Page 129 of The Song Rising

“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 realization 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 æther, 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 toward 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.

December 31, 2059

New Year’s Eve

I was woken one morning by a Vigile aiming the beam of his flashlight 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.

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