Under the watchful eye of Mr. Tielswen, Maisey hurries to my sofa in her tawny-brown visiting suit. After the doors close, she plops into the cushion next to me.

“Is it true, Klóe?” she asks, practically vibrating as she straightens up the loops of her broad, green neck ribbon. “Is Yoyo coming over for something special?”

I fuss with my dress collar, but keep an eye on the doors to the anteroom. Mimi paces in front of the carved limestone archway, mumbling to himself with a knuckle at his mouth. His lucky, green, button-up shirt is cleaner and more starched than I’ve seen since he bought it last spring.

I shake my head and shrug. “My brothers would know more about it than I would.”

Maisey sits still and wrinkles her nose. The expression makes the gnome’s pale, porcelain doll-like face look rather matronly. It’s one of those rare reminders that Maisey, despite being a head shorter than me, is more than half a decade older I am.

“Mimi didn’t tell you anything?” She tucks a loose lock of sand-colored hair behind one bluntly pointed ear. “That’s unusual.”

I sigh and fold my hands in my lap. “Maybe he doesn’t want to get my hopes up, maybe he wants me to act normal. I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter to me,” I say as I rehearsed all afternoon. “Besides, Daddy said I’m meeting my new music teacher tonight, so I’d be on my best behavior, anyway.”

Mimi jumps when Max hails him from the staircase behind me. He regains his composure as Max and Hanna, in matching gray dinner suit and gown, walk past Maisey and me. Seeing the three of them conspire about Ikoiyo reminds me of that pointless request.

I slouch to Maisey’s ear and lower my voice. “Max doesn’t want us to say ‘Mimi’ anymore. He wants us to protect Dimitri’s ‘manly charm’ and help him impress Ikoiyo.” My mouth twists with the effort I take to say their full names, making them even longer.

Maisey frowns and tilts her head. “Yoyo’s our friend. What does Max know about how we should talk to each other?”

I shrug and shake my head. “He is the one getting married in a couple of months. That ought to say something about his relationship skills.”

Maisey huffs. “A proper dull love life is Max’s ideal, not mine.”

I grin and pat Maisey’s shoulder.

The antechamber doors split open. Dimitri, Max, and Hanna end their conversation and step back.

Mr. Tielswen steps into the parlor, holding onto the doorknobs with his white-gloved hands. The old elf with his silver, knot-topped hair is always a striking image on formal nights like this. I can’t help but imagine that the red-and-gold, twin-tailed coat he wears is the same one from when he started as Head Steward for my grandmother’s grandmother.

He lifts his chin and bellows, “Presenting Young Miss Ikoiyo Jalye.”

Maisey and I spring to our feet. Mr. Tielswen stands to one side to reveal Ikoiyo.

The elfom steps through the doorway. The sides of her chestnut-brown hair are braided back to reveal the high points of her ears. Two rows of black beads outline the mauve, floor-length gown’s form from the shallow neckline to the hips. A gray teardrop pendant on a simple metal necklace stands out against her dark brown skin.

Ikoiyo looks more of Bastien’s age than Dimitri’s, but she may well be older than either. None of that seems to matter once the three of us and Dimitri get together, though. Except that now, seeing Ikoiyo dressed to impress and knowing Dimitri’s intentions, maybe something is going to matter in our dynamic.

I hate it when Max is right.

All of us bow or curtsy at the newest guest’s arrival. As we rise, and Mr. Tielswen closes the door, Maisey fusses with the sleeves of her brown button-up shirt.

“So much for being best-dressed, huh, Klóe?”

I push my lens frames higher on my nose. “I didn’t know she had anything even like that in her closet.”

Max and Hanna stroll deeper into the parlor as Ikoiyo approaches Dimitri. Maisey pokes my rib and points at Dimitri’s slightly drooping jaw.

“Apparently Mimi didn’t know, either!” she whispers.

I cover my mouth to keep my snickers in. “I suppose he should get used to it.”

Dimitri and Ikoiyo whisper with each other, with a lot of long pauses and tilted heads. Then she hugs herself until she lets Dimitri take one hand between both of his.

Maisey and I give each other wide, silent smiles that might as well have been cheers of joy.

