The journey back to St. Marla's was a quiet one.
The carriage, which had carried them to the palace with hearts full of nervous excitement, now brought them home in a state of exhausted contentment.
The younger children dozed against each other, their heads lolling with the rhythm of the wheels, while the older ones stared out the windows at the sleeping city, their minds replaying the night's wonders.
Eamond sat apart, his own thoughts a turbulent sea beneath a calm surface.
The orphanage welcomed them back with its familiar, comforting silence.
The grand palace felt like a dream already fading, the cold marble and glittering gold replaced by worn floorboards and the faint, friendly smell of old wood and soap.
One by one, they trudged up to the dormitories, shedding their best clothes and collapsing into their beds, too tired even to whisper about the night's events.
