"Not a rift," Teren repeats, and emits a low whistle, squinting up at the mess. "I'd say we fetch a ladder and congratulate them on the new ballroom, but I suppose the brass would take issue."

When have they ever had to wait or see in their lives? she doesn't ask, but her clear disinterest in their plight says it all.

"Someone lick the wrong orb?" she asks a passing servant, nudging them lightly with her elbow, "summon a spirit of opposition?"