As the Purple Silks shook and shuddered around them, Lord Anteos emitted a chirp that might have impressed a giant canary and crashed to the floor, eyes bulging.
"And for your information, Anteos," the highcoin-lass told the agonized noble, as she tucked her charms back into the dress, "Lord Brokengulf hired me to dance with him this night-just dance! The gown tore when the ceiling came down and he tried to shield me-which is far more than you'd have done!"
"Ah-hem-yes," Brokengulf ventured hesitantly. "Shall we go into the feasting hall? I don't much like the look of what's left of yon ceiling, and…"
His hired escort gave him a bright smile and her arm. "I'd be delighted to accompany you into the feasting hall, Lord Brokengulf. Though we may have to go elsewhere to dance, after all."
"I-ah-yes!" the old noble agreed awkwardly, hurrying her away through the roiling dust as fresh fragments fell.
Not far away, in the midst of the Gemcloaks as they hastened over against a wall, Faendra was gasping, her voice on the tremulous edge of tears, "Can we get out? What's causing that? We're going to die, aren't we?"