“Don’t stare,” Max mutters from behind us. “And remember, no nicknames. We have to elevate ourselves for her.”

My smile turns into a scowl. Maisey shuts her mouth into a tight frown and returns her attention to the archway. I relax and face Max.

“I remember.”

Hanna tilts her head and grins. It’s not a fake grin, necessarily. It just feels… empty? Practiced? It’s the same grin she’s always given me before she puts on her “big sister” pin. She brushes stray strands of red hair away from her fair, freckled face.

“This is so sweet!” she whispers. “All of us, pitching in to make Dimitri’s big change as smooth as possible. Not to mention your introduction to a new music tutor? Tonight’s going to be fantastic, wouldn’t you agree?”

I nod politely. “Yes, tonight should be quite memorable.”

Max and Hanna excuse themselves to make drinks. Maisey rolls her eyes up to me.

“Pluh,” she utters.

I slouch and knit my brow. “Listen, she’s trying.”

Maisey nods. “Very.” She looks away, and her expression beams.

Ikoiyo approaches us with Dimitri, elbow-to-her-elbow. While Dimitri practically glows with elation, Ikoiyo allows only a sharp grin to crease her lips.

“Good evening, Maisey, Klóe. Mimi tells me you may have sparked some magic yesterday afternoon?”

I smile with relief. Yoyo’s confirmation that nothing has changed opens a floodgate of easy rapport.

“Only maybe, yes! Mimi would know better than I do, since it was at the end of Ms. Archer’s singing lesson. I had to sing with my eyes closed so I could try to feel something, for once. He was in the corner, studying his spellseeker notes—”

“Presenting,” Mr. Tielswen announces with a rare hint of excitement in his voice, “Grand Miss Sinmaryil Onlarion, from the Honeyed Fatherland.”

Maisey gasps. Yoyo’s eyes widen as she covers her mouth.

I raise an eyebrow at them. “Who?”

Mr. Tielswen steps aside to reveal a tall, stunning elfom in a smooth, ruby red dress. The gold paisley shawl around her bare, dark bronze shoulders complements her evening gloves. Her dark blonde hair is styled in a high bun to highlight the points of her ears, which curve backward like Mr. Tielswen’s instead of standing straight up like Yoyo’s. A thin string of glittering red jewels dangles from each earlobe as she looks over the room with big eyes and a patient, knowing smile.

Hanna and I curtsy. Maisey and my brothers bow. I peek at Yoyo through lowered eyes; she rouses herself with a sharp breath and curtsies.

Grand Miss Sinmaryil nods, and the rest of us rise. She glides down the steps to meet Max and Hanna.

I turn to Yoyo, whose gaze is fixed on the new guest. She swoons and reaches for my shoulder.

“You are impossibly lucky, Klóe.”

I shrug at Maisey. She gestures for me to come down to her level.

We could be far enough away for telling secrets, but elves’ hearing tends to get better with age. I set my knees on the woven rug and clasp my hands in my lap.

Maisey steals a glance over my shoulder. “Sinmaryil Onlarion is probably the most prolific songstress of the Sixth Era. My family has sheet music of hers going back sixty, seventy years. She’s a celebrity!”

“A celebrity?” Yoyo scoffs, then continues breathlessly. “Maryl has written librettos in at least eight languages, not counting any impositionist works. Works which, I might add, have become standards in magic training schools across Shéallonys. My parents say she sounded as magnificent a hundred years ago as she did when she stopped touring sixteen years ago.” Yoyo sighs wistfully. “She’s a prodigy. A legend.”

I look over Grand Miss Sinmaryil from my seat on the floor. I rarely guess elven ages right, but this elfom doesn’t look a day over the average woman’s forty. I suppose that would make her around—

“Do stand, darling; a lady impresses best on her feet.”

I lurch upright and do as Mom told. I hang my head low and curtsy in apology.

Mom coos and lifts my chin with her fingertips. Along with her usual ivory hosting gown, she chose a pale green shawl to wrap around her warm tan shoulders. Unlike my loose and simple ponytail, though, Mom’s hair is pulled up and pinned around to make it look like a flowery crown sitting on her head.

