“My gratitude,” the governor said. The screen winked out.

Tennal stepped back from the screens, uneasy, as if the web of politics his aunt moved in had left some clinging residue on his hands. He left the map and carried on into the house. He was only here until he could escape again.

The inner study was empty and quiet when Tennal stepped into it. Clematis flowers tumbled around the arches that led to the legislator’s private garden, their fragrance scenting the early evening air and drifting in through the gaps in the latticed wooden screens. It was dim: the only light was a guttering oil lamp under his aunt’s patron Guidance shrine that had nearly gone out. Tennal crossed the room, his tread swallowed by the soft patterned carpets. She’d let the lamps run out of oil again—she always forgot, and the household staff wouldn’t touch a shrine that didn’t belong to their own families. He added more oil to the guttering one and refilled the two lamps that flanked it. When he carefully lit them with one of the tapers in the jar beside the shrine, the red glass took the flame and fractally reflected it, glowing softly, until there were a dozen lights flickering around the Guidance icons above.

Tennal snuffed the taper and slumped down in one of the chairs. He felt drained, like a piece of clothing put through the wash. His thoughts were clearer than they’d been for a while, sharp-edged and crowding into his head. There was an itch in the back of his mind like someone had scrubbed it. It wasn’t fun.

He didn’t move when the light switched on in the corridor, throwing a harsh white rectangle through the open door. A silhouette strode through the doorway and gestured at the room panel. Tennal squinted in protest as all the lights in the room blazed to life.

They illuminated a small figure with a sharply angled face and a presence like a blast of freezing air. She’d clearly come straight from political business, probably Convocation, because her civilian-style jacket and her wrap skirt were more colorful than her taste usually ran to. Her earrings were half-formal, diamonds winking in the light. A flint bracelet glinted at her wrist. She’d only started wearing jewelry to reassure people she was civilian enough to hold office.

“Of all the shitty new rankers I have ever had the pleasure of commanding through their first fuckups,” the legislator said, propping her hand on the mahogany table, “you have reached deeper and more inventive pits than I ever dreamed possible.”

Tennal stretched out his legs in front of him. “Hello to you too, Auntie dearest.”

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” she said. “Stand up.”