When I nodded, she took something from the table. A brooch, badly tarnished by the years, it was shaped just like the flower on his snuff box. “Have you ever seen this symbol in the Founder’s Tower?”

“No.”

“You seem very sure.”

“I am sure. I’ve never seen it.”

She looked straight at me, into my eyes. I tried to hold her gaze.

A door closed in the distance. A line of red-jackets walked into the room, escorted by a male Reph I didn’t recognize. “Welcome, my friends.” Nashira beckoned them. “Please, sit.”

The Reph pressed a fist to his chest and left the room. I scanned the human faces. Twenty bone-grubbers, each wellfed and clean as a whistle. They must come in groups. The veterans from Bone Season XIX were at the front. Kathryn was there, as were 16 and 17. At the back of the line was Carl, clad in a red tunic, his hair combed and parted. He stared at me with wide, reproachful eyes. He must never have seen a pink-jacket at the blood-sovereign’s table.

They all took their seats. Carl was forced to sit in the only available chair—the one opposite me. David sat down a few places away. There was a fresh cut on his head, sealed with a row of Steri-Strips. He looked up at the death masks with raised eyebrows.

“I am pleased you could all join me tonight. Thanks to your continued efforts, there have been no notable Emite attacks this week.” Nashira looked at each of them in turn. “Having said that, we must not forget the constant threat of the creatures. There is no cure for their brutality, and—thanks to the broken threshold—no way in which to imprison them in the Netherworld. You are all that stands between the hunters and their prey.”

They nodded. They all believed it. Well, maybe not David. He was looking at one mask with a slight smile.

I caught Kathryn’s eye across the table. A massive bruise wept down one side of her face. 16 and 17 didn’t even glance at me. Good. If they looked at me I might not be able to stop myself chucking a dinner knife at them. Liss was still outside, dying, all because of them.

“22”—Nashira turned to look at the grubber on her right—“how is 11? I understand he is still at Oriel.”

The young man cleared his throat. “He’s a little better, blood-sovereign. No sign of infection.”

“His bravery has not gone unnoticed.”

“He’ll be honored to hear it, blood-sovereign.”

Yes, blood-sovereign. No, blood-sovereign. Rephs did love a good ego-stroke.