Even as my family and our guests relax in the dessert lounge, my head still spins. I barely hear any of the conversations going on around me.

I’m going to learn to sing magic!

At the table next to mine, Mom discusses the scope and extent of my impending lessons with Sinmaryil Onlarion, my new tutor. I know she was popular in Lindera a couple of decades ago, but I'm not familiar with her actual work. Lisani saw her in concert under the stage name “Maryl” not too long ago, though. Maisey owns the violin sheet music for six of her songs, too.

Maryl sits straight up in a slightly smaller version of the dining room chairs. She wears a smooth, reddish-brown dress and a necklace of red pearls. Her skin is not much fairer than Mom’s, but the gold and paisley shawl around her bare arms accentuate her shoulder-length braid of dark blonde hair. Unlike Lisani, Maryl’s ear-points curve backward a little bit.

Maryl nods slightly and says something. That is about as much movement as she’s shown all night while she talks. I always thought I’d have been happy to be rid of Mrs. Archer as a teacher. If Maryl’s posture is any sign of her strictness, now I’m not so sure.

All the same, she’s going to teach me magic through music. Maybe that’ll be worth putting up with a distant demeanor? Besides, other than her stiffness, she seems polite enough.

“Klóe, did you hear me?”

I blink twice and turn to Maisey. She’s in a backed stool with a slightly higher seat than my chair’s so that we’re almost at eye level with each other. I don’t realize her hand is on my wrist until she pulls it away and sits back in her seat.

“I, well… no.”

Maisey raises an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. It’s the kind of look that, unlike her button nose and cleft chin, reminds me she’s almost twice my age. The sleeves to her button-up brown shirt are still rolled up to her elbows from dinner, but she tied her broad, forest green ribbon around her neck again. Maisey tucks a short lock of sandy hair behind one bluntly pointed ear and takes a deep breath.

“I know you’re about to have a lot going on, with the wedding and the new magic tutor and all your history studies, and that your dad is super protective of you going places anyways, but Mama and Uncle Branson want you to come and spend Exodus with us because they really want to share our gnomish history with you and they like you a lot and we want you to sing with us.”

I heard no second breath through any of that statement.

“Oh, Maisey, I’d love to spend a couple of nights with your family!”

She claps twice and interlaces her fingers. “Great! You have a month to talk to your dad about it. My folks have a lot of setup to do at the house,” Maisey starts counting on her fingers, “between cleaning and decorating and arranging parts – you’re a soprano, right?”

“Yes. Should I bring my mandolin?”

“Absolutely! And I’ll try to make it so you have your own room, but you may have to share with a couple of my cousins.”

I touch Maisey’s wrist. “Can you also make sure to save the room next to mine for my bodyguards?”

The excitement drains from Maisey’s face. She opens her mouth, stops herself, and finally asks, “Wha—who?”

I look at the yellow-lacquered floor and tilt my head. “If Daddy does let me go, he would probably assign Markus and Mr. Veratog to watch me. I don’t think he’d assign a third guard, since you don’t live too deep into the Riviera…”

I look back at Maisey. Her forehead is scrunched. Her lips are pursed and pulled toward one corner of her mouth. Either she’s recounting her guests, or she’s rethinking inviting me to her holiday celebration.

I forget that most people don’t have a security team of tough-looking guys to follow them around the moment they step off of their own property.

I look to my left. Mr. Veratog stands by the closed door with his hands folded at his waist. He’s bigger than the average orc, almost as tall as the door frame, and he has biceps as big as my head. Somehow, I forgot he was there. Like most of Daddy’s security, Mr. Veratog becomes a little like wallpaper, sometimes, in the way I see him around so often yet pay so little attention to him.

I breathe deep and look back to Maisey with a shaky smile. “Banish the thought. Thank you for the invitation, but your house will already have a large amount of guests. I don’t want to bother you with my extra needs.”

Her eyes widen and her jaw drops open. “What? No, it’s no great bother. We Bettengales are well-equipped to host larger folk.”

I wring my hands. “I don’t know. Markus doesn’t sing, and Mr. Veratog isn’t a very social person… I just—”

Maisey nearly hops out of her high chair when she stretches her hand out toward me.

