The Glittering Court by Richelle Mead Page A

Masterson would have noticed. She was busy directing one of the house servants to set up large tables on the far side of the room. In the middle of the ballroom itself, we were met with the astonishing sight of blankets spread across the floor and our housemates sitting on them.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” I asked Rosamunde.
    She glanced up at us from her blue-flowered quilt. “No idea. Mistress Masterson just told us to sit down and wait.”
    Puzzled, my friends and I made it across the room to an unoccupied blanket, an enormous fuzzy one with red and yellow stripes. Around us, the other girls’ conversation buzzed as they too wondered what was happening. Tamsin groaned. “Damn it. I knew I should have worn my church dress.”
    â€œYou think we’re having a service in here?” I asked.
    â€œNo. But I think this is a test. A pop quiz. Maybe how to entertain and throw a get-together on short notice.” Tamsin pointed to the entrance. “Look. Here comes food.”
    Three men in plain workmen’s clothes entered, hauling large platters that Mistress Masterson directed to the tables. As she uncovered them, I could tell even from this distance that they contained finger sandwiches and fruit. The workmen left and returned with a second load of food, as well as plates and linen napkins. I’d thought Tamsin was paranoid, but there was no doubt we had much more food than our coterie needed. After the tables were filled, the workmen left and didn’t return. Mistress Masterson stood by the doorway, an expectant look on her face.
    â€œDamn it,” Tamsin repeated. She took a deep breath. Her eyes grew as steely as those of a general preparing for battle. “Okay. No problem. We can do this. We can do this better than the others because none of them have realized what’s happening. We’ve got an edge. Think back to our lessons on greeting strangers at a party. All the acceptable topics. Weather. Upcoming holidays. Animals are all right too. No religion. No politics, unless it’s in support of the king and his latest policy.Always look dignified—who knows what kind of posh guests the old lady’s dug up? Keep your posture good and—”
    That crafty countenance dissolved into disbelief, and Tamsin let out a very undignified shriek. In a flash, she was on her feet, sprinting across the room. And she wasn’t the only girl. Others were on the move as well, and the buzz turned into an outright cacophony of chaos and excitement. Turning my gaze back to the entryway, I saw strangers entering, strangers who could hardly be called posh. My housemates lost themselves in the crowd, swept away in a flood of hugs and tears.
    â€œTheir families,” said Mira softly. She and I were the only two still sitting down. A smile spread over her face as we watched Tamsin throw herself against the chest of a big, burly man with a red beard. A thinner woman stood smiling beside him, and three red-haired children hovered nearby. Two, a girl and a boy, looked to be in their mid-teens. The third was a young girl only a few years old. Tamsin swept her into her arms as though she weighed nothing and then tried to simultaneously draw the other two into a hug, resulting in laughs and confusion. There was no guile on Tamsin’s face. No cunningness or sizing up the situation. The tight control she always maintained was gone, her emotions pure and raw. There was a lightness about her that made me realize that, until that moment, I’d never truly comprehended just how much weight she carried.
    â€œDo you have anyone coming?” I asked Mira.
    She shook her head. “No. No other family came with me from Sirminica. But I do wonder what my parents would think of all this if they could see it. They’d be shocked.”
    I couldn’t help a laugh, even though I didn’t feel very cheerful. “Mine too. Mine too.”
    But surprisingly, it wasn’t the