The Bicentenary

THE BICENTENARY

1 September 2059

In the lost city, summer died like a weak fledgling. Late in August, autumn killed it.

Almost overnight, the leaves turned red as my aura, gold as the eyes of our merciless gods. A week later, they were falling in heaps. The Cherwell iced over. I woke to frost on the windows of Magdalen.

Before I knew it, it was the day of the Bicentenary.

Two centuries since Britain was placed on a silver platter and handed to Nashira Sargas. Two centuries since the inquisition into clairvoyance began. Two centuries since the first Bone Season.

Tonight was the celebration of all of it.

A woman watched me from a gilded mirror. Her cheeks were hollow, her jaw set. It still took me by surprise that this hard, cold face was mine. Though Warden had fed me as much as he could, food supplies had dwindled in the days leading up to the Bicentenary.

Nashira had not invited me to another feast.

I smoothed down the front of my dress, which had cap sleeves and a tight waist. The pleated skirt fell almost to my knees, worn over sheer black tights. A pair of small gold hoops hung from my ears.

After Warden appealed my demotion, Nashira had reversed it, supposedly as a mark of goodwill. More likely, the red dress was meant to conceal the blood she was going to spill for my gift. Scion emissaries would be used to violence, but too much of it could unsettle them – perhaps even put them off their negotiations for new places to imprison us. Then again, those might now be in question.

A month ago, Warden had told me the nature of the Great Territorial Act, which had been due to be signed at the Bicentenary. It was an agreement to establish another penal colony near Paris.

Fortunately, Michael – an intrepid spy, able to eavesdrop on both Rephs and humans – had discovered a hitch in these plans. Benoît Ménard, the Grand Inquisitor of France, could no longer attend the Bicentenary due to illness. He had been the guest of honour.

It was too much to hope that his absence would stop Sheol II. Ménard might have sent a representative. If not, it was only a matter of time. Regardless of what happened tonight, the Rephs would keep establishing these prisons. If they had the most powerful voyants locked up, there would be no way for the rest of humankind to fight. Scion, the Bone Seasons – they were built to shackle and silence the people most able to resist the Rephs’ rule.

Whether or not anyone was there to sign the Great Territorial Act, the Bicentenary was still on. The emissaries had arrived on the train at noon, along with squadrons of armed Vigiles. All day, the Overseer had been entertaining the visitors at the Residence of Queens.

Now I sensed them moving towards the Guildhall. Warden would be escorting me there soon. I needed to stop killing time.

Then again, I might not have much time left at all.

I sat to adjust my shoes yet again. They were uncomfortable, with a buckle and a narrow heel, red brocade to match the dress – clearly meant to hobble me, in case I had a mind to run.

My hair shone, curling to my shoulders. The Overseer had insisted on me wearing makeup: powder, blush, eyeliner. I was to look well and presentable for the emissaries. Most of all, I was to look happy.

Nashira had never formally told me I was going to die. No doubt she meant to take me unawares.

In the gloom, I wound the gramophone and moved the needle. Soft, echoing voices filled the parlour. I checked the name of the record. ‘I’ll Be Home’ – a song I had never heard before now. It was calming.

If everything went to plan, I would be home by morning. No matter what happened tonight, I would never return to the Founders Tower.

The thought opened an unexpected hollow in my chest. Over two months, Warden and I had spent almost every night and day in this parlour. Even after Gail repaired the roof, I had rarely chosen to sleep in the attic. Every day had worn down my old fear of him.

We had weathered a few losses. In early August, a sickness had burned through the Rookery, killing Tilda and Guy, among others. I had caught it myself. Michael had ended it by stealing the medicine from the House.

I was still not convinced it had been a coincidence. At first we thought rats had caused it, but it could also have been contaminated water. The performers collected rain in kegs, which anyone could access.

For those long two months, a silent war had unfolded between the Residence of Magdalen and the Suzerain. Nashira must suspect dissidence – enough to want to cull our numbers – but she had no proof.

Paper hissed on the floorboards. I knelt by the door and picked up the note.

Julian had organised a small network of couriers, like the one Jaxon had in the citadel, to keep our trusted contacts informed of new developments. They included Felix Coombs – a tenant of Aludra – and Jos Biwott. I unfolded the note.

Delighted to report that the feast was delicious.

