She sighed and came over to him, placing a hand on his cheek. “Oh, brother dearest, do not worry.”

He began to argue, but the moment he found the words, the song in his head stole them away. He blinked, frowning.

What had he been worried about, again?

Her gaze drifted behind him to the impatient steward. “I believe you are expected.”

“Yes, sister,” he mumbled, and left her in the garden.

The herald hurried after him, carrying a navy suede evening coat with sapphire cuff links, which he shrugged on over his starched white shirt. Then he tied his hair back with a black ribbon, and made his way to the council’s chambers.

“Your—Your Excellence!” the steward added, raising up the Iron Crown.

Oh, he had almost forgotten it. His mind felt strange and cloudy, but he tried to shake it away as he put on the crown.

As he entered the council’s chambers, the holograms of Ironbloods rose to their feet and murmured greetings. He quickly moved around to the head of the obsidian table. Their images wavered a little, their projections grainy against the one Ironblood who had actually decided to show up.

It had to be Wynn Wysteria. He was quite certain that she was the reason this council was called to begin with.

For the last few weeks, Wynn Wysteria had requested multiple meetings with the Emperor at the palace—in person, no less, so her being here again did not surprise him. It only annoyed him. Every evening she would return to her ship docked in the moonbay, and her personal guards would keep watch until morning. She did not trust the palace.

Perhaps she knew more than she let on.

He sat down at the head of the table, and the holographic images of the other Ironbloods in the meeting followed. “To what honor do I owe this occasion, Lady Wysteria?”

Wynn curtsied to him. “I am glad to see you well. I heard of the assassination attempt on Astoria. It would seem we were lucky to have Lord Valerio there.”

Her voice grated on his nerves. “Indeed.”

She nodded. The young woman was dressed in black, her long strawberry-blond hair pulled back in intricate braids. Perhaps if she were a bit more demure, her late father could have sold her off with the right dowry to breed instead of infuriating him—

A shard of pain sliced through his head, knocking him dizzy—as if something inside his own code scolded him. The glitch? He rolled his shoulders back to disguise the discomfort.

“So why did you call us?” he asked her.

“I have troubling news. A number of citizens had reported seeing the late Empress in Neon City—alive.”

He set his mouth into a thin line. “A rumor and nothing more.”

“It’s our sworn duty to these citizens to hear their voices,” said Wynn. “What if this rumor is true, and she’s alive? The citizens have not been kind to us lately. Your taxations on trade and travel to fund your pledge to gather these rogue Metals have taken a toll on each of our worlds’ economies. The poor are dying and the rich are doing nothing, and our Iron Shrines are burning. Who are we if not in service to our people—and our late Empress?” she challenged him. “If she is indeed alive, we should find her.”