“You’re in luck, Matsi.” Ilya stands and grins at his mother. “Konstantin has just appointed me Master of Jubilesque Accommodations.” Izolda snort-grins, while the corners of my mouth flick up a fraction. Milana, on the other hand, doesn’t look amused. “This revel isn’t some debaucherous gathering, Ilyusha.” My kid brother’s smile only widens. “Perhaps it should be. Make love, not war, and all that.”
