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It’s honestly been so long since I’ve been to a social gathering, I’m completely unaware of the latest styles in clothing. I probably look like I’m trying to snub the governor at his party.

Not that this was supposed to be a party at all.

So, really, who’s more in the wrong here: me or the governor?

I peer at my sister more closely. “Your hair is rumpled.”

Her hands fly to her curly locks, attempting to flatten the strays.

“You were with a boy,” I accuse.

Temra doesn’t embarrass easily. There’s no telltale reddening of her cheeks or sheepish eye lowering, but I know I’ve struck true all the same.

“The time got away from me, is all,” she says.

I want to press her further, but it’s awfully hard for me to be angry at her when I’m trying so hard to block out the stimulants around me.

I suspect the governor’s husband has a fondness for blue, for the whole room is spattered with it. Azure hand-stitched rugs cover the floor, the dining area is speckled with sapphire flowersI don’t have a name for, even the wax of the candles spread over the decorative tables has a cerulean sheen to it.

Beautiful marble columns hold up the ceiling at even intervals. On the far wall, a painting of the Sister Goddesses hangs proudly so they can watch over us all.

And there’s the happy couple, arm in arm, striding toward me, their faces upcast in delight.

I grip Temra’s arm in a vise. “Hide me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re going to thank our hosts and smile through this whole affair like you couldn’t be more delighted.”

“I can’t.”

“Then next time, don’t agree to a party.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be—”

I cut off once the pair is in hearing range and plaster a smile over my mouth that hopefully doesn’t look forced.

“Miss Tellion!” the governor says. “I’m so delighted to have you in our home!”

“We are most grateful for your generosity in hosting us!” Temra says. “I’m Temra Tellion, Ziva’s sister, and she’s simply been gushing about how honored she is to have forged a weapon for you.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. This is my husband, Reniver, and our son, Asel, is around here somewhere.”

“There he is,” Reniver says.

We follow his extended finger to where a man our age is surrounded by girls. He’s tall and muscular, with a symmetrical face that’s likely the reason he has so many admirers.

“He’s a very sociable boy,” the governor says, stepping in front of the scene to block my view of his son. “So popular.”

“Just like his father,” Temra says politely.

“Oh, well, thank you.”

A silence falls. Perhaps the couple is wondering why I haven’t said a word. Everyone wonders why I can’t make polite conversation. It’s just not one of my strengths.

But I try. “Governor, you mentioned the weapon was a gift for your husband when you commissioned it. How long have you trained for the mace, Reniver?”

There, that’s a normal question, right?

“Oh, I’m no mace bearer,” Reniver explains, “but the gift is everything I could have hoped for! We’re going to take the guests by to see it as soon as supper is over. And after a toast in your honor, of course!”