Page 52 of The Song Rising

Nick circled his temples with his fingers. “Have it,” he said. “If it will help the country understand, have it.” His knee bounced. “I can’t project the emotions in the memory, you realize. Just images.”

“The images may be all that is needed. Visions of a violent past—portending a violent future.”

Nick nodded, resting his forehead on one hand.

“Let me do the projection,” Tom said gently, patting him on the back. “I’ve a wee bit more experience in the art.”

Another nod.

“It is settled, then. If you can persuade the Unnatural Assembly to perform the séance,” Warden said, “I will help you strengthen it.”

Tom grimaced. “You dinna think the Assembly will all hold hands together, do you?”

“Oh, they will,” I said.

“They willna like it, Underqueen.”

“I might be wrong,” I said, “but I don’t think Scion will give a damn whether they like it or not.”

9

The Cost

It took sixteen hours to gather enough of the Unnatural Assembly to perform the séance. They were scattered far and wide across the citadel, pinned down in various segments of the Beneath.

While the toshers tried to bring them to the facility, the rest of us got to work on making our new home habitable. We laid bedding on the bunks. A team was set up to work on the pumps and the ventilation system. What food we had carried was stashed in the canteen area, ready to be distributed. Weapons were taken from their owners and locked away.

The work kept me too busy to speak to Warden again. Sometimes we passed each other as we carried boxes of bedding between the sectors, and I would catch a glimpse of his face in the dim light, but I always avoided eye contact.

All the while, more voyants trickled into the facility. Some came through a passage that connected to the Underground, others through the sewers, and others still through a building on the surface.

We cleaned up the medical wing as best we could, pooling our supplies, and Nick and Wynn were handed the keys. Wynn immediately called me in and sat me down on a crate. Her hair was back in its fishtail braid.

“Let’s see that hand. And your face,” she said. “We can’t have you dying of infection before you go.”

The cut from Styx had long since stopped bleeding, but knowing me, I would tear it open if it wasn’t stitched. Wynn laid my hand in her lap, took a small bottle of alcohol from her skirts and tipped a little stream on to the cut on my palm, then dabbed some more on to my cheek.

“Are you all right, Wynn?”

“We’re used to poor treatment by now.” My palm smarted. “Paige, you must choose someone for Styx, and do it soon. He won’t forget about your bargain.”

“What will he do if I don’t send anyone?”

“He’ll go to Scion. The toshers take vows very seriously,” she said. “That’s why he cut you. Once the river has witnessed your oath, you’re bound to it. If you go back on it, there’s no reason for him to protect us.”

“Would you be opposed to me sending a vile augur?”

“Not if they were willing.”

“And if they weren’t?”

She slowed in her work. “That would depend.”

I let her clean my wounds in peace for a while. Once she was satisfied, she plucked a needle from her cardigan and washed it in the alcohol.

“Wynn,” I said, “you’ve seen that the voyants still despise Ivy.” Her face tightened. “It could cause a lot of trouble while you’re down here. They’re crying out for blood.”

Wynn looked up sharply. “Don’t you dare.”

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