By the time Elianor Wren reached the bell tower’s seventh stair, the dusk had turned the snowfields blue. Her ladder struck the stone behind her with a hollow clang, and somewhere below, a shutter slammed in the wind. “Careful,” called Bram Fen from the tower door. “If you fall, I’m telling everyone you did it dramatically.”
“You tell everyone everything dramatically,” Elianor said, pausing to catch her breath.
“That is because ordinary truth is usually underdressed.”

