“Oh,” said Benni lightly, that same strain in his face again, “the Industrialists convinced a Scholar in Parliament, Dev Dimara, to change sides and vote for zilfium. It involved a lot of promises and favors. Now he’s gone and changed his mind back again. But,” he added, “we’ll find the votes we need by December. Don’t worry, sweetheart.” And Lovisa relaxed, because now she understood why her father was tired and short-tempered. Everything was always less stressful once Lovisa understood.

Hava leaned toward her again. “Where do you fall on the zilfium debate?” she asked.

“I don’t,” said Lovisa.

“Don’t you think it’s important? Won’t it have consequences?”

Lovisa thought of Katu, who hated Ledra politics—who saw, as Lovisa saw, the self-interest that drove every conflict, and wanted no part of it. She wished her uncle were at this table. They could roll their eyes at each other, then they could talk about what really mattered about zilfium, and about varane too. They were fuels, to leave.

“Sure, there’ll be consequences,” said Lovisa. “Either way the vote goes, people who are already rich will get richer.”

“Then no wonder you don’t care,” said Hava. “Isn’t your mother a Scholar and your father an Industrialist? You’ll get richer, whatever happens.”

“I’m sure a queen’s spy is also well-situated,” said Lovisa sourly, “even without her queen.”

All at once, grief flooded Hava’s face. She turned into a sculpture, but this time, she stayed that way. When someone nearby saw the stone girl sitting at the table like a petrified dinner guest, he cried out. Then everyone at the table was looking, exclaiming, standing, shouting, and Lovisa knew she’d misstepped.

Immediately, Giddon crouched over Hava, creating a sort of wall around her with his body and arms. He was muttering into her marble ear; when someone demanded an explanation, he put up a hand and said, “Please. We’ll explain later, but now we need space. Please, look away, and I’ll take her into another room, and someone will explain, but please, give us space. She’s lost her queen,” he said heatedly, standing, making himself into a barrier. “She’s lost her queen. Have pity.”

Lovisa herself was struggling not to stare at the sculpture-Hava, partly with nausea, partly with the fascination of someone watching a thing that should be impossible. Hava was a beautiful sculpture, her face frozen with pain. But Lovisa understood that all the eyes in the room were making things worse. Unwinding her own scarf from her body, dark pink, long, and wide, she passed it to Giddon, who used it as a curtain to hide Hava. Giddon, still shielding her with the scarf and his arms, shuffled her out of the room. Everyone was still standing, shouting. No one seemed particularly touched by Giddon’s plea, though she could hear her mother’s acid voice importuning everyone to “calm down.”