And I, in my haste to get rid of the governor after finishing his mace, agreed.

I wish I’d had it in me to be rude to the man. Instead, I’m stuck at a party that has more than a hundred guests in attendance. Either Erinar is related to everyone in the city or someone really needs to explain to him that his idea of a “small affair” is terribly misguided.

Either way, I’m trapped. As the guest of honor, I can’t escape without notice.

Even now I feel the eyes of those in attendance on me like lions tracking a herd of antelope. I clasp my hands together and fiddle with my fingers.

I will not panic.

I will not run.

I probably won’t die.

Has being social killed anyone in the history of the world? Surely not, but that does not seem to matter to the lead weight in my heart or the buzzing insects in my stomach. My whole body ripples with discomfort at so many eyes on me, at so many people surrounding me.

My sister—bless her!—materializes before me.

“What are you wearing?” Temra asks, eyeing me up and down before I can demand why she’s arrived so late.

“A dress,” I say with disgust. I pick at the fabric, missing the lightweight material of my typical loose tunic and trousers. They’re perfect for combating the heat in the forge, and right now I swear it’s hotter in the governor’s home than it’s ever been in my workspace.

People make me sweat.

Temra blinks slowly, as if to compose herself. “Why didn’t you put on something nicer? Where is that dress I bought you for last Sisters Remembrance Day?”

“It’s in my closet.” Buried somewhere deep, but there, nonetheless.

“It’s so lovely. Really brings out the blue of your eyes.”

I don’t recall the color of the dress, but I smile as though I remember it or care just how lovely it is. My current ensemble is a light tan. Nondescript. Lacking any fancy embellishments. Perfect for hiding.

Or so I thought.

“Ziva, all the other girls in attendance are in bright colors. You’re practically wearing your work clothes in dress form.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. My work clothes have stains,” I say, proud of myself, but as I scan the room, I realize she’s right. My bland dress no doubt makes me stick out like a lone weed in a flower garden.

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.