Enough of the enslaved Knights Aeris had survived the Battle of Riva to lift a wind coach, though there were precious few others. Each evening, when dark lay on the land, Isana would accompany the vord Queen to the wind coach. She would emerge directly from the Queen’s hivelike lair to climb aboard the coach. The coach would soar up into the sky, just as every other coach she had ridden in. After a time, it would descend again, depositing them at the entrance to another hive.

The Queen would lead Isana back down into the new hive. Dozens of wax spiders would cooperate to carry Araris, still virtually entombed in a coffin-sized slab of croach, down to the new hive, where they would seal him to the wall as before.

Once that was finished, they sat down at a table (one always waited to receive them) to take a meal together. Genuine candles would light the table, though the eerie glow of the croach was more than enough light to see by. The food was... Isana wasn’t sure she could justly call it a form of torture, any more than she could have ascribed malevolence to Tavi’s disastrous first effort at cooking griddle cakes when he was a child. But whether ignorance or malice was to blame, the food twisted unpleasantly in her stomach. Eating sliced sections of the croach inexpertly prepared in the imitation of one dish or another was an experience Isana could have done without.

Several days after the Battle of Riva, Isana descended into the evening’s hive and watched the spiders settling Araris into the croach.

“I have a surprise for you,” the vord Queen said.

Isana had to keep herself from flinching. She hadn’t realized the Queen was standing at her elbow. “Oh,” she said, her tone neutral. “A surprise?”

“I have given consideration to your reasons for desiring properly prepared implements for the dinner ritual.”

“Clean dishes,” Isana said. “A clean tablecloth? Clean cutlery?”

“Your species is young and weak,” the vord Queen said. “Disease is no enemy of the vord. We have lived longer than most diseases. We have survived them. The hygienic concerns of the dinner ritual are unnecessary.”

“And yet,” Isana said, “if you do not follow them, you are not doing it properly.”

“Just so,” the vord Queen said. “There are... intangible factors at work here. Things that make your kind difficult to predict.” The petulant tone of a sulking child entered the Queen’s voice. “Their backs should have been broken at Riva. But they fought more tenaciously than at any time in my observation.”

“And they will only grow more determined,” Isana said. “Not less.”

“That is irrational,” the Queen said.

“But true.”