It’s the Duke. Forge end him. Misery runs, and the clatter of boots becomes an avalanche. The edge is close, there’s just the aegis, which she can turn off—

A line of silent white saints blocks her from freedom. Fuck. Misery comes to a halt, recalibrating, and the Duke catches up to her. “Misery. Listen. Let’s just talk, you and I. Come on.”

She drops her shoulders and slowly turns to face the man who brought her here. Lord Bichap Amran Argan, the seventeenth Duke of Apis, he/him pronouns. Can’t miss him in a crowd. Tall as statuary, blessed with the dusky skin, strong nose, and wide-set eyes of his family line. Handsome (but not her type). Today he’s decked out in silk and leather, white cape cascading off gold jacket embroidered with the honeycomb of House Apis. Still on his bullshit even in pursuit of a fugitive. The dim light does not dull his saint’s crown, dark brown and curly and cascading to his shoulders. Teal iridescence flashes in its depths as he approaches slowly, hands up, as though Misery were a grimclaw ready to snap.

Ah, the Duke. The dear, gullible man. She shouldn’t have lied about being sent by the Larex Forge when they caught her breaking into the base on Rootsdown. And shouldn’t have repeated the same lie when the Duke showed up, having schlepped all the way to her asspit moon colony because she claimed to be divinely sent. The lie worked, but at what cost?

“I know you’re upset by how you’ve been treated,” he says. Voice smooth as oiled leather. “I get it. I feel the same way. What the Throne has done is terrible. It’s unfair, and unjust, and it’s not your fault. They shouldn’t be treating you like a criminal. You’re not.”

Misery shifts her weight to the other leg. The Duke is backed up by a dozen soldiers in Apisian gold and shiny silver faceplates, and their armor and guns obliterate the friendliness he’s trying to project. She’s half listening to him, half tightening her grip on nearby stone. The white saints have circled around, cutting her off from escape. She lets the Duke keep talking.

“Misery, I am not your enemy. If you come with me, I promise, I will fight to keep you in my protection while we’re here. The Church and I will take care of you. I know right now things look bad, but the Throne can be swayed to our side, with faith and with prayer. All we need is time.”