– Birdy

A smile crossed my lips. I had encouraged all my allies in the city to use aliases, as we did in the syndicate.

Michael had managed to spike the red-jackets’ food at their autumn feast, which had been held at dusk in Merton. He had bribed his way into the kitchen, giving him access to the pots of chestnut soup.

In July, Warden had overseen our raid on the glasshouse, keeping watch from Magdalen Tower. Led by Liss, we had cut our way through the physic garden and stolen all the aster Duckett had been growing.

Liss had learned a few things from the courtiers. When purple aster was cut with valerian, it would take effect slowly, over several hours. By a stroke of luck, valerian grew on the edge of Gallows Wood.

Duckett had been handled with ease. The performers had ransacked his shop and forced him to confess where his supplies were stashed. After the Novembertide rebellion, he had stripped the city of anything valuable and buried it all in Gallows Wood.

We had dug up his trove, making it look as if one of the Buzzers had uncovered it. Warden, our expert in matters of memory, had measured out the white aster we needed to give Duckett, to make sure he had no memory of who had raided him, or why. I had, quite literally, shoved it in his pipe and forced him to smoke it.

He would not be joining us on the train.

I took a steadying breath. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable. I was supposed to meet Warden at nine, but I needed some air.

Before I left, I wound the gramophone, just once more. It comforted me, somehow, that music would be playing when I left – that whatever happened, a song would still be rising in this chamber for a while.

I closed the door of the tower behind me.

It was only the first of September, but a deep frost had already set in. In this city, autumn was as cold as winter. Nashira had failed to provide me with a coat, naturally. I walked briskly through the cloister.

The Great Quad was empty. I didn’t know if I was strong enough to hurt Nashira, but I thought I might have a fighting chance now.

Fazal was just rounding off his shift. I caught him in the Porters’ Lodge.

‘Warden is in the Rose Garden,’ he told me. ‘Are you leaving now?’

‘Soon.’

He and Gail both knew something big would happen tonight, but not exactly what. Both would remain here and wait for instructions.

‘Thank you for being so good to me, Faz,’ I said. ‘Can you thank Gail, too?’

‘Of course. Best of luck tonight, Paige.’

Fazal knew his grounds. I soon found Warden in the Rose Garden, or what remained of it. Wearing his livery collar and a black doublet, its front and shoulders rich with goldwork, he was as beautiful and terrible as he had been on the very first night I saw him.

Well, perhaps not so terrible. Even if we had disagreed on certain aspects of the rebellion, we had always been able to talk it out. Over eight weeks of training and plotting, I had come to respect him, if nothing else.

As I approached, his eyes darkened a little. I picked my way towards him.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I look like a doll.’

‘Hm.’ He glanced down at the goldwork. ‘I empathise, to some degree.’

‘You do look quite shiny.’

‘I am a concubine. I must be suitably adorned.’

‘What a pair we make.’ I reached his side. ‘Why are you out here?’

He nodded to a single frosted rose, clearly on the verge of death.

‘Fazal tells me this is the last rose of summer,’ he said. ‘After we spoke of flowers last night, I had a mind to give it to you.’ He gazed at it. ‘And then I decided that it was better to let it choose its own time.’

The night before, I had told him which flower I wanted him to plant on my grave if we failed. He could still be cold and distant with me, but I knew he would do it. Wild oat grew on the grounds of Magdalen.

Nearly half a year of living at close quarters, and I suddenly had no idea what to say. Soon I would be waking in the den at Seven Dials, and it would be as if I had imagined him. The giant in the tower.

‘Warden,’ I murmured, ‘as I’ve said, meeting you was … an experience.’

‘Yes.’

‘But I want you to know that it wasn’t always a bad one.’ I searched for the right words. ‘I don’t know if we’ll have any time to … say goodbye, on Port Meadow. I just wanted to say that I’m glad we did meet. And I don’t want to kill you now.’

‘You honour me, Paige.’

There were shadows under his eyes. The lack of amaranth was getting to him, but I couldn’t regret asking for it. Liss had come alive since the reconnection.

‘Last chance to back out,’ I said. ‘Are you sure you’re able for this?’

‘Yes. It is time,’ Warden said. ‘Thank you. For reminding me what it was to hope.’

‘Glad I could pass on some of my criminal skills.’

