The royal treasury had got behind the Catwalk’s bid when things looked likely to swing their way. And it explained Saeger approaching Daoud. Lillian wondered if they’d ever met in person, or if she only knew him by name and reputation.

A camera flashed nearby, capturing their conversation. Lillian fought a wince and won, but barely. “I’d make a comparison to moths and flame,” she said. “But they’re the ones who are lighting up. Can’t seem to shake them, can you?”

“I wouldn’t want to,” said Saeger. “I’m after good press as much as the next sculler on a ticket.”

“Well you won’t get it from him. That was Emil van Nuys. He’s freelance—Honora hired him—but he sells a lot of his photographs to Chester Chandler.” It got her a blank look, badly disguised. Saeger had charisma, but no skills of deception. “The weekend editor. At the Telegraph. It’s just … I’ve noticed they don’t tend to do you favors.”

One of Saeger’s eyebrows went up. They were dark, under short-cropped honey-blond hair. Much like Lillian’s own coloring, though paired with dark brown eyes. She was a first-generation Geddan; Suldatian parents. Both dead before the Ospies, but Saeger often talked about what might have happened to them, if they had survived. What had happened to all the other foreign parents of Geddan children.

Good stuff. If she was canny, she’d use it to segue into talk about immigration policy. So far, nothing.

“You’re with the provisional government right now,” said Saeger. “Aren’t you?”

“Press and public relations, yes.”

Saeger dipped her chin in a scrutinizing gesture that was almost a nod. “I’ll bet you’re very good at your job.”

“I like to think so,” said Lillian, because I am was the truth, and selling that was not her business.

Saeger gave another tip of the chin, this one more affirmative. Then she turned to Daoud and said, “Mr. Qassan, it was very good to meet you. Please tell Ms. Satri how grateful I am, next time you speak with her. How grateful we were. She made a lot of things possible for us.”

Stones, the mash-up of formality and half-shed city drone … it made Lillian itch to ring up a dialect coach. A better one than Saeger already had.

“I will,” said Daoud, and Lillian wondered how often they spoke. She hardly kept in contact with the filmmaker these days. “And, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Addas…” Half his mouth twisted into a smile. «I think I should find my companion before trouble does.»

Once Daoud had gone, Saeger shook Lillian’s hand again, and Jinadh’s, and then swept off into the thinning crowd. Lillian didn’t see her after that. Things were beginning to wind down.