“They don’t know that,” said Jacques. “I may not have fire, but I have my ferocious reputation.” And the small dragon looked so valiant and so proud and so palpably afraid that Anya wanted to catch him and hold him close, gentle him against her heart. But of course she did not, because it would have been the worst insult she could have offered. Instead, Anya curtsied: the curtsy that had been drilled into her since her first toddling steps, required every time she had been in the presence of the king. This, though, was different. One hand flew up like a bird, and one foot swept behind her, and
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