The bell rang. We both looked towards Magdalen Tower.

‘We are summoned,’ he said quietly.

He offered me his arm. Just for tonight, we had been instructed to put on a display of unity for the emissaries. And I was the special guest.

I tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow. For the last time, we left the Residence of Magdalen.

The Guildhall was at the end of Magdalen Walk. Almost everyone would be at the Bicentenary: jackets, performers, amaurotics. Most would be allowed to eat and dance. In return, they had to pretend they were grateful for their rehabilitation. Tonight, Warden and I were part of that performance.

He kept a gloved hand over mine as we walked. On any other night, the Rephs would never have allowed this, but clearly they wanted to give the impression that they were compassionate masters.

Nashira would clearly prefer me to be a willing sacrifice. I would not give her that satisfaction, but I knew I would be silenced before I went on stage.

‘The train will leave this city at midnight,’ Warden said. ‘You will be called at a quarter to eleven – the last scene of the play, the grand finale.’

That was bad. If every prisoner was to reach the train, they would have to move quickly.

‘So the execution won’t take long,’ I said. ‘If she overpowers me.’

‘She will not.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘I was attempting to be optimistic.’

He led me to the doors of the old building, which had been scrubbed to the last stone and step. Half the red-jackets were on duty tonight, armed with batons and flux guns, while the others were allowed to mingle and enjoy themselves.

David had drawn the short straw. He gave me a nod as I passed with Warden. I looked away.

In August, David had seen Michael entering the House. He had offered to help with whatever we were plotting – an offer I had summarily refused. At least he seemed to have kept his suspicions to himself.

As we waited for two Rephs to enter, the æther prickled, and I shot a glance over my shoulder. Two women came rushing from Cornmarket, carrying rolls of fabric. They slipped out of sight, into Carfax Tower.

They were stowing more tinder.

Julian had been the one to propose burning more than just Balliol, to distract both the Rephs and Vigiles from our escape. He had taken well and quickly to strategy. He and some of the performers would set the fires, clearing the way for others to head north. To avoid detection, they would try to use the unlit paths.

In Magdalen, Michael had helped me craft fire bottles, converting the wine cellar into an armoury. Those bottles were stashed around the city, along with matches and paraffin and other supplies. I had got that idea from dead drops, used in the syndicate to hide items or messages.

As for guns, I had been able to improvise two from old plumbing scraps. Terebell had skimmed another three from the House. One was for Julian, and the other for Crina Nistor, leader of the amaurotics. The third was for me, waiting in a drop on Bear Lane.

Warden had brought me all the pollen he had stored in his glasshouse. Terebell had sent two boxes of darts. Over the course of a few days, Gail and I had carefully dismantled them, poured out the corrosive acid, and filled each chamber with a mix of water and pollen. We had stored everything in the Old Kitchen.

Magdalen might not escape the imminent devastation, but I had requested that Julian try to spare the Founders Tower. I wanted it to remain, as proof that all of this had happened. A monument to a memory.

Oxford would burn after all, in the end.

Thousands of candles lit the main chamber of the Guildhall. The façade was from the eighteenth century, but the interior was Victorian, with a gallery and a domed ceiling of intricate white plasterwork. A polished floor reflected the warm light of the chandeliers.

The emissaries were easy to clock – mostly in black suits and red ties, with gold cufflinks. The amaurotics were serving them drinks and bites to eat.

A steward rang a bell and called out:

‘Lord Arcturus, Warden of the Mesarthim, consort to the Suzerain!’

Hundreds of curious glances came in our direction. From what I understood, only the Grand Inquisitor and a select few trusted officials had seen the Rephs until tonight. Now Frank Weaver had sent most of his staff from the Westminster Archon, as well as representatives from equivalent headquarters elsewhere in Scion.

Warden released my hand. Behind us, Pleione and Alsafi were announced.

‘I must show my face to Nashira. I imagine there are people you would like to see,’ he said. ‘There is a trap room under the stage. I will be there at half past ten. If you can slip away, I would speak to you.’

I nodded.

High overhead, Liss was on the silks with her understudy, Nell. The chandeliers lit them both, casting their shadows on the ceiling. The emissaries gazed up in wonder as Liss struck an elegant pose.

