She went ahead of the escort party. I kept my eyes on my boots. “Come,” Warden said. “The blood-sovereign is waiting.”

We walked toward the city center. The guards dropped back, keeping a respectful distance from Warden. His eyes really were a different color: orange. He caught me looking.

“If you have a question,” he said, “you may ask.”

“Where are we going?”

“To your first test. Anything else?”

“What bit you?”

He looked straight ahead. Then he said, “I rescind your invitation to speak.”

I almost bit my tongue in two. Bastard. I’d spent hours cleaning his wounds. I could have killed him. I should have killed him.

Warden knew the city well. He led us down several different streets until we reached the back of another residence, the residence where we’d had our oration. A plaque outside read THE RESIDENCE OF THE SUZERAIN. The guards bowed when he passed them, pressing their fists to their chests. Warden didn’t acknowledge either of them.

The gates closed behind us. The clang of the locks drew my muscles into bars. My eyes roved from wall to wall, from nook to cranny, seeking purchase for my hands and feet. Climbing plants grew thick and wild on the buildings, fragrant honeysuckle and ivy and wisteria, but only to a few feet above ground level. After that they were replaced by windows. We walked around a sand-colored path encircling an oval of grass, where a single lamppost stood. Its light shone through panes of red glass.

At the end of the path was a door. Warden didn’t look at me, but he stopped.

“Do not speak of the wounds,” he said, almost too quietly to hear, “or you will have cause to regret saving my life.”

He motioned to his entourage. Two of them went to stand on either side of the door; the other, a curly-haired male with an arresting stare, came to stand on my other side. Flanked by the guards, I was pushed through the door and into the cool interior of the building.

The room I entered was narrow and ornate, with walls of ivory stone. The left wall was scattered with warm colors, light refracted by the stainedglass windows, which seemed to drink in the glow of the moon. I could make out five memorial plaques, but I didn’t have time to stop and read them—I was being led to where light shone from an archway. Warden led me up three black marble steps, then dropped to one knee and bowed his head. I did the same when the guard stared at me.

“Arcturus.”

A gloved hand lifted his chin. I risked a glance.

Nashira had appeared. Tonight she wore a black dress that covered her from the neck down, rippling like water under the candlelight. She pressed her lips to Warden’s forehead, and he placed his hand against her abdomen.

“I see you have brought our little prodigy,” Nashira said, eyes on me. “Good evening, XX-40.”

She looked me up and down, and I had the sense that she was trying to read my aura. I threw up some precautionary barriers. Warden didn’t move. I couldn’t see his face.