“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your kindness. I am pleased you enjoyed the production.” She didn’t look pleased. “I am also pleased, to end the evening, to give you a brief demonstration of our justice system here in Sheol I. One of our clairvoyants has displayed such disobedience that she cannot be allowed to live. Like the Bloody King, she must be banished beyond the reach of the amaurotic population, where she can do no more harm.

“XX-59-40 has a history of treachery. She hails from the dairy county of Tipperary, deep in the south of Ireland—a region long since associated with sedition.” Cathal Bell shifted his weight uncomfortably. A few of the emissaries murmured. “After coming to England, she immediately became embroiled in the crime syndicate of London. On the night of March the seventh, she murdered two of her fellow clairvoyants, both Underguards in the service of Scion. It was a cold-blooded, cruel affair. Neither of 40’s victims died quickly. On that same night, she was brought to Sheol I.” Nashira paced across the stage. “We hoped we could educate her, teach her to control her gift. It pains us to lose young clairvoyants. It also pains me to admit that our endeavor to reform 40 has failed. She has repaid our compassion with insolence and brutality. There is no option left for her but to face the judgment of the Inquisitor.”

I looked past her. There was no scaffold on the stage; no gurney, no block. But there was a sword.

My blood stopped in my veins. That was no ordinary sword. Gold blade, black hilt. That was the Wrath of the Inquisitor, the sword that beheaded political traitors. It was only used when clairvoyant spies were discovered within the Westminster Archon. I was the daughter of a prominent Scion scientist. A traitor in the ranks of the naturals.

Alsafi and Terebell disappeared beneath the stage. I was left facing Nashira. She turned her head.

“Come forward, 40.”

I didn’t hesitate.

There was a hush as I emerged from behind the drapes. “Traitor,” Cathal Bell called, followed by some booing from the emissaries. I still didn’t look at them. It was rich of Bell to call me a traitor.

I walked with my head held high, forcing myself to focus only on Nashira. I didn’t look at the emissaries. I didn’t look at the gallery, where Warden had been taken. I stopped a few feet away. Nashira circled me, slowly. When she wasn’t in my line of vision, I looked straight ahead.

“You may wonder how we deal out justice here. With the noose, perhaps, or the fire of ancient days. Here is the Inquisitor’s sword, delivered from the citadel.” She indicated the Wrath. “But before I swing it, I wish to exhibit something else: the great gift of the Rephaim.”

There was a murmur.