He drummed his fingers on the obsidian table. He could just kill Wynn Wysteria. It was tempting. Her and Erik Valerio, but the HIVE pulsed gently in the back of his head, Mellifare telling him to play their game.

He leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “You have a fair point, Lady Wysteria. I’m sure we could entertain your parlor gossip, if you so wish.”

Her eyes widened. “It is not parlor gossi—”

“But to expend such resources, I would need council approval.”

The other dozen members looked at each other, murmuring in soft tones. One chair was empty, he noticed, the one belonging to Erik Valerio. He wondered where that unreliable snake was. Plotting behind his back, no doubt.

Trouble—all these flesh sacks were trouble.

“Well,” he said after a moment, waiting for another Ironblood to rush to Lady Wysteria’s defense, but no one did. “It seems as though the rest of us will not entertain your rumor—”

“There is footage,” Wynn interrupted hurriedly, “of the Empress, or someone who looks like her.”

The murmurs grew louder across the table.

His lips drew into a hard line.

She lifted a panel on the obsidian table in front of her and pressed a button. A holo-screen popped up in the middle of the table. The video had been captured from one of the taverns in the Theo District—the slums, most of Neon City called it. It showed a girl racing down the street, pursued by—

He tapped his first finger on the table again and made the holo-screen glitch. The video froze, pixelated, the only thing discernible Neon City’s skyline.

“All I see is a corrupted file,” he said.

Wynn paled and tried to upload the video again. “It was just there!”

The other council members began to mutter, shaking their heads at her. He hid a smirk behind his hand and lounged back in his chair. “Lady Wysteria, your efforts to discredit me are astounding. I applaud your creativity, but perhaps you should be a little more subtle.”

Her mouth dropped open. “I—I wasn’t . . .”

He stood from his chair. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am sure we all have most pressing matters to attend to today. Thank you for your diligence, Lady Wysteria,” he added, trying not to sound too snide as he left the room.

The lady had been correct about one thing: he did need to find the Empress. She was becoming a thorn in his side.

When he returned to his chair in the Moon Garden, Mellifare was gone. To the palace, she was still a chambermaid, and her body was off cleaning one of the rooms, no doubt, but she was hosted in a myriad of Messiers on Cerces, tearing down the door to another tomb. Empty, like all the others—and he heard her scream through the HIVE, light fire to the shrine, and kill the abbesses who begged for their lives.

He opened his book—The Swords of Veten Ruel—to where he’d left off, licked his finger—although he had no saliva—to turn the page, and tried to ignore Mellifare.