‘If you deceive me,’ Nashira said, ‘you will find that I am less merciful in the manner of your execution.’
There was no way out of this. It was the truth or nothing.
I chose nothing.
‘I am Underqueen of the Scion Citadel of London.’ I raised my head. ‘I will be that until I go to the ?ther, and if there’s one thing I can do, it’s give them a chance. If I give you any part of the Mime Order, I give you hope. And I can’t take that away from them.’
She was silent for what seemed like hours. Before either of us could speak again, Alsafi came back through the doors.
‘Are you finished with the prisoner, blood-sovereign?’
Nashira’s nod was hardly visible. She didn’t even look angry; just blank. My legs shook, but I slapped on a mask of defiance before I followed Alsafi out of the Inquisitorial Gallery.
I risked a glance as we walked down the corridors. I had no idea what the surveillance was like; better to wait for him to speak. He wore what he had in the colony: that old-fashioned, uniformly black attire, with a cloak over it all. His face was more readable – more alive, somehow – than those of other Rephaim, with eyes of a lamp-bright green. This was a Rephaite who took his fill of aura whenever he pleased.
‘We do not have long,’ he muttered. ‘Your cell is under close surveillance. What advice do you have for me?’
‘Senshield is here – in the Archon. The core is beneath a glass pyramid,’ I said, ‘in a room with pale walls. I think it’s somewhere high up – in a tower, maybe – somewhere the Archon’s personnel wouldn’t be able to stumble upon it by chance, or sense it. There’s a white light, too. Bright enough that you might be able to glimpse it from outside.’
His face didn’t betray whether he recognised the image.
‘It can be destroyed, but not by me,’ I said. ‘They’re keeping me sedated; I can’t dreamwalk. It will have to be you.’
‘It is here, then.’ His tone was musing. This must be an unwelcome surprise – the realisation that it had been right under his nose without his knowledge. It was only my gift that had allowed me to find it, and Alsafi was no dreamwalker. ‘I assume you know how to deactivate it.’ When I didn’t answer, he said, ‘I cannot risk my position in the Archon for anything less than certainty. Sacrifice without gain is folly.’
‘I can’t be certain,’ I admitted, ‘but – we did find evidence.’
His jaw tensed.
‘The core is likely powered by one of Nashira’s spirits, which is bound – probably by her blood – to some kind of glass sphere.’ I spoke as softly as I could. ‘If you destroy the casing it’s contained in, it should release the spirit.’
‘And you believe this will stop all of the scanners.’
‘Yes.’
I couldn’t be certain of it; and yet I was, in my gut. To make that many scanners work, surely they must need to contain the spirit in one place, keeping its scores of connections stable.
Alsafi kept walking.
‘There is precedent to your reasoning,’ he concluded. ‘If a spirit is released from an ethereal battery, the energy generated by its presence is dispersed, and the battery ceases to function. Even if the core is a different form of ethereal technology . . . dislodging the spirit might impair it, if nothing else.’ He slowed down, buying us a few moments. ‘The executioner will be summoned soon. I cannot help you escape.’
‘I know.’
His gaze slid to my face. ‘Colchicum.’ Pause. ‘You did not intend to escape.’
I gave him no answer.
We were approaching the door to the basement now, and in sight of the Vigiles who now guarded it. They saluted Alsafi before they marched me back into the tomb below.
23
A Priori
Ten days until my execution. It must be meant as a cruel delay, giving me time to wonder what kind of agony awaited me. The sword would be too good for the human who had dared to stand against the blood-sovereign. Perhaps she meant for me to die in one of the ways she had told me about, to prove that my faith in humanity was misplaced. They must expect me to crack under the pressure, to beg Jaxon to spare my life and take me with him to France.
I didn’t. I waited quietly for death – but before I joined the ?ther, I wanted to know that Alsafi had destroyed Senshield.
When the drugs came, I was grateful. I submitted willingly to the Vigiles’ hands, to the needles I no longer felt – they took away the fear that my death would be in vain. With every hour that Alsafi was unwilling or unable to take action, the Mime Order remained in the Beneath.
One night, the Vigiles got me out of bed and put me on the waterboard again, seemingly for their own amusement. When they dumped me back in my cell, soaked and exhausted, there was a supper tray waiting. I inched towards it and choked down as much of the mush as I could.
That was when I found the tiny strip of paper, buried in the food. It was stained, but legible.
DOCK
I breathed easier. Dock. Patience. He must be biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to reach the core without compromising his position. The thought was comforting for a while.
But more days passed, and I heard nothing. And no more notes came with my food.
31 December, 2059
New Year’s Eve
I was woken one morning by a Vigile aiming the beam of his torch into my eyes.
‘Rise and shine, Underqueen.’ I was lifted to my feet. ‘Time to die.’
I was too tired to fight.
First I was transferred to another cell, on one of the Archon’s main upper corridors. The door was made up of bars.
The New Year Jubilee was set to be the biggest event in years. It would take place in the Grand Stadium, which was only ever used for ceremonies. There was a screen at the end of the corridor, and I could just make out the broadcast.
Murmurs echoed between the walls as dignitaries and ministers from the Archon filed past my cell on their way to watch the show. Several of them stopped to scrutinise me. Among them were the Minister for Surveillance; the portly Minister for Arts; the sallow-faced Minister for Transport, whose nose betrayed her illegal drinking habit. Luce Ménard Frère and the French emissaries spent a considerable amount of time observing what a frightening creature I was. All the while, I fixed them with a dead-eyed stare. When the French party got bored, Frère stayed behind, one hand on her rounded abdomen.
‘I am pleased,’ she said, ‘that my children will grow up in a world without you in it.’
She walked away before I could think of a reply.
Now I understood why I was in this cell. For my last hours, I was to be displayed as a war trophy.
Jaxon came to the door for one last look. I thought I could see authentic sorrow on his features.
‘So this is the end,’ he said. Somehow he sounded both angry and solemn. ‘I present you with an opportunity to live, to keep your gift from fading into nothing, and you spit at it.’