She was hanging up there with no safety net, relying solely on her strength and talent.

Julian was too new to performing to be allowed into the Guildhall. He was content with that. It left him free to pave the way.

Warden strode off, leaving me on my own. Fortunately, Michael appeared with a platter, offering me a glass of hot mecks.

‘Well done,’ I said under my breath. ‘They should start feeling it by eleven.’

Michael smiled. We stood close together, surrounded by the din of conversation.

‘Are unnaturals allowed in the gallery?’ I asked. He shook his head. ‘Shame. I was hoping for a decent look at all these sycophants.’ I glanced at him. ‘You’re going back for Faz and Gail, aren’t you?’

He nodded.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Just get to us before midnight. It sounds like we can’t hold the train.’

Holding the platter in one hand, Michael reached into his sleeve with the other, passing me a note. I subtly opened it and read.

I got your backpack from Trinity. It’s waiting with your boots – those shoes are too small. I hope you don’t die. It was nice to meet you.

I closed the note, touched.

‘And you, Michael,’ I said quietly. ‘Go on. Let’s not raise suspicions.’

Michael went bravely to offer a drink to a Vigile. I accepted a finger sandwich from Crina, who gave me a nod.

It was only twenty past nine. Over an hour to kill, and small talk would be torture at this hellish party. I was already feeling the pinch of the shoes.

The hall flickered with candlelight and Chopin. As I wandered its edge, obscured by the gloom, I kept my focus off the æther. Too many people, crushed too close together. Instead, I observed the Rephs.

Several of them were newcomers to the city. Like Warden, they all scrubbed up very well. Some were on my side, but I had no way of telling which. I couldn’t blame them for hiding. If this rebellion failed, they wouldn’t just be scarred.

Liss executed a difficult climb, applauded by the guests. As I drank, I felt a tingle on my nape. Suhail watched me from a corner, his eyes ablaze.

I melted back into the crowd.

Warden now stood with Nashira, who was surrounded by an adoring flock of humans. I had to hand it to the Suzerain – she really was dressed to kill. Her hair was a golden cascade, matching the clasps of her cloak. From a distance, they were the perfect couple.

I gave them a wide berth. After seeing Nashira hit Warden, I had found it even harder to stomach the sight of their false courtesy.

My wandering took me into the arches under the gallery, where I leaned against a wall, safe in the shadows. Everyone in the hall but me was dressed for winter. My bare arms prickled with goosebumps.

The Rephs mingled like old friends with the emissaries, who were clearly both unnerved and mesmerised by these beautiful giants. It didn’t surprise me that they could launch a charm offensive when it suited them. They must have charmed the wits out of Lord Palmerston.

Terebell was talking to a French aide. I watched in silent fascination, shot with disgust, as Thuban laughed with Priscilla Lane, the Minister for Culture – the woman who oversaw all censorship. Of the two of them, I wasn’t sure who had the worse laugh.

Fortunately, Priscilla hadn’t brought her team of professional dryshites tonight – someone was presiding over the piano with a measure of talent. A magnificent organ dominated the back of the stage, but Warden would not be playing. I doubted Nashira even knew he could.

Ivy was nowhere to be seen. Over the weeks, I had done my best to track her down – of all the people in the city, she needed to be at Magdalen – but Thuban must have locked her in the Residence of Corpus. Two performers, both with grudges against Thuban, had attempted to break her out. Neither of them had returned.

Corpus was the only residence where we had no firm allies, but Ivy would be freed. Michael had found an amaurotic who knew where its spare keys were kept. With the rebellion in full swing, getting Ivy away would be easier.

I took a small bite of the sandwich. My nerves had kept me from eating all day.

‘You know there’s cake.’

David had sauntered to my side. A flux gun was holstered at his hip.

‘Savoy cake,’ he added, as if I cared. ‘After all, it is an anniversary.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘I can’t imagine why.’ He folded his arms. ‘I’ll give you some food for thought. Do you think Scion likes taking orders from the Rephs?’

‘Looking at all this, I’d say so.’

‘Some of them are buying into it,’ he conceded. ‘But the Rephs are clearly unnatural, and they’re in charge of Scion. That must be confusing the anchorites. All this is chafing against their overriding instinct – to fear what they don’t understand.’ He glanced at me. ‘Do you not think one person in history would have thought about resisting that hypocrisy from the inside?’

