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I nodded but didn’t elaborate. Father wanted me in politics, like he was. According to him, medicinal alchemy was a trade, not a profession. Mother didn’t care what I did, as long as I married well. I resisted the urge to turn around and look for them. They were both here, somewhere. Father had probably slipped off to a parlor for cards and cigars, and Mother had probably had more to drink than Tomus, although she held it better. It was doubtful they’d seen each other since they arrived, and neither had bothered to check on me.

“So, what do you think of our new governor?” another alchemist in the group asked. I recognized him as Alyx Markhim, a friend of my father’s and the chief alchemical director of the Governor’s Hospital. He’d supported the former governor’s policies rather heavily, lauding the tax cuts that directly benefitted him while ignoring how they hurt the poor who needed his hospital.

I cut in before Tomus could start babbling. “Adelaide has yet to prove herself in terms of law,” I said. “Certainly her father, before he passed, was rather liberal, but we have seen no indication that Adelaide herself will follow in her father’s footsteps.”

I had their attention. Tomus scowled as I continued. “She may be the moderate balance our island needs, with the perspective of her father but the ability to move beyond his mistakes into decisions that are beneficial to the structure of our city.”

“So you disagree with Lord Anton?” the chief director said.

“Lord Anton?” Tomus asked, trying to inject himself into the conversation.

“Perhaps the biggest opposition to the new governor,” I said, my brain racing to keep up with my mouth as I tried to recall every boring detail from Father. Lord Anton had been voted into the office, but the Emperor had vetoed the choice and selected Governor Adelaide instead. “He is a legacy, certainly, and felt entitled to the position.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the chief director frown. I rememberedtoo late that he had supported Anton’s bid for the governorship. “Clearly he would have been the better choice, but Adelaide had a stronger plan for more lenient taxation of factory owners, which should benefit everyone in the city. And if not, the term is only ten years, and a conservative will certainly succeed her.”

“If the Emperor allows it,” one of the other men muttered darkly. I couldn’t remember his name, but I knew he worked with my father often.

The chief director’s lips curved up on one side. “You’re graduating next year, right, son?”

I nodded.

Tomus narrowed his eyes as I sipped my glass of wine. The alchemists politely nodded to us before turning away. The chief director’s eyes lingered on me an extra moment, and I knew he would recall me when I applied to the Governor’s Hospital next year.

“Nice,” Tomus said once the men were out of earshot, drawing the word out.

I laughed. “Jealous?”

Tomus’s expression went from playful to serious. “I think I’ll need to start paying better attention to politics.”

A couple of ladies walked by, absorbed in their own conversation. “Did you hear about Henrick’s factory?” one of the women said. “All those workers...”

“More will move down from the north,” her friend replied, peering over the top of her fan.

“I’ll host a charity drive,” the first said. She looked at the other woman, eyes hungry for approval in a way that reminded me sharply of my mother.

The head steward rang the announcement bell, and the music and chatter around the ballroom faded. The Emperor straightened in his throne, finally caring that all eyes were on him.

“Thank you, guests and citizens of the Empire!” the steward called. “Today we gather in celebration of the inauguration of our thirteenth governor of Lunar Island, Adelaide Amarie Strangmore of Greenhaven Manor.”

Adelaide left the ballroom floor and stepped lithely up to the dais. By the time the Emperor bothered to stand from his seat, the grand bishop had already positioned herself on a little kneeling stool between the throne and the governor’s chair and bent her head, beginning the prayers for governing. Her voice became a low-pitched undercurrent to the rest of the proceedings, droning on in a way that made it easy to ignore.

Adelaide knelt in front of the Emperor. She was not allowed a cushion. Her head was bent so low that she seemed almost to be kissing Emperor Auguste’s feet. It was odd to see a woman at least thirty years his senior genuflect at the teenage ruler’s feet.

“Chosen by your people and graced by the Emperor,” he said in a bored monotone voice that barely rose above the bishop’s murmured prayers. “I, by the rights of my birth and the grace of Oryous, Emperor Auguste, third of his name, rightful ruler of the Great Allyrian Empire, king of all lands, name you, Adelaide of Greenhaven, governor of Lunar Island.”

Adelaide’s voice was strong and clear. “I accept. May Oryous bless my rule and the Emperor guide my hand.”

The Emperor draped an embroidered pallium adorned with three large beads—one copper, one silver, and one gold—over Governor Adelaide’s head. She stood, looking out with gleaming eyes as the crowd in the ballroom clapped politely.

•••

“Want to go out?” Tomus asked me as the party wound down. Salis, Amala, and a few other girls stood in the corner, casting eyes at both of us. An evening spent with them would be the perfect accompanimentto the nice buzz I was feeling thanks to the sparkling wine, but before I could agree, I noticed my father standing against the wall, his gaze on me.

“Go without me,” I replied, already making my way toward Father. Tomus offered no argument—he knew that our fathers were men not to be crossed.

“Greggori,” my father said by way of greeting when I drew closer.

“Sir.”

“Have you seen your mother?” he asked.