“Ooh, ooh, Lisani!” she calls past my shoulder. “Tell Klóe she’s being wishy-washy and she should come over to my place for a fun holiday weekend, if Mr. DiRossi lets her. Please?”

In the middle of Maisey’s request, I turn around in my seat. I thought Lisani would still be seated at the table behind me with the way Maisey shouted, but the chair next to Mimi is empty as he talks quite enthusiastically with Max and Hanna. I shift around again and find Lisani, in her cobalt, black-embroidered dress, walking to her table from the lounge doors.

Lisani looks more like Bastien’s age than Mimi’s, but she may well be older than both. I love that she and Mimi – I suppose I should start calling him, blah, Dimitri – I love that they’re a couple now. Unlike so many of Angelo’s ex-girlfriends, Lisani doesn’t talk at me like I’m just some dumb kid sister.

The elfom grins and alters her course to my table. She leans over to meet me at eye level, and a few curls of walnut-colored hair fall over the shoulder strap of her dress.

“What worries you, Klóe?”

My throat suddenly feels very dry. I pick up my half-full glass of water and, as I drink it all, try to think of an answer to Lisani’s question. I lower the glass to my lap with both hands.

“You invited me, Maisey. That really is wonderful, and I thank you. But it’s not fair that my bodyguards need to be there, too, for them or for your family.” I trace circles on the empty cup with my thumb. “They’ll probably not want to be there, so your family would actually have a pair of boarders instead of true guests, and I…”

I look into my glass. The rest of my sentence comes out as a whisper.

“I don’t want to put anyone out.”

Lisani sits and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Klóe, when I was your age, I’m sure I wouldn’t have expressed such consideration if I had workers to fulfill my whims.”

“Oh, sure,” Maisey insists. “I’d probably be much more dreadful to my servants, if I had servants, than I am to my brothers and sisters. And they are to me.” She gasps. “Maybe I ought to warn them not to…”

Lisani smiles as Maisey chases her thoughts down another set of tracks. “From what I’ve seen and heard of your father, he would choose the folks who protect and serve your family with the utmost diligence. Do you think he would assign someone to watch over you who would not enjoy a weekend of merriment and celebration?”

I shrug. “Daddy’s smart, but he’s no oracle.”

Lisani chuckles. “What I mean is that your father hires people to protect you, not to stop you from having fun, or from living your life. I think you should accept Maisey’s invitation.”

I giggle when Maisey cheers. “Okay, okay, I’ll ask Daddy when he gets back from his meeting tonight.” I yawn. “Or tomorrow.”

Lisani gives my wrist a gentle squeeze. “Good. So…” She leans toward me and whispers like she’s sharing a secret. “What do you think of Maryl?”

Before I answer, the doors to the dessert lounge swing open. Bastien marches in, wearing a suit much like the one Daddy wore when he left. He greets no one, not even Maryl, as he goes straight to Mom’s table. He leans over and whispers into Mom’s ear. Maybe it’s the way his eyes flit from table to table, or his open collar – he always buttons up when he goes to Daddy’s meetings – but something seems wrong with my next-to-oldest brother.

The room has gone silent, since all of us are trying to listen. Even Maryl, still sitting straight and serene, has one ear turned to the pair and a look of confusion or frustration on her face. I hear nothing until Mom drops her spoon onto her dish of half-eaten berry sponge cake.

Max and Dimitri rush over to Mom and Bastien just before I do the same. Mom tries to act natural while Bastien stretches out his black-gloved hands like he’s trying to hold us all back. His voice has its usual bedrock steadiness, but the stuffed ring and little fingers in his left glove tremble slightly.

“Dimitri, please entertain our guests while Max and I tend to some emergent business. Mom will arrange the horses and drivers to deliver our guests to their homes.”

Max nods and turns toward the door. Dimitri frowns at Bastien and Mom.

“What happened?”

Bastien wrinkles his brow and helps Mom rise, shakily, out of her seat. “Shipping troubles.”

Dimitri crosses his arms. “It can’t be that simple.”

Mom adjusts the sparkly green shawl covering the top of her ivory gown. She doesn’t seem to be looking at anything when she walks away from the table.

Bastien leans toward Dimitri and glances sideways at me. “Bad-faith clients, missing shipments. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” When he turns to follow Mom, Dimitri grabs his elbow and spins him back around.