‘If they did, they clearly failed. Are you steering for a point, David?’

‘Just answer the question.’

‘They wouldn’t dare,’ I said. ‘They’re too afraid of the Buzzers.’

‘But you’re not.’ David lowered his voice. ‘I’ve been keeping an eye on your friend. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about the purple aster.’

He was out of sight before I could answer. In a flash, my whole body turned cold.

David knew. He had a way of seeing things that others blinked and missed. If he went to Nashira now, the rebellion would die before it could begin. I thought of killing him, but stopped myself. If there was one thing more suspicious than poisoned soup, it was a corpse.

The clamminess was getting worse. The dress seemed to constrict around my ribs. When I tried to step outside, two Vigiles closed ranks in front of me.

‘I just need some air,’ I said. ‘You don’t want me to faint. I’m the main event.’

‘Get back in there, unnatural.’

Defeated, I cast my eye around the hall again, looking for Frank Weaver.

The Grand Inquisitor of England was nowhere in sight. Scarlett Burnish was another notable absence. They must both have been given leave to stay in London, since they were so vital to Scion. Still, I could see a few other recognisable officials, including the Chief of Vigilance, Bernard Hock. He was a huge bald man with a muscular neck, who also happened to be a sniffer. Even now, his nostrils were flared.

I made a note to murk him if I could. He had detained many of his own.

The sight of another man stopped me dead.

It couldn’t be him. Then again, he must have fled to London. If he had dared stay in his own country, he would have been assassinated.

Cathal Bell.

Cathal the Sasanach, the betrayer. The facilitator of the Dublin Incursion.

In his early fifties, he had been a charismatic and passionate man, with a crooked grin that endeared him to voters. Now his sweep of hair was grey.

I had never met Bell, but he knew my father. He had arranged our flight to London. It must have made him feel better, to bring other defectors across the Irish Sea. How my father had felt, I might never know.

Bell blotted his face with a pocket square. Every now and then, he straightened his tie and fussed with his collar. He seemed to be making stilted conversation with a Serbian official, Radmilo Arežina. Bulgaria had taken most of the blame for resistance to the Balkan Incursion, but Arežina must have annoyed someone – both were getting as wide a berth as if they had lung fever.

At first, all I could do was drink in the sight of him, a worm squirming on the end of a hook. Bell must have thought he was buying himself a life of privilege, the day he betrayed Ireland. Now he understood that all Scion saw was another brogue – the king of kerns.

I almost walked towards him, to confront him, but I stopped myself. It was good that he was here. Let the dog see its masters fall.

Seeing him had set me to shaking. When Michael passed again, I took another glass of mecks. Bell had noticed my look, and was frowning, as if trying to place me. I started to turn away.

And then my willpower just snapped.

Bell and Arežina both clocked me coming at once. Seeing my red dress – the mark of an unnatural, in this context – Arežina backed away and made a beeline for the Greeks, leaving Bell stranded.

‘Mr Bell,’ I said. ‘You look a bit different to how I remember you.’

I thickened my lilt as much as I could, getting his back straight up. ‘Do I know you?’

‘I was about to ask if you did.’

‘I’ve never seen you in my life.’ He spoke defensively. ‘I don’t make a habit of associating with unnaturals.’

He had tried very hard to shed his accent, but I could still hear it, plain as the nose on his face.

‘You might remember Cóilín Ó Mathúna – Colin Mahoney, these days,’ I said. ‘Eleven years ago, you booked two tickets from Shannon to London. One was for him. One for his daughter.’

‘Paige Mahoney.’ He had turned white. ‘I’ve no business with you now.’

‘Oh, but I have business with you, Mr Bell. After all, you’re part of the reason I’m even in this country.’ I stepped closer, making him back into a pillar. ‘First, I want to know something. Did a Trinity student named Finn Mac Cárthaigh survive the Dublin Incursion?’

‘If he did, he’s dead now,’ Bell said, his face hardening. ‘Other than a certain few who escaped, the survivors were executed at Carrickfergus.’

I had known, but hearing it still stoppered my throat.

Carraig Fhearghais, up in Ulster. Its castle was a former English military outpost.

‘You will not shame me, unnatural.’ His eye twitched as he said it. ‘Scion is necessary. Ireland needed the anchor as much as the rest.’

