“We’re not talking about the Prince here. For someone like the Queen to reach out to a quasi is unheard of. Refusing her invitation could set back diplomatic relations with the thrax for decades.”

“Boo hoo.”

“This isn’t just about you, Myla. Suppose we need thrax allies down the road? You have to think of the greater good.”

I picture the demon inspections at school. Things have never been this rough.

“Fine.” I frown. “But I hate it when you make sense.”

Mom smiles. “I’ll try not to in the future.” She taps the card on her chin. “She must be a clever one, this Queen.”

I freeze with a bite of omelet half-way to my mouth. Lincoln’s Mom is sneaky? “What makes you say that?”

“She had the invitation hand delivered to you, care of me. She must have known you wouldn’t attend without some encouragement.” She flips the card over. “She also wrote a note that a dressmaker would contact us. I’m guessing you need motivation in that area as well?”

As I munch my omelet, I consider the two dresses I’ve worn in the last decade: the neon carrot and the great white pouf. What a pair of disasters. If I could wear my fighting suit 24-7, I would. “When it comes to dresses, I have one thing to say: blech.”

“I’ll take that as a cry for wardrobe help. I’ll give the tailor your measurements.”

I let out a long breath. “Thanks, Mom.” I grit my teeth in frustration. Another thrax tournament. More sitting around in overly large formalwear, trying to talk nonsense with a bunch of nincompoops. If only Cissy could be there. I pause, an idea forming.

“Hey, can I see that invite?”

“Sure.” She hands it to me.

“Cool, it says I can bring a friend. Cissy will be thrilled.” And I’ll have a wingman for the event. Nice.

Mom rises to her feet. “I need to run some errands today, so I’ll drop you off at school.” She glances at the wall clock. “We better leave soon.”

I set my plate in the sink. “Can’t Walker take you around?”

“I can go myself. There’s no need to keep bothering Walker.”

I grin. Mom’s showing some of her old spark and independence. “Sounds good to me, Senator.”

As Mom drives me to school, she talks about working with the thrax as Senator of Diplomacy. Basically, they only bothered her office if something happened that could make them leave Antrum or, even worse to them, compromise their over-the-top security systems. They live underground for a reason: the demons would love to wipe them out and try to, often.

I fiddle with Betsy’s air vents. “Do you remember anything else?”

“Let’s see. The current ruling family came to power in the Middle Ages.”

“Makes sense. They got a little stuck there, I think.”