As they neared the governor—who stood holding court near the windows on the north side—a man in a bright yellow bow tie noticed Wax. Great. Lord Stenet. He would want to talk about textile tariffs again. But of course he wouldn’t say that, not at first. People never said what they meant around here.

“Lord Waxillium!” Stenet said. “I was just thinking about you! How are your wedding arrangements proceeding? Should I look forward to an invitation soon?”

“Not too soon,” Steris said. “We’ve only just settled on a priest. What of you? Your engagement is the talk of the city!”

His face fell. “Oh. Now, about that…” He cleared his throat. Steris prodded, but in a moment Stenet had found an excuse, changed the topic, then politely retreated.

“What was that about?” Wax said.

“He’s been cheating on her,” Steris said absently. “Naturally, the topic makes him uncomfortable.”

“Nice work,” Wax said. “You’re very good at this.”

“I’m proficient at it.”

“I believe that’s what I said.”

“There is a distinction,” Steris said with a shake of her head. “In this room there are true masters of social interaction. I am not one of them. I studied social norms, researched them, and now I execute them. Another woman might have sailed through that conversation and left him happy, but distracted. I had to use blunt force, so to speak.”

“You are a bizarre woman, Steris.”

“Says the only man in the room with guns on his hips,” she replied, “a man who is unconsciously trying to Push the earrings out of the ears of every woman we pass. You didn’t notice Lady Remin losing her ring into her drink, did you?”

“Missed that.”

“Pity. It was entertaining. Here, step this way; we don’t want to get into a conversation with Lord Bookers. He is dreadfully boring.”

Wax followed her down three steps, passing a display shining with nuggets of tin that rattled at his passing, alongside pictures of famous Tineyes, including several sketches of the Lord Mistborn—who had been a Tineye before the Catacendre. Funny, that Steris would remark on someone being boring…

“You’re thinking,” Steris said, “that it is ironic that I would note that someone is a bore—as I myself have a reputation for the same personality flaw.”

“I would not have phrased it like that.”

“It’s all right,” Steris said. “As I have said many times before, I am aware of my reputation. I must embrace my nature. I recognize another bore as you might recognize a master Allomancer—as a colleague whose arts I don’t particularly wish to sample.”

Wax found himself smiling.