The golden cord gave a sharp tug. Across the hall, Warden was now engaged in conversation with a handsome Greek woman. He shot me a warning look over her. I forced myself to smile at Bell. I couldn’t risk the rebellion. He needed to think I was powerless.

‘I may be trapped here now,’ I whispered to him, ‘but your ghosts are coming for you, Mr Bell. Trust me – they’ve told me themselves.’

Bell watched me with constricted pupils. I walked away.

The Overseer had been preparing this night for months. Surely the performance had to begin soon. Liss and Nell were just the opening act. I needed a distraction to stop me going back to gut Bell.

‘40.’

Apparently, I had one.

‘Come here,’ Nashira said. ‘I would like you to meet these emissaries.’

Somehow I had almost walked straight into her. The emissaries in question all jostled for a look at me, equally intrigued and repulsed.

‘This is Aloïs Mynatt, the Grand Raconteur of France. He is here to represent its Grand Inquisitor, Benoît Ménard,’ Nashira said to me. ‘And this is Birgitta Tjäder, Chief of Vigilance in the Scion Citadel of Stockholm. I imagine you are familiar with their faces.’

‘Very,’ I said coolly.

Mynatt was a small man, stiff in posture, with no distinguishing features. Tjäder returned my contemptuous look. She was in her fifties, with thick blonde hair and eyes like olive oil.

Nick called this woman the Magpie. To her, every voyant life was a glinting prize she meant to take.

This was his archenemy, his reason for joining Scion. Tjäder had enforced such a cruel regime in Stockholm that even minor infractions had been punished with death. Her soldiers had killed his sister and several others for sharing a bottle of wine on the sly.

Tjäder looked tense. Her pale lips were pulled tight over her teeth, as if she was about to bite. I wasn’t exactly relishing her presence, either.

‘I don’t want her near me,’ Tjäder said. ‘I work hard to clean my surroundings of filth.’

‘That is precisely why 40 is here,’ Nashira said. ‘We contain their unnaturalness in our colony, Commander Tjäder. Once Tuonela III is established, you will start the gradual process of cleansing your citadels.’

Tuonela III. That had to be a third colony – possibly with the Magpie as its procurer, and a different name for a new region of Scion. Stockholm was officially Scion North; the other two were Scion West.

Nick was going to lose his mind when he found out about this.

‘Inquisitor Lindberg will consider this proposal,’ Tjäder said. ‘The day there are no unnaturals in Stockholm will be a happy one, Suzerain.’

The performer at the piano stopped playing, prompting a round of applause. Nashira glanced up towards a large clock.

‘The hour draws near.’

‘Excuse me,’ Tjäder said. ‘I should rejoin my party.’

She turned and marched towards a group of Swedish emissaries.

The pianist started a new piece, accompanied by a fellow whisperer. Together, they sang a duet I recognised, even if I had forgotten its name. This song was thought to have been written by a voyant, to banish a spirit – the ghost of her lover – in the days before the threnody.

Nashira observed the performance. For the first time, I noticed an object on the piano. It was the bell jar from the Residence of the Suzerain. With Nashira distracted, I took the opportunity to return to the shadows under the gallery, where I watched the two whisperers sing a few songs.

At some point, Terebell Sheratan came to my side. I gave her a wary look.

‘Most spirits in this city are confined to Port Meadow,’ she said, ‘but the victims of the Novembertide rebellion will be with you tonight.’ Her voice too low for anyone but me to hear. ‘They serve us, not Nashira.’

She left before I could utter a word.

The music drifted to a close, and applause rang out, an overpowering din. I put my glass down to join in. Above, Liss had made a hammock from her silks and sat in it. Nell swung to one of the chandeliers.

Nashira now stepped up to the stage, to continued applause from her audience. A Reph with a livery collar stood on her left, and Alsafi on her right.

‘Honoured guests,’ she said, ‘I bid you welcome to Sheol I, formerly known as the University of Oxford. Thank you for joining us for this celebration – the bicentennial anniversary of our arrival in England, and the forging of our friendship with the late Lord Palmerston.’

I glanced around. The emissaries must have been informed of what they were going to see before their arrival. Most were nodding along.

