Later, Lovisa situated herself in an armchair in the dormitory’s second-floor foyer, right beside the window and the fireplace, her lap full of homework. She wore a robe with a fur collar that she tucked close against her throat, protection against the cold that radiated from the glass. She liked to work here for an hour or so most evenings. It gave her a view on everyone’s comings and goings. Tonight, she was waiting for the return of Ta Varana, who’d gone home for dinner. Ta’s mother was Minta Varana, the esteemed airship engineer. More importantly, her aunt was Sara Varana, the prime minister. If there was news to be had about the Monsean queen, Ta would probably have it.

Around eight o’clock, the doors below opened, then crashed closed. Ta always slammed doors as if she believed they’d been constructed for the sole purpose of getting in her way. Lovisa readied her face as, with big, protesting breaths, Ta stomped up the stairs.

“Oh, hi,” she said to Lovisa when she reached the foyer, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of someone to talk to. Ta had a flush of pink in her brown cheeks and her lips were shiny, painted the color of a raspberry. Her hair, which she wore in long, swirly waves, spilled out of the hood of a fluffy white fur coat that probably cost more than all Lovisa’s coats combined, and Lovisa had very nice coats. Ta Varana, like all the Varanas, was a big presence in a room, and extremely, noticeably pretty.

“How was dinner?” said Lovisa, being careful not to sound too curious.

“Less tedious than usual,” Ta said. “Did I miss anything?”

“Good cake.”

“My aunt was at dinner,” said Ta, certainly referring to the prime minister. Which meant that this conversation was going to be even more informative than Lovisa had hoped. “So our cake was excellent,” she went on, “and our house was lit up like the sun. All of Flag Hill is lit up; everyone’s showing off their airships. Did you know the Monsean delegation arrived today?”

“No,” said Lovisa, sounding bored.

“You didn’t? Aren’t they staying at your house?”

“Are they? I can’t remember,” said Lovisa, a screaming lie. “Some delegation was supposed to stay at our house. Maybe it’s the Monseans?” Then she waited, suspecting that Ta would supply everything else she knew willingly, without being asked.

“The Queen of Monsea is dead,” Ta said.

Plunged into disappointment, Lovisa fought to rouse herself, knowing Ta would want a surprised reaction. “What? What do you mean?”