Page 17 of The Song Rising

More laughter. Jack winked.

“I have come here to declare myself before any other can,” he said. “I wish to rule I-4.”

“You already rule a section.”

“I have greater ambitions.”

“And what makes you think you can control such a key territory?”

“I survived the scrimmage in one piece. That should prove my strength. I ran III-1 for six years while the Bully-Rook soaked himself in drink and debauchery.” He dropped on to one knee. “I will be devoted to you, Underqueen, and to your cause. I slew the Knife-Grinder in the Rose Ring to stop him striking you, knowing you would make us a good leader.”

He had done that. I didn’t believe for a moment that it had been to protect me, but he also hadn’t attempted to fight me—not even when his mime-lord had been out for my blood.

“Let me prove myself to you,” Jack said. “Let me bring I-4 under control.”

I looked to my commanders. Maria nodded vigorously, Tom gave me a thumbs-up and a grin, while the others appeared ambivalent, which I took to mean they had no serious objections. I would be left with the problem of who would rule the section he left behind, but I-4 needed a leader far more.

“Very well,” I said. “Jack Hickathrift, I declare you mime-lord of I Cohort, Section 4, there to reign unchallenged for as long as the æther allows.” Applause thundered from the gallery. “Who is your chosen mollisher?”

“I might have to get back to you on that front, my queen. Not that I haven’t considered it,” he added, “but I have, ah, a few options to contemplate.”

“Hm.” I arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure you have.”

Jack went straight to I-4 to assess how it had changed since Jaxon had left. At my behest, he promised to give Zeke and Nadine an ultimatum: relocate to a Mime Order safe house and join us, or fend for themselves. Either way, they had to leave I-4. I had delayed the inevitable for too long.

Several of my commanders had eyed me with displeasure as I stepped down from the stage. Over the last few weeks, I had learned that the Pearl Queen and Glym had the toughest approaches, and the utmost respect for tradition. Tom had a softer heart than he let on. Maria was fairly unpredictable, while Minty tended to do whatever she thought would cause the least offense. Wynn tried to protect the vulnerable.

Usually, they produced a good mix of views, but only Wynn, out of all of them, had shown real approval of my verdict on Ivy. She had taken my hands and promised that my kindness would not go unnoticed.

Elsewhere, kindness was not seen as an admirable quality. News would be spreading through the syndicate now, warning my voyants that their Underqueen was weak.

It couldn’t be helped. Ivy had been through too much for one lifetime.

Back at the hideout, Nick set about making supper while I tended to my injuries from the scrimmage. The slash along my side was itching as it healed, driving me spare. It blazed from underarm to hip in a trail of pink and red. A token from my old mentor. Warden had far deeper scars, his punishment for betraying the Sargas—punishment he would never have received if not for Jaxon. I had never seen them, but I had felt the wales of scar tissue that laddered his back. Jaxon Hall had left his mark on all our lives.

One day soon, he would pay for it.

I faced the mirror and sluiced the greasepaint off. Beneath it, my dark lips looked bruised, and my eyes were steeped in shadow. Weeks of living on broth and coffee had urged my bones against my skin.

This was not a leader’s face.

As I turned, something glinted in the mirror. I touched a finger to the necklace I wore, the one Warden had given me, with the pendant shaped like wings. It had saved my life after the scrimmage.

Downstairs, Nick was at the wood-burning stove, stirring whatever was steaming in the pan, and Eliza was head down over a piece of paper. As soon as I entered, she looked up.

“You,” she said darkly, “are one lucky woman.”

“Yes, I often reflect on how veryluckyI am. Lucky enough to be detained by Scion and taken to a prison city for half a year. Let’s bottle my good luck and sell it. We’ll make a killing.”

She pursed her lips. “Jack bloody Hickathrift flirted with you, and you’re not even a tiny bit hot and bothered. Do you know how long I’ve been in love with that man?”

I sat down. “You’re welcome to offer yourself as his mollisher, but I think you’ll have to queue.”

“No, thank you. I’d want to be his one and only lover,” she purred.

I raised a faint smile at that, but it faded when I saw what she was working on. A list, she told me, of everywhere the new Senshield had been reported as being used. Cash machines, phone boxes, Scion taxis, and the doorways to oxygen bars, hospitals, schools, supermarkets, and homeless shelters had all been reported as potential death-traps. No voyant could go about the citadel for long without encountering something on that list.

Nick handed us each a mug of tea and a bowl of barley soup. The wan light from the oil lamp made his face look pinched.

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