“I am pleased to hear it. I would hate for you to fall ill at this crucial stage of your time in Sheol I.” She traced her dinner knife with a gloved finger, still looking at me. “My red-jackets will join us in a few minutes, but I wished to speak to you first. A little ‘heart-to-heart.’”

It fascinated me that she thought she had a heart.

“The blood-consort has kept me informed of your development. He tells me he has tried his utmost to bring out your gift,” she said, “but you have failed to achieve full possession of a dreamscape—even an animal dreamscape. Is this true?”

She didn’t know. “It’s true,” I said.

“A pity. Yet you faced one of the Emim and survived—even wounded the creature. For that reason, Arcturus believes you should be made a red-jacket.”

I didn’t know what to say. For whatever reason, Warden hadn’t told her about the butterfly. Or the deer. That meant he didn’t want her to know about my abilities—but he did want me to be a red-jacket. What was he playing at this time?

“How quiet you are,” Nashira observed. Her eyes were glacial. “You were not quite so timid at the oration.”

“I was told I should only speak when required.”

“You are required now.”

I wanted to tell her where to stick her requirements. I’d been insolent with Warden; I shouldn’t think twice about doing the same to her—but her hand still lay on the knife, and her fixed gaze held no qualms. Finally, trying to sound suitably abased, I said: “I’m happy the blood-consort thinks me worthy of a red tunic. I’ve tried my best in my tests.”

“No doubt. But let us not be complacent.” She sat back in her chair. “I have some questions for you. Before your inaugural feast.”

“Inaugural?”

“Yes. Congratulations, 40. You are a red-jacket now. You must be introduced to your new associates, all of whom are loyal to me. Even above their own keepers.”

Blood pounded in my ears. Red-jacket. Bone-grubber. I’d reached the highest echelons of Sheol I, the inner circle of Nashira Sargas.

“I wish to speak to you about Arcturus.” Nashira looked into the fire. “You have been keeping quarters with him.”

“I have my own room. On the upper floor.”

“Does he ever ask you to come out of it?”

“Only for training.”

“Nothing else at all? Perhaps some light conversation?”

“He has no interest in talking to me,” I said. “What could I say that would be of any concern to the blood-consort?”

“An excellent point.”

I bit my tongue. She had no idea how much I interested him, how much he’d taught me under her nose.

“I imagine you have explored his quarters. Is there anything in the Founder’s Tower that troubles you? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“He has some plant extracts I don’t recognize.”

“Flowers.”