She found the words to answer that: “I asked the prime minister if the festival causes the ten-year storms.”

She’d expected to see anger. Or exasperation. Or disappointment.

She hadn’t expected to see fear.

Or, she thought, maybe even a little awe.

His face went pasty pale, and his eyes wide. For a second, he didn’t speak. Then he sputtered, “‘Ten-year storms’? You really said that? To the prime minister?”

“Yes. You said in one of your lectures that all the weather in the world is connected, and so when I heard about the storms, I started to think—”

“How did you know the ten-year storms exist—” He cut himself off. “You crossed the mountains that day, in the thunderstorm, didn’t you?”

He didn’t seem to need an answer, but Pixit tried to answer for her. «It was an accident. I was hurt, and we crashed . . .» Of course Professor Dano couldn’t hear him. «Mina, you need to tell him it’s not your fault.»

I don’t think it matters whether it was or wasn’t, she told Pixit.

“Why, by the grace of storms, would you question the prime minister herself? I know I wanted you to ask questions, but I meant ask me.” He sounded torn between exasperation and pride.

She didn’t have an answer for that, and Professor Dano didn’t seem to need one. He placed his hands on her shoulders so she had to look directly into his eyes. “This is important. Did anyone ask your name?”

“Um . . .” Had they? She tried to remember. She didn’t think so. Mina shook her head.

“So the prime minister doesn’t know who you are? Just that you’re a lightning student?” He exhaled as if he hadn’t been breathing properly before. She wondered why it mattered, and then jumped as he took her arm, the same way the assistant had, to tug her forward. “We have to keep it that way. They stashed you here to keep you from causing a scene during the prime minister’s talk. When it’s over, they’ll return for you and most likely ask questions you don’t want to answer. Come with me. I’ll get you back to the ship before that happens.” He herded her out of the room. Pixit wagged his tail, excited to see her. Professor Dano kept talking in a low whisper. “You’ll stay out of sight. Tell everyone you were sick. If you can manage to vomit a few times, that would be excellent. Don’t tell them what happened, or what you said.”

Grim-faced, he propelled her through the hallway and through a nondescript door. This next corridor was plain gray, with no murals or any other decoration, and lit with a few electric light bulbs. She guessed it was for the cleaning crew. She didn’t think this was the time to ask for a tour.