“We have an idea,” Mara said. “Get dressed. We’re going into the city.”

The two costume shops in the city—the only two worth patronizing anyway—were, as Tegan predicted, flat out of attire except for some mismatched oddments. Apparently everyone else attending the ball had already been to these establishments a while ago and cleaned them out.

“Now what?” Karigan asked, full of despair as she exited the second shop.

Tegan smiled. “Follow me. It’s a short walk from here.”

“What is?”

“The Magnificent.”

“The magnificent what?”

“The Royal Magnificent Theater,” Mara replied.

“You’re taking me to the theater?”

“I know someone,” Tegan said, leading the way, with Mara prodding Karigan from behind.

The Royal Magnificent Theater occupied almost an entire block in the artistic district of Sacor City, and rose high above the street. A sign lettered in gilt and flanked by carved masks and the royal symbol of the flaming torch announced its presence. It was frequented by all the elite citizens of the city when there was no party to attend at the castle or elsewhere. Karigan had never had the pleasure.

Plays, operas, and concerts were presented here. There were a few other theaters in the city, but they were much smaller affairs with correspondingly humble entertainment.

The great doors to the Magnificent beckoned, but to Karigan’s disappointment, Tegan led them right by the entrance, around the corner of the building, and down an alley littered with crates and refuse. Karigan thought they might use a side entrance to the theater, but Tegan instead stopped at a battered door on the building across the alleyway. Blue paint flaked off as she pounded on it.

Karigan began to wonder just what sort of person this was that Tegan knew when the door creaked open and a mouse of a girl peered out at them.

“Hello, Nina,” Tegan said. “Could you tell Madam Leadora I’m here to collect on a debt?”

Nina said nothing but receded into the building and closed the door soundly after her.

“Apparently not,” Mara muttered.

“Oh, Nina doesn’t talk much,” Tegan said. “She’ll be back.”

“What is this debt?” Karigan asked.

“Nothing nefarious, I assure you,” Tegan replied. “I did a favor for Leadora once. Introduced her to a friend who had a friend. Upshot is that she got this position with the Magnificent’s theater troupe.”

“What position?” Karigan asked, but before Tegan could reply, Nina returned and beckoned them inside with fingertips that flared with silver. At first startled, Karigan shortly realized the girl wore thimbles and they’d caught in the light leaking through the door.

The entry was dim and smelled musty. A corridor led back a way, its broad plank floor bare of carpeting or ornament. There were two stairways. One led up, and the other descended below street level. Nina led them up the stairs in silence, holding her skirts with one hand and using the other to balance herself against the wall as she climbed, for the stairway was narrow and lacking a handrail. The Riders followed just as cautiously.

“Huh,” Tegan said. “Usually we go downstairs.”

When they emerged into the space above, Karigan was immediately reminded of the sail lofts she’d been in down in Corsa Harbor, only instead of grizzled, ruddy seamen bent over lengths of sailcloth, there were several girls and young women studiously sewing bright pieces of material together.

The loft was vast and much light flowed through windows at the front of the building, softening the starkness of the rough wood floors, beams, and support columns. Bolts of cloth in dazzling hues and patterns were stacked haphazardly on shelving and strewn across tables. Lengths of material were draped over mannequins and hung from hooks on the wall. Much of it shimmered with sequins and beads and metallic threads.

There were boxes of feathers and long ruffled scarves, and a mound of mismatched shoes. Caps and hats and the papiermâché head of a horse were piled in a corner.

The seamstresses never looked up from their stitching to see who had entered their domain, nor did they speak to one another. Their concentration was palpable. Among them paced a tall lady in a flamboyant purple gown, a measuring stick in her hand tapping on the floor with each stride. Her hair was coiffed and coiled into a perfect pile on her head, and her cheeks and lips were attractively rouged.

“Tee-gon, my dear!” the woman exclaimed when they all reached the top of the stairs, and she hastened over to them and placed her hands on Tegan’s shoulders and air-kissed each cheek.

“Hello, Leadora,” Tegan said, grinning.

“Tee-gon, where you been all this time, eh?”

“Oh, you know, working for the king.”

Leadora clucked her tongue. “He write so many letters? You do not come to the thee-ator and it will wither your soul.”

Karigan found Leadora’s accent strange. She could not place it.

“My employer takes my service very seriously,” Tegan said. “You know how it is.”

“Yes yes yes.” Leadora swiped her hand through the air dismissively. “And who are these?” she asked, glancing at Karigan and Mara. Karigan caught her quick double take when she observed the burn scars on Mara’s face.

“Leadora, meet my friends Mara Brennyn and Karigan G’ladheon. Mara and Karigan, meet Madam Leadora Theadles, head seamstress for the Magnificent’s theater troupe.”