“Let’s talk about it now.”

Bastien yanks his arm from our brother’s grip and steps back with a clenched jaw. “You’ll have to hide your hand better than that if you expect to make a proper inspector, apprentice. Max!”

I look over to the open doorway. Max is still there with Mr. Veratog, talking to Mom. When he hears his name, he pats her hand and returns. Bastien backs up to meet him halfway.

“Help our brother with our guests. I’ll handle this.”

Max looks up at the ceiling and sighs. “Yeah. Sure.”

Dimitri takes a step after Bastien. “Handle what?” he shouts.

Max puts his hands on Dimitri’s shoulders. “Listen, Dimitri, let’s not worry the girls—”

Dimitri points his whole arm at the closing door. “What are you two hiding?”

Max leans forward and whispers, just loudly enough for me to hear, “We can talk about this when our guests are gone, okay?”

My brothers begin to argue. I don’t want to get in the middle of that fight, so I return to my seat between Maisey and Lisani. The elfom turns to me with a deep frown.

“What’s happening, Klóe?”

I shake my head. I cross my arms on the tabletop and lay my head sideways so I can watch the doorway. Maisey starts running her small fingers through my hair, and I can feel tears threatening to come up behind my eyes.

I hate being a child at times like this. Nobody thinks I can understand hard things, but they won’t hardly try half the time. And if Bastien and Max don’t want to tell Dimitri what’s going on at his age, there’s no way they would think about telling me. Even Mr. Veratog gets to go and find out about...

My tears stay back. I squint at the doors. The walls on both sides of the entrance are empty, except for the lime-colored paint.

Mr. Veratog has abandoned his post. He isn't even in the room anymore.

I sit upright and look around. Maryl sips tea and watches Hanna join my brothers. Lisani squeezes my shoulder, stands, and walks over to the intensifying argument, as well.

What news could Bastien have possibly brought that could make the night turn so wrong?

I whisper to Maisey as she fidgets with the loops of her ribbon.

“I have go find out what’s happening.”

She shrugs, but doesn’t look up at me. “I’m sure your parents will tell you tomorrow.”

“No, Mimi’s right.” I glance at the distracted folks. “I’m going out there.”

Now she looks at me with wide, green eyes. “What?”

“I’ll need you to hold back anyone who tries to stop me.” I slide onto my feet and tiptoe around Maisey’s chair.

Maisey waves her hands up and down her small body. “How do you expect me to do that?”

I pause. “I don’t know, but… please?”

She exhales and wrinkles her brow. “Okay. I’ll try.”

I continue toward the doors. I want to run and fling them open, but I can’t afford the attention. I sneak, step by step, for what feels like minutes. I watch my brothers and their girlfriends with the hope that they are all too focused on their own interactions to notice me slip—

My shoulder bumps into the backrest of a chair, scooting it loud and hard over the floor. All four of the people I wanted to alert the least turn their eyes and heads to me.

This is a stupid idea. How is Maisey supposed to stop all of them? She could wrap herself around one of their legs, probably Max’s. Would Dimitri or Lisani try to stop Hanna if Hanna tries to stop me?

Max turns his body to me. “Klóe, what are you—?”

A brassy, calm voice interrupts him with long, sweet tones. The world seems to stop on its axis. All of the tension in the room, all of the worry about what my oldest brothers are hiding from me and Dimitri drifts away from my mind.

“In the autumn’s silver breeze
I feel your breath wash over me,
C’ressing mem’ries near and dear
And making my heart whole…”

A distant, sucking snap breaks my attention on the song. I blink and flit my eyes. The song is still beautiful, but the feeling of floating peace is gone. My brothers and friends remain frozen, barely swaying, with silly grins on their faces. I turn to Maisey, resting her cheek in her hand and her elbow on the table, and catch a glimpse of Maryl standing in front of her seat. She sings with one hand over her heart and the other stretched out to her side.

So, this is the way a songstress casts spells? How was I able to break free?

Maryl points two fingers of her outstretched hand at me and makes a loose fist. She rotates her wrist palm-down and uncurls her fingers twice.

Oh!

I slip to the doors. I ease one open, spin around, and peek back at Maryl.

She winks at me without dropping a note. I nod in gratitude and close the door.