I swung my legs off the bed. Through the bathroom door I could see the mirror. I looked like a bisque doll, but I could have looked worse. I could have looked like Ivy. Last time I’d seen her, she was walking behind Thuban with another human, so dirty and thin I’d barely recognized her. But she hadn’t been crying. Just walking. Silent. I’d been surprised she was alive after what had happened in the House.

Warden hadn’t let me get that way. He’d grown more and more reticent as September approached. I supposed it was fear. Fear that this rebellion would fail, like the last one. Sometimes it was more than fear. It occurred to me that he was angry. Angry that he was going to lose me. Lose the fight against Nashira.

I shook the thought away. Warden just wanted to protect my gift, like everybody else.

There was no point in prolonging it. I had to face the Guildhall. I stood and wound the gramophone again. It comforted me, somehow, that the music was still playing—whatever happened outside, a song would fill the empty chamber for a while. I closed the door of the tower behind me.

The night porter had just started her shift. Her hair was threaded into a shining chignon, and she wore rosy lipstick. “XX-40,” she said. “You’re expected at the Guildhall in ten minutes.”

“Yes, thank you. I know.” Like I hadn’t been told time and time again by the Overseer.

“I’ve been asked to remind you of your instructions this evening. You’re not permitted to speak with the ambassadors or the Scion sponsors, unless you’re accompanied by a Rephaite chaperone. The entertainment begins at eleven. You’ll be on the stage after the play.”

“On the stage?”

“Oh, um—” She looked back at her ledger. “Nothing. Sorry. That message was for someone else.”

I tried to look, but she shielded it. “Really?”

“Evening.”

I looked up. David. He wore a suit and a red tie, and he was clean-shaven. My stomach clenched. David did not look drugged. Michael must have done it, he must have done it.

“I’ve been sent to take you to the Guildhall.” He extended an arm. “The blood-sovereign wants you there now.”

“I don’t need an escort.”

“They think you do.”

He didn’t slur his words. He hadn’t so much as touched Duckett’s mixture. I brushed past him, ignoring his proffered arm, and headed down the street. This was not a good start.