“Is something amiss, ladies?” Lord Birknell, a lanky noble with a penchant for sonnets, suddenly joined them. 

            Bresca’s hands fluttered in the air. “Mirella has chosen now of all times to look for a handkerchief in the Great Throne Room. Can you believe it?”

            “White silk trimmed with lace,” blurted Mirella. “It was a gift from the Queen.”

            “Ah, the little Shivelite girl,” Lord Birknell sounded sympathetic while peering down her bodice. “May I be of assistance?”

            “What? Tear you away from my roommate? Why, I wouldn’t dare!” Mirella grabbed Bresca’s gloved hand and placed it between Lord Birknell’s. She pouted her lips and batted her eyes just as the rest. “Bresca so yearns for another rhyme. Her eyes are very, very blue.”

            “How true!” agreed Birknell, beaming.

            And with that, Mirella was gone, bolting though the last barrier of royalty until she was out the iron-banded doors. She looked back only once. She was taking a huge risk slipping away to use the secret passage. Especially now, as the crowd was peppered with Red Robes. Like snakes, they traveled in pairs, and she watched as they wound their way amongst the lords and ladies, picking up every careless word. Tongues were loose tonight, and there would be much to report to Elymas.