“No. I simply wished to organize my collection of requisitioned drugs,” he said. I had no idea if he was being funny or not. Probably not. “Some of them, such as the poppy anemone, can be used to harm us.” He took a single red flower from the box. “Certain poisons must be kept out of human hands.” His eyes were fixed on mine. “We would not want them used to, say, infiltrate the House. That would put our most secret supplies in jeopardy.”

Red flower. I remembered David’s note. The sole method.

The sole method of killing Rephaim?

“No,” I said. “We wouldn’t want that.”

It was quiet in the Rookery, I hadn’t seen Liss since Suhail had escorted me to Magdalen; I’d had no chance to check on her, to see if she’d survived the loss of her deck.

She was conscious, but not present. Her lips were pale, and her eyes wandered, unfocused. She was in the throes of spirit shock.

Julian and the bespectacled performer from the first day—Cyril—had made it their mission to look after her. They fed her, brushed her hair, treated her burned hands, and talked to her. She just lay there, stiff and clammy, murmuring about the æther. Now she could no longer connect with it, her natural urge was to abandon her body and join with it. It was up to us to quell that urge. To keep her with us.

I swapped two pills for a Sterno, some matches, and a tin of beans at Duckett’s jerryshop. There were no cards at his stall. They’d all been confiscated by a red-jacket: Kathryn, making sure Liss suffered. She was lucky Warden had prevented her from seeing me.

When I returned to the shack, Julian looked up, his eyes red with exhaustion. His pink tunic was gone, replaced by a ragged shirt and cloth trousers.

“Paige, you’ve been gone a while.”

“I’ve been away. Explain later.” I knelt beside Liss. “Is she eating?”

“I got her to eat a bit of skilly yesterday, but she threw it all back up.”

“And the burns?”

“Bad. We need Silvadene.”

“We’ll try and feed her again.” I stroked her damp ringlets, pinched her cheek. “Liss?”

Her eyes were open, but she didn’t respond. I lit the Sterno. Cyril drummed his fingers on his knee. “Come on, Rymore,” he said to her, irritated. “You can’t be off the silks for this long.”

“A little sympathy wouldn’t go amiss,” Julian said.

“No time for sympathy. Suhail will be after her soon. She’s supposed to be performing with me.”

“Haven’t they found out yet?”

“Nell’s been filling in for her. They look similar in costume, with masks—same height, same hair color. But Nell isn’t as good. She falls.” Cyril gazed at Liss. “Rymore never falls.”