The older I get, the more I look like my mother. The more I look like her, the more Mom and Daddy’s friends expect me to act like her. They praise my curly dark hair, then ask why I don’t straighten it out like Mom. Aunt Lucia keeps trying to gift me Mom’s childhood clothing, but they’re much more my size than my style. Even Dr. Hanson-Wright said he was sad to “cover up those beautiful blue eyes of hers” with glasses.

That’s still the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard all month. The glasses are for me, not Mom. Her eyes are still firmly attached to her head. Also, corrective lenses are see-through by definition; nobody’s missing out on anything.

Now that Mom’s in one of her own fits of expectation, though, I can’t do much more than nod.

She smiles with a hum and walks past the couches. She stops at the far end of the coffee table and nods at Mr. Tielswen. He nods back and coughs politely.

“Your hostess for the evening, Donna Talia DiRossi, now presides.” He bows in her direction with a flourish.

The rest of us stand up straight and silent to focus on Mom. The hem of her gown traces a smooth circle on the hardwood floor when she performs her appraisal spin of the guests. Thankfully, the group is a whole sight smaller than the Companion Animal Welfare Society gatherings she often hosts. She clasps her hands over her heart and smiles wide.

“Allow me to express my deepest appreciation for your attendance, one and all. As with any night of great and happy change, the more who can share in the merriment make it such the sweeter.

“To Young Miss Ikoiyo Jalye, daughter to Caiden and Sareena Jalye, and old friend of Young Mister Dimitri DiRossi,” Mom adds with a showy wink and grin, “my absent husband and I welcome you to our home as you have welcomed our son into your heart. May you find solace and warm tidings at our hearth during both your clearest days and your stormiest nights.”

We applaud politely for Yoyo. She waves half-heartedly and grins. Before the applause ends, Yoyo bows her head and joins her hands a little too tensely in front of her dress. Mimi shifts, “accidentally” brushing his arm against hers.

I frown. Now’s not the time to wonder what Mom said to turn her so suddenly bashful.

Mom continues. “As for the Grand Miss Sinmaryil Onlarion, I extend my humblest of gratitudes for your decision to join us this evening. The DiRossi family has the high privilege to retain you for the tutelage of our youngest member. Young Miss Klóe DiRossi has already surpassed the expectations of both her father and her previous music tutor. With your guidance, Grand Miss, her skill will blossom into a talent unrivaled on the whole Alarusian continent. Young Miss Klóe, Grand Miss Sinmaryil: you may exchange your greetings.”

I step forward and curtsy. I’m glad to receive the praise that the fuddy-duddy Ms. Fletcher wouldn’t give me out loud. I only say what I need to remain courteous.

“It is my honor to undertake your tutelage.” I hold my curtsy.

Grand Miss Sinmaryil’s approach is signaled only by the muffled, slow click-clack of her shoes across the floor. She stops a few paces away.

Grand Miss Sinmaryil drawls out a long, two-toned hum. A wave of judgment peppers me. Something between shame and annoyance nearly makes me blush.

She finally says in a smooth, brassy voice, “The pleasure is mine to guide and shape your potential.”

I finally rise and look my new teacher in the face. Her slight smile offers me no warmth, no joy, not even any of Hanna’s empty cordiality. It’s like a smile shared over a secret, only I don’t know the secret.

Mom’s clap breaks my trance. “Excellent! Now that we’ve disposed of the formalities, may we adjourn to the dining room? We have much to discuss, and the cooks have prepared a resplendent meal to fuel our conversations.” She twirls, then leads the party to the dining room.

Grand Miss Sinmaryil nods at me and widens her smile. She follows the light chatter between Mom, Max, and Hanna out of the room. Maisey follows after a few excited pokes to my hip. Mimi and the starstruck Yoyo come to my side. He elbows me with his free arm.

“Your potential, huh?”

I wince. “I hate that word.” I follow the group. “I’m already doing the best that I can.”

“For now. Best can go out as well as up, Klóe.”

“Perhaps. She looked about as ready to increase my range as eat me for lunch.”

“Relax. Dad has access to dozens of musicians, probably all at cheaper rates. He chose her to teach you for a reason.”

I sigh. Mimi’s right, of course. If we could trust Daddy for nothing else, we could trust that he knows what he’s doing.