"You aren't going to the right parties," Felix observed in that dry, posh drawl that poked fun at himself no matter what he actually said. He flowed across the dance floor beautifully, perhaps the only time and place where he knew exactly where his hands and feet were supposed to go. Of course people were going to watch. They were a miniature spectacle all to themselves.

Felix ignored them, too.

"Actually, I'm sure I could get you in to the Cabaline soirees, if you wanted. Yes, they're fussy about other schools of magic in their city, but they do love an ambassador. For certain definitions of 'love' that include deep suspicion and excruciatingly frosty manners. But," he countered himself, "excellent parties."