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Dominil was trustworthy. Kalix was certain she wouldn’t repeat any of the letter’s contents to anyone.
    “Would you like me to read it all out to you or simply summarize it?”
    “Just tell me what’s in it,” muttered Kalix, who didn’t think she could bear to hear Dominil read out every word. Dominil scanned the letter quickly.
    “Gawain professes his love for you. He apologizes profusely for forming a relationship with your sister Thrix. He also apologizes for disappearing so abruptly after the battle at the gig, but says he was unable to face you after you learned of the affair. He suggests that you may be able to make another attempt at forming a relationship.” Dominil paused. “His language is rather more romantic than my summary.”
    “Is it?” Kalix looked up eagerly. “Is it romantic?”
    “I would say so. Though I may not be the best judge. It’s certainly heartfelt.”
    “Read it all out to me!” said Kalix, who was now feeling better about this shameful experience.

Chapter 9
     
    There is no need, dearest Enchantress,” said Queen Malveria, “to tell me how splendid I look. This dress you provided for me is of such fine design as to render compliments superfluous. One does not need reassurance when one is attired in such a superb garment.” The queen examined herself in Thrix’s huge wall mirror. “It does look splendid, does it not?”
    “It does,” agreed Thrix.
    “I apologize for my minor impatience after the third fitting.”
    “Don’t mention it,” said Thrix.
    “And my hair is coiffured to perfection?”
    “It is.”
    “Thank you. You are looking splendid yourself, Enchantress, and are a credit to werewolves everywhere, and to blonds, and to blond werewolves.”
    Tonight Thrix and Malveria were going to the opera house at Covent Garden. While Thrix was not a great fan of the opera, it was an excellent opportunity for some fine evening wear. The opera house was an expensive and fashionable place, and no one was going to turn up more expensively or fashionably dressed than the Werewolf Enchantress and the Fire Queen.
    “Tell me again, what is this musical event?”
    Thrix almost laughed. She’d already explained to Malveria several times what an opera was, but the Fire Queen found it difficult to understand. In Malveria’s realm, there was music and there was singing, but there was no Theater. Malveria could just about imagine what a spoken dramatic performance might be like, but the idea of a story being told through song seemed very strange.
    “This is not normal, surely? People do not sing songs as they go about their business?”
    “It’s an artistic convention,” explained Thrix, which only added to the queen’s puzzlement. In reality, Thrix herself was unsure about operatic conventions. She’d only been a few times, each of these for reasons of fashion rather than art. She was looking forward to showing off her excellent outfit but she wasn’t particularly excited by the prospect of the performance.
    “It all seems most baffling,” said the Fire Queen for the twentieth time, “but if, as you say, it is a fashionable place, I am satisfied to attend. Explain to me again why we’re going?”
    “My mother wants me to impress a singer. Felicori, the tenor. He’s the star of the show. She’s planning on asking him to sing at some charitable event she’s sponsoring. I’m part of the advance party to weaken his resistance.”
    “Ah.” Malveria nodded. “You are to seduce him with your golden beauty?”
    The enchantress looked alarmed. “I hope not. I’m just supposed to impress on him how worthwhile the MacRinnalchs are. Without revealing we’re werewolves, of course. That would probably put him off.”
    Thrix finished the last of her wine and waved her hand, causing the glass to float through to the kitchen.
    “It’ll be quite a coup for Mother if she pulls it off. Felicori’s a big star.”
    “He is big indeed!” cried Malveria, and she laughed