her eyes widened and she stepped back just a little. Then she relaxed and gave a huff of laughter. "I see," she grinned, and he saw that she had a chipped tooth on the corner. "I see what you're good at. Memory huh? You've got a mind for these things."

"I do?" Nikolas paused. He wanted to stare at anything else besides her face but here, with only the wagon and the wall and maybe some weeds underneath his boots, it was hard to concentrate on what he ought to say. He hoped it didn't sound like a stammer when he next spoke, "I do."

"Say it with more confidence, Nikolas," said Faila, tapping his head. "As much confidence as you've said my daughters' names. They're not Ainnar and Maera though, they go by Anni and Mae. I blame Erwing. Always going around offering people names. Like—" she stopped catching herself. "Never you mind. They're with the other children. I think they should be back in time for supper. Oh. You haven't had any have you? I know the merchants are stingy with their meals. No offense to your ​​Mastachka Sanice."

"She did offer," Nikolas said faintly even as he felt his stomach grumbling. He shifted his bag onto his other shoulder loudly to hide the noise.

Faila clearly heard it, because she gave a shake of the head, her curls bouncing, "Not enough. Come along then."

By come along, Faila meant for him to follow her to the hub of the other Llandre troupers. There were not that many of them, but enough that Nikolas could only hope to follow the names that they were throwing at him. There were many peculiar sounds, even harder than when he had tried to say Erl. There was a wine bottle still in his bag and he wanted to reach for it and pass it around as a show of comradery. But that might be a bad idea, there were too many of them, and it would look beyond insulting if he made an offer and did not provide for the group as he should. So he went back to the thing he knew the best, which was to smile and try as hard as he could to remember all the names being thrown at him. At least their kilt patterns were different. Faila's troupe wore green and dark blue but the other ones seem to favor other combinations and thicknesses of stripes. Though he couldn't very well just call them by color, he had a suspicion that would not be met with a laugh and a smile.

Then he heard excited shouting. Two voices shouting to be exact and they ran past him into Faila's arms.

"Mama!"

"Mama!"

Faila buckled under the two children that threw themselves at her, and she rolled her eyes fondly before looking at Nikolas, "This is Anni and Mae. Anni, Mae, this is Nikolas, he'll be joining us."

He didn't like the sickening feeling in his gut he felt upon seeing anyone that looked like Felie and Ada. Now though, it came flooding back as he met the curious eyes of Anni and Mae. There had been no portraits of him and his younger siblings. Their mother had been away for so long that Aldeim had not bothered to hire an artist. His reasoning had been that by the time one had gotten there, Diase would have left for her duties. Aldeim had commissioned smaller pictures of his children though. Locket sized, Nikolas knew, with strands of their hair. He kept it somewhere in his dresser, and for Richan, Lianne, Felie and Ada… Nikolas knew their lockets weren't in Aldeim's bedroom. No, he suspected his father kept those portraits around his person, because on the times he'd helped Aldeim back to bed after the… anniversaries of their death, sometimes the lockets would slip out of Aldeim's pockets, falling to the floor together, because Aldeim had linked them together.

Anni and Mae looked so much like Felie and Ada but not quite. They didn't have Felie's upturn nose or Ada's wide brow and gap tooth grin. They didn't wear their hair like Felie did, all braided and in ribbons. They didn't run together, hand in hand like his sisters had done. No, they had hugged Faila and then separated, Anni giving Nikolas a curious look while Mae retreating. Then his stomach gave a lurch again, because that would be what Felie and Ada would have done. But Anni and Mae were so much older than his sisters, and it wasn't fair! It simply wasn't fair. He let out a breath, in and out, and forced a smile onto his face. It wasn't their fault that his mind was making him see things that shouldn't be there. They looked polite and happy to see him, even if Mae held back, holding on to Faila and peeking out from behind her back.

"Hello Anni," said Nikolas and he sat back on his heels, the easier for her to see his face. "I'm Nikolas."

Her hair was tied back in a blue handkerchief, and he could see someone had clumsily sewn a butterfly and flower onto the corner. "Yes, I know, silly, mama just told us your name." She said and was immediately chastised by Faila. "I'm sorry," she said, but she did not sound sorry at all. Her eyes fell onto Nikolas's bag, "Do you have sweets?"

"Anni!"

"Do you have sweets?" Mae echoed, stepping cautiously towards Nikolas. "Please? I like sweets too!"

"I have… sweet bread?" Nikolas suggested, and he rummaged in the bag and offered them a look.

"Oh, please eat first, Nikolas, humor them later," said Faila wryly even as Anni and Mae begged.