“Don’t worry, Fallon,” I say, careful not to look at her, struggling to keep my voice even. “Maybe your tailor can make you another dress. In Gorthan wool. I hear it’s very much the style.” I glance up at Fallon just in time to catch her look of pure, undisguised hostility. Her fist tight on her wand, Fallon stalks out and slams the door behind her. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sparrow’s mouth twitching into a fleeting grin.”
