The Lords look uncomfortable, except Corday. She seems amused, though only slightly.

The Tiger sits back down at Orso’s words, trembling with ire.

The Dead Lord stands and pointedly turns his back on the table of his peers. He looks out over the spectators of the Miracle Court, who are watching with hushed attention.

Then he turns his gaze to Ettie. “This night, the Girl Who Walks by Day will die, and you will be born anew among the Dead. This night, you join the Wretched, giving yourself as a child to the Court of Miracles, as a daughter to the Ghosts.” Orso turns Ettie to face him and asks, “Are you ready, my child?”

Ettie looks at me in confusion. She doesn’t know what’s coming. I should have warned her, but I didn’t want to scare her. Fear so often makes the pain worse.

I nod for her to agree.

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl.” He pushes her gray cloak from her shoulder and tilts her head, baring the tender flesh below her ear. Loup steps forward; he’s carrying a long metal rod that is glowing red with heat.

“It will hurt,” Orso warns.

Ettie looks at me, eyes wide with fear. I take her hand.

The burning rod comes down on her skin. She screams and sways, and I feel a bitter tug of guilt as I catch her. I want to whisper, I’m sorry. But the Court is no place for sympathy. Loup takes the metal from her skin, and she collapses onto me. I hold her tight as her body shakes with dry retches. I pin her arms to her sides as the tears pour down her face and she tries to claw at her neck, which must feel like it’s on fire. She sobs in my arms.

The song starts, in whispers at first, till it grows and swells, soaring about us.

“We were born in the darkness, thou and I, my brother,

All forgotten, all in the grave,

All tooth, and club, and steel, and claw,

Side by side and unafraid.”

As voices join the chorus, they echo and ring around the hall, a thousand voices melding into one.

“We are of one blood, thou and I, my sister,

Bound by pack and Law the same.

When hunger or sickness or war shall take you,

I will sing the death song in your name.”

Ettie’s sobs have quieted. From time to time she trembles with pain.

“Cry no more, my sweet,” Orso says. “I know it hurts, but this is not a time for tears. There’s great joy after the pain.” He nods at me.

I lead Ettie off the stage, refusing to meet Thénardier’s eye. Orso perches on the steps of the stage. The Ghosts crowd around him like shadows. They make space for me, and I settle in among them as they coo over Ettie’s mark. Ettie lays her head in my lap and I stroke her blond curls. She’s shaking. Or maybe it’s me. I can’t tell anymore.