‘I well recall those early days, when Queen Victoria agreed to oversee the end of her monarchy, and dear Henry invited us to be the custodians of Earth. He entrusted us with this realm and its empire, but we knew we must begin afresh. We wished to build a new empire upon new foundations. An empire that united all humankind.’

More applause.

‘For many years, we have been the hidden guardians of this world,’ Nashira said. ‘Tonight, we wished to reveal ourselves to the many of you who have carried out our bidding, making our dream possible. You have spread the message of the anchor far and wide. Now we rule over nine countries. In the years to come, we will knit more into our fold.’

As she spoke, I remembered the rattle of gunfire, the blood on the streets.

‘Like the former university,’ Nashira said, ‘our city is a place of learning, curiosity, and respectful exchange of ideas.’ (I almost choked on my drink.) ‘The Bone Seasons allow well-meaning clairvoyants to receive the best possible quality of life. It saves them from delinquency and pain, and protects them from their worst instincts, allowing them to contribute to Scion. Their unnaturalness is an affliction, preying even on the innocent. Many are beyond our help – but some can be saved, and this is their house of correction.’

I walked out from beneath the gallery, so I stood under Liss and Nell.

‘Let us celebrate two centuries of progress, and look forward to far more,’ Nashira said. ‘We are honoured to be friends to humankind. You are inventive, enterprising and benevolent. Forced to flee our world, we found kindness in this one.’

She really was trying to puff these people. From their gracious smiles, it was working.

‘In return for your hospitality, we bring the wisdom and temperance of immortality. We have not only provided a compassionate means of culling the unnatural population of your countries, but prevented thousands of attacks by our enemies, the Emim. They are drawn to us – like moths to a flame, as the saying goes.’

I hated that she kept using our sayings. It was an unconvincing attempt to sound human.

Still, the emissaries were lapping it up. Tjäder remained wary, and Bell had retreated to the back of the hall, but otherwise, they were transfixed by the Suzerain. Her eyes were their own beacons in the gloom.

‘We must not be complacent,’ she said. ‘The Emim took our home, and they now covet our new one. In the years to come, one city will no longer be enough to protect everyone. There have been sightings in France, the Balkans, and most recently, the forests of Sweden.’

I wondered if that was true.

‘Within the next two years, we mean to establish Sheol II and Tuonela III,’ Nashira said. ‘Our system has been tried and tested. With your help – and your cities – we hope that our alliance will hold stronger than ever.’

The more I listened, the more I realised the vulnerability of the Rephs. Even if they controlled Scion, they had no home of their own. This appeal to the emissaries’ consciences was rooted in genuine need.

‘At the strike of ten, we will present a masque to celebrate our shared history, written by our talented and loyal servant, Beltrame,’ Nashira said. ‘But first, I wish to introduce my fellow blood-sovereign, Gomeisa Sargas.’

The Reph on her left took a step forward. He was as tall and pale as Nashira, with the golden hair of their family, worn long, some of it drawn away from his face. His thin lips tilted down at the corners.

He seemed older than the other Rephs – something about his bearing, his dreamscape. Then again, Warden had said they were ageless.

Perhaps it was power I was feeling. Gomeisa cast a very long shadow in the æther. No wonder Liss feared him. I tried to catch a glimpse of her, but she was hidden by her silks.

‘Good evening,’ Gomeisa said. ‘To the humans of this city, I apologise for my long absence. I spend much of my time at my residence in London, where I am chief advisor to the Grand Inquisitor.’

His voice was soft, but it carried. It seemed to ring both in the hall and my head.

Gomeisa could have been the stranger in London. He probably lived near Westminster, but he must walk in the citadel sometimes.

‘As the Suzerain has said, a new age is dawning – an age of greater collaboration between human and Rephaite. One day, all humans will know of us, and celebrate those who were first to embrace us, including all of you,’ he said. ‘Tonight, we renew our promise to protect and guide you, just as you gave us succour after our tragedy. We celebrate the end of the old world, where ignorance and chaos reigned – but if we are to look to the future, we must first remember the past.’

The amaurotics had been snuffing the candles. Nell had taken care of both chandeliers. Now the only light that remained was on the stage.

Gomeisa looked towards the bell jar. I saw his eyes flare a little brighter, and the barest nod of satisfaction. He looked back out at all of us.

‘Let the masque begin.’