Mireilla was rather pleased with herself.
She kept that thought private.
The Threshold had gone well. Better than well, if she judged it by the standards she had carried into the Rotunda. She had remembered the Dowager's name, found an easy topic through the Valeyn gardens, avoided mangling anyone's title, and somehow survived a noble reception without once feeling as though she needed Kaleran standing behind her with a stick.
Toven's suffering had helped.
Watching him discover fresh ways to become nervous made her own mistakes feel remarkably manageable.
She touched one of the small flowers fastened along her sleeve and adjusted a petal with her thumb.
The familiar texture helped settle the last of the energy lingering in her fingers.
Then the Rotunda changed.
TABLE
The reception rooms sank into silver light. Walls folded away, false hearths disappeared, and the broad floor rearranged itself around dining settings.
Mireilla watched three tables form within their section.
