“Er, right,” Kiem said. He filled his own glass as well then held it up. “To Thea.”

Jainan blinked. Something in his chest ached. But it was just politeness—

reputation in the press aside, Prince Kiem was a diplomat in a family of diplomats. Jainan held up his glass. “To the Empire.” The taste of alcohol burned at the back of his throat.

Iskat meals followed a rigid progression. They always started with the salt course: a collection of small, sharp-flavored bites of fish and meat and pickled vegetables. Then a tiny ceramic cup of tea, drunk piping hot to clear the palette

—no Iskaner drank tea outside meals, and they looked askance at you for suggesting it—then the sweet course, with fish or seafood in sweet sauces and crisp wafer cakes on the side. The bulk of the food would come in the mild course, where at last rice and bread would appear on the table. Kiem made appreciative noises at the spread. Jainan was not hungry.

The last plate of the salt course appeared at his elbow from a hovering waiter, holding two silvery wafers of fish and a scattering of seagrass. Jainan automatically inclined his head and picked up the correct cutlery. He gripped it a little in preparation for speaking.

“Blizzards coming early this year,” Kiem said from across the table, at exactly the same time as Jainan said, “I would like leave to apologize.”

There was a dreadful silence. Jainan dropped his gaze to his food, his shoulders knotting up with the effort of keeping his back still and straight, and then Kiem said, “What for?”

Jainan paused. “The ceremony.”

Kiem put a hand across his face and groaned. “Oh hell, I’m sorry too. That

was awful, wasn’t it, let’s never speak about it again.”

The relief sat in Jainan’s stomach like acid. “Yes.”

“They could have waited a week, ” Kiem said, immediately disregarding his own request. “Would a week have killed them? Hundreds of civil servants in this palace and not one of them could figure out how to suspend a treaty for a week?”

Jainan looked down at his meal and carefully separated the fish from the seagrass with the tip of his knife. A faint citrus tang rose from it. “Mm.”

“Hey, so, a whole meter of snow this month. That’s a lot, huh? This is the time of year when my mother always started swearing about the weather and got herself posted spaceside.”

Jainan blinked. But before he had the time to respond, Kiem launched into a stream of consciousness that was apparently every thought he had ever had about early winter weather. Jainan scrambled to pull himself together enough to reply.