85

You look around the cavernous hall, arrayed with oaken tables and benches in a horseshoe shape. Ornate sculpture and urns in gleaming cobalt line this function space, lending it its name. Duke Ruffino and his chosen coterie will sit at the head tables, flanked by hangers-on in the much longer tables along the arms. The space inside the horseshoe, you realize with excitement and fear alike, is your stage. A far cry from the dingy grass of Billingsley.

"You will excel," Malodoro says, locking eyes briefly with each of you in turn.

You realize that her words are not a motivational speech but a command. Would it were that easy! She stalks away to bellow insults at a samovar and its handlers.

Onward