“Out of curiosity and admiration,” I start, “I’ve heard running is good for you, but I’ve also heard the other nobles hate it.”

“Oh.” She waves her hand dismissively. “I am not overly concerned about what they think.”

This time I do laugh, and she blinks.

“Is something funny?”

“Sorry. I just spent two very exhausting weeks training to be extremely concerned with what the other nobles thought of me, so to hear you put it like that…it’s a bit like hearing a celeon say they can’t grow hair.”

It’s Lady Tarroux’s turn to laugh. “Forgive me, but that’s because you’re a Firstblood. How you conduct yourself is your social currency. But mine is, well, currency.”

It hits me then. “The war! Your father is funding a good amount of it, which means—” I smirk at her. “You’re the only one of us in the palace who can do whatever she wants.”

She becomes hesitant, lowering her lashes. “I would never do irresponsible things in the eyes of Kavar, but yes. Before the declaration of war, my father was funding Archduke Gavik’s white mercury research. So I’ve never had to concern myself overly much with public opinion.”

“Well.” I sigh. “That’ll make being queen a wee bit harder for you, won’t it?”

She stumbles in her pale pink shoes. “Q-Queen? What are you saying, Lady Zera?”

I chuckle and pull her by the arm playfully. “Come on. There’s dancing to be done.”

The Moonskemp ball is by no means a banquet—there’s much less decorum to it. No one is announced as they walk in. The grand ballroom is less extravagant than the banquet hall, smaller and yet just as packed with nobles. Moonskemp forbids the use of any light except for candles, colored with blue and red flames thanks to polymath powders, so the usual brightness of the oil and white mercury lamps is absent. Thousands of ruby- and sapphire-flamed candles drip and flicker on top of columns, tables, and statues, like thousands of miniature moons—the Blue Giant and Red Twins. A balcony stretches out beyond a wall of opened glass doors, the banister lined with melting candles. The ball is in full swing by the time I arrive, the scents of perfumes and wine heavy on the air.

I lean in to whisper in Lady Tarroux’s ear. “Y’shennria always taught me nobles do their best to remain reasonably sober during parties, but this is clearly an exception.”

She nods, her cinnamon eyes wide. Whether it’s the stress of the war or something else, a number of nobles are staggering around, sloshing their drinks and laughing far louder than is acceptable. I watch a noblewoman lean too far over some candles, and she shrieks as blue fire catches to her silk collar. She beats it out with her kerchief, laughing.