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almost plaintive. About a minute into the first song a musician stepped to the edge of the stage and blew into an instrument that Miea had never seen before. It had a neck that curved upward to a long, flat opening. Miea expected the instrument to make a rich, reedy sound, but what came out was cluttering, almost like the call of the tiny purisma.
    Miea leaned toward Dyson. ’What is that thing?”
    “He calls it a barsuk. He invented it – that’s what’s getting them so much attention. Amazing, isn’t it?”
    “Amazing.”
    The barsuk player stepped back after a long bit of improvisation, and two surprisingly tall women began singing in unison. At first they seemed only to be vocalizing, but soon Miea discovered a pattern in their phrases; they were singing backward.
    “What kind of machine lets them do that?” she said to Dyson.
    “It’s not a machine. They’re doing it themselves.”
    “They’re singing backward together?”
    “Can you imagine how much practice that takes?”
    Miea simply shook her head in wonder. Looking around, she noticed that the audience seemed transfixed. Some were dancing, some were shouting, but all seemed in thrall. Except Hensis, who maintained diligent watch, as did Sinica. And a man in the other corner of the room. And a woman standing about twenty feet behind her. Each bore the unmistakable attentiveness of the royal guard. Had her parents increased her security detail without mentioning it to her?
    The song continued for easily twenty minutes, introducing new sounds and counter-rhythms as it progressed. Finally the music seemed to converge. What were once layers became a unified blend, and then, with an explosion of percussion, the song ended. At its conclusion, one of the percussionists threw a drumstick into the audience – straight in Miea’s direction. Delighted, she reached out for it, only to have Sinica dive across the table to intercept the stick before it got to her, knocking over her barritts in the process.
    Instantly, Hensis and one of the other people she assumed to be a guard converged on the stage, drawing a great deal of attention to themselves. The band seemed intimidated by this and the percussionist who’d thrown the drumstick held up his hands to show he’d intended no harm. By this point he’d recognized Miea and seemed mortified by what he’d done.
    The concert continued a few minutes later once it became clear to Miea’s bodyguards that she had never been in danger. The muttering among the crowd ended as a new song began. However, Miea found she couldn’t give herself to the music as she had before.
    Hensis and Sinica had never overreacted like this before. Obviously her father was much more concerned about what was going on with the Thorns than he’d acknowledged to her.

7
    Becky ran into the house giggling. When the Ben Folds CD finished, she’d switched to the radio, and as they turned into the neighborhood, “Bohemian Rhapsody” came on and she and Dad started singing the crazy middle part together. Mom was in the kitchen, and Becky walked over to kiss her on the cheek, a huge grin still on her face, thinking about Dad’s ridiculous opera voice.
    Just then, Dad came around the corner singing, “Scaramouche, Scaramouche, can you do the fandango” really loud. Becky giggled again and turned toward him. When she did, though, she saw Dad’s face drop as he saw Mom, and he stopped singing. Becky looked over at Mom and saw her eyes get small.
    And all of a sudden, the world became real again.
    Mom tried a smile at Becky that didn’t work. “Did you have fun tonight?”
    “Yeah,” Becky said, unsure whether that was a good answer or a bad one. “We went to the movies.”
    Mom nodded and then looked toward Dad. “A note would have been nice.”
    Becky didn’t want to look at her father, even though she knew what his face was going to be like. She’d seen it enough times in these kinds of situations. “You were supposed to be home