This is insane.

Grace is not one to use that word lightly, but, for heaven's sake, her heart might just crash and burn in her chest right now and they have flown on a bat and there is a whole functional city down here and everybody is calling her Mother of Our Light and— and— This is absolutely insane.

She tries to remind herself of why she is here. Not to be flattered. Not to be terrified. Not to be anything but a mother chaperoning her children so that they don't get lost or kidnapped or worse. And better act like it, too! She holds Boots' hand and tells her to stay right next to her. She tells that doctor that her boy doesn't have fleas, he's a very clean boy, and how dare she insinuate that he isn't, but… Grace is like a fish out of water. That feeling doesn't go away. She feels completely and utterly helpless — she has no control because she knows next to nothing down here.

Then Vikus leads them into a room, and… Oh. Oh.

Swirling, patterned walls. A fierce but gentle hearth. Intricately carved rock furniture. Pink-petaled plants sending a light scent around the room. Light-footed people bearing trays and plates loaded with elegant displays of food, the kind that her family could never afford. Musicians, clad in colorful silk robes, carrying instruments. "Care the Mother of Our Light for music?"

"You didn't tell me it was this nice." The words flow from her mouth like a breath being released. Gregor shifts at her side. His eyes are wide, too.

"It's not, usually," he says after a while. She slides into a pillow-clad stone couch, reclining despite herself. "I think somebody's trying to impress you… Mother of Our Light."

This is insane. This is absolutely insane. This is not real. There is no way this is real. Here she sits, in her dirty waitress uniform, amidst ethereal music and scenery, having food served to her — and it takes place in what she had formerly referred to as the depths of hell.

She should not relax. She should not. That is not what she came here for. No, she ought to keep her children close to her until that meeting, and then get back home as soon as possible. She ought not to… to…

Gregor stands off at the side. He has such a soft, fond look on his face. His shoulders have dropped to his side, as if the strain had let up just briefly. "I'm going to run down to the bathroom," he says.

Grace thinks, Maybe, maybe for a little, for his sake, I'll relax.