Daine steps through a door and finds herself on the walkway above the dance floor, which is a far cry from the stable she was expecting. Nor is she wearing her usual attire, and she glances down in baffled admiration at her dress. It reminds her of the formal clothes she had to wear as a member of the Tortallan delegation: all subtle blues and greys, the better to match the wolf mask that has appeared on her head. She leans against the railing and fiddles idly with the sapphire bracelet around her wrist, trying to get her bearings.