Page 29 of The Song Rising

“Yes,” Warden said. “Tom told me about your endeavor. The scrying squad had sensed a portent, but the Glym Lord was intercepted by a scanner on his way to stop you. Pleione and I followed you in his stead.”

“Is Glym all right?”

“Yes. He escaped.”

We had come so close to death. If not for Warden, the river would have swallowed me.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “For coming for me.”

With a curt nod, Warden rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and clasped his leather-clad hands in front of him, a posture he had often adopted in the colony. I waited for the axe to fall.

“Terebell is angry that I went without permission,” I said, when the silence had gone on for too long. “Isn’t she?”

He reached for the table in front of us and held out a steaming mug.

“Drink this,” he said. “Dr. Nygård says your core temperature is still lower than it should be.”

“I don’t care about my temperature.”

“Then you are a fool.”

The mug stayed where it was. I took it and drank a little of the saloop, if only to make him talk.

“Tell me, Paige,” he said, “are you deliberately trying to provoke Terebell?”

A question, not an accusation. “Of course not.”

“You chose to go without her permission. You ignored her order to seek her approval before taking any major decision.”

“I had a lead,” I said, “and a limited amount of time to follow it.”

Another slight nod.

“While you were sleeping,” he said, after another silence, “your commanders received a report. Around an hour after your excursion to the warehouse, a polyglot was detained. According to the witness, her aura activated the large Senshield scanner at Paddington station.”

I hadn’t thought it was possible to turn any colder. Polyglots were from the fourth order. An order that Senshield shouldn’t be able to detect.

“Of course, this could be nothing but hearsay. But if it is true,” Warden said, “then the technology has improved dramatically.”

A dull flutter started low down in my stomach. I tightened my fingers around the mug.

“It’s not hearsay.” My voice was hoarse. “Vance told me herself that she . . . trapped me, to use me to recalibrate Senshield.” I wet my lips. “I’m seventh-order. How—how could exposure tomehelp it detect the fourth?”

“I do not know enough of the technology to guess.”

“She said something about my . . . radiesthesic signature.” My breath quickened. “If thisismy fault, Terebell will—” I could almost feel the color draining from my face. “We can’t lose your support. Without it, the Mime Order will fall apart.”

“Terebell is very unlikely to withdraw our financial support as a result of this. It is as much in her interest for the Mime Order to continue as it is in yours,” he said. It didn’t comfort me. “She will reserve judgment until the consequences of your actions become apparent.”

“They’re already apparent. I fell into a trap. I helped them improve Senshield. And I lost three people. I could have saved at least one of them if my gift had been stronger.” I couldn’t keep the exhaustion from my voice. “I told you I was out of practice. I called you, before we left.”

“I was engaged.”

“With what?”

“We were dealing with another Emite. In the suburbs.”

The rigor that went through me had nothing to do with my fall through the ice. While I was fixated on Senshield, the Ranthen were trying to stop us being eaten alive. Enemies were closing in on us from all sides.

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