Ollie's parents had stopped at the edge of the firelight, close together, looking uncertainly at the knights and ladies gathered around the nearest fires. Micheline recognized the look at once. It was the look of people who had spent their whole lives knowing exactly where they were permitted to stand, and who had suddenly found themselves in a place where no one would tell them.
She'd seen it more than once from young noblemen and women whose families had scraped up everything they could to send their son or daughter to the Royal Academy in the hopes of reaching a higher station than the one their parents could offer them. She'd worn that look herself once when she first arrived in Gaalen.
Without quite deciding to, Micheline crossed the frozen ground toward them.
The woman saw her coming and sank at once into a deep, practiced curtsey, low enough for a marchioness or a duchess. Her husband snatched the cap from his head and bowed.
