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“Did you check the gaming room?”

Father frowned. “I saw you speaking to Markhim.” There was something like approval in his eyes, but it was such a rare emotion from him that I almost didn’t recognize it. “He was a prominent benefactor to Lord Anton’s campaign.” His gaze grew distant as he lost focus on me. “In a few years, he may step into the political ring. He would be a powerful ally.”

“Yes,” I said. “Well.” Father had long wanted me to follow him into the governor’s court. Apparently if he couldn’t turn me into a politician, he would politicize alchemy.

“There’s talk of Markhim becoming the Lord Commander,” Father continued. Now that the governor had been chosen by the Emperor, the next highest government official would be whomever Governor Adelaide selected to be her second-in-command. The position was highly coveted—it came with a steep paycheck, residence in the palace, and the knowledge that, should anything happen to Governor Adelaide, the Lord Commander would take control of the island for the remainder of her term. “Anyway,” Father said, turning. “Come with me.” He led me toward the door.

Outside, the air was slightly muggy, the croques buzzing in the leafy green bushes that trimmed a meandering path. Father’s feet crunched over the yellow pebbles, his head bent in seeming concentration.

At a gazebo near the base of the stairs, we met my father’s political allies. I recognized some, but the most noticeable was Lord Anton. A few of the men glanced at me, curious, but most of them recognized me as my father’s son.

“Well,” Lord Anton said, his voice as gruff as the salt-and-pepper beard on his chin. “It’s done.”

He said the words with such finality that at first I wondered if I was somehow unwittingly a part of a crime, but I soon realized he meant Governor Adelaide’s inauguration. It was final, approved by the church and the Empire.

“Ten years,” one of the younger men said. “We’ll have to amp up our campaign procedures. The lesser offices can block her if we shift the polls.”

“She’s just soweak.” Lord Anton spit the words out. “How can we expect someone likeherto lead us in these dangerous times?”

I tried to hide my confusion.Dangerous times?

My father shook his head. “As long as she’s governor, we cannot proceed,” he said.

The men looked bitter. “A decade, though,” one muttered.

I wanted desperately to ask questions, but I knew drawing any kind of attention to myself would lead to my father’s rebuke and a dismissal from the group. I kept my mouth shut.

“She’s no better fit to lead than he is,” another man said, his voice low. He cast his eyes behind them, almost nervous.

He’s speaking about the Emperor,I realized.This is dangerously close to treason.

Lunar Island had a long and unsettling history with the Empire. We were one of the Emperor’s most troublesome colonies—at least historically. But the closest we’d ever come to revolution was an uprising that had been squashed a hundred and fifty years ago. Since then, we’d comfortably settled into our role as a province of the Empire.Aside from ceremonial duties and taxes, the Emperor mostly left us alone, and our governor led the people.

“Well,” the youngest man said, “it’s over now. She won. We wait.”

“It wasn’t a true win,” my father pointed out. The others agreed darkly. The council had chosen Lord Anton; the Emperor had chosen Adelaide.

I stared at the men around me, including my father. Their dissatisfaction went beyond their candidate not being elected governor. They spoke of Adelaide and the Emperor as if they were enemies to be fought, undermined, and even overthrown.

Father’s eyes drifted to me, and he flicked his fingers, a clear dismissal. He had wanted me to see what lay under the politics of the land, but he didn’t care about my participation—at least not yet. I followed his silent order, retreating up the stairs and heading to the exit.

I was moving so briskly, I almost missed her. Governor Adelaide leaned against the corner of the white-stoned plaza at the top of the steps, her dress blending with the pale rock.

She had heard everything.

The campaign against her had been messy, sometimes even cruel. Like steel hardened in a forge, though, it had only strengthened the new governor. She didn’t look hurt by my father’s words. Her spine straightened. Her chin tilted up. Her eyes narrowed with resolve.

Governor Adelaide touched a red poppy-bud pinned to her bodice. That flower was a part of her insignia, often illustrated over her family’s motto:To help those lesser.She’d used those words in her campaign, and I knew she was thinking them now. While my father plotted with men against her, Governor Adelaide’s thoughts were on serving the citizens of Lunar Island.

One eyebrow raised when she turned her attention to me, waiting to see what I would do or say.

Just as I had been in the garden, I remained silent.

Her lips pursed, and she turned, her skirt swirling around her as she marched inside the castle, firmly shutting the door behind her.

I don’t really care about politics.I was just... there. I’m not like them, I wanted to say. My father would always want a son who sank into the dirty world of politics, rooting through the mud for a string to pull. And I wanted nothing more than to be the opposite of him.

But now I wondered if it were possible to remove myself from politics, or if my silence had been its own choice.