Misery decides on generosity. “I understand, Major. It’s not that you’re skeptical, you’re simply tired of surprises. You did not expect that being called to serve the Forge would come with so much uncertainty. But we are all on this path together. A shared journey. The Larex Forge reveals Hir hand to us when Zie wills so.”

Lightning ducks her head as Misery says her piece. Yes. Good. Let her contemplate her role in the way these events have played out.

In the ensuing silence, the Duke of Apis leans forward. “Misery, did you really not know what the Lady Storm Mirelle looked like? The siege started months before this. She was on the waves quite a lot.”

Misery glances evenly at him. He should know better, do better than this. “Lord Argan. You have not spent much time outside of the duchy’s capital, have you?”

The guilt that shines through is all the confirmation she needs. General Tsung, who like Misery grew up in an area of neglect, says: “I believe their testimony.” The cut of their gravelly voice silences the rest of the room.

Diamond is not here, by Misery’s choice. She doesn’t need to be here. Ono Red-2’s captain still doesn’t know about Esse Temple, still doesn’t know about her great foe’s involvement in the siege. A volatile mix, waiting to go off; Misery would prefer she learn these facts in a controlled environment. After all, Diamond’s already convinced of the cause. She would follow Misery to Monkglass with no reservations. She does not, in fact, need to be here.

“Child,” says Pyrex Imogen, the words trembling like jelly, “when you dreamed of her … when you dreamed of Mirelle. Tell me. What was she like? Was she all right?”

“She was…” Misery wonders how to articulate the granularity of her dreams, their simultaneous bleakness and blandness. The suffocating nothingness of being within them. It’s a state of waiting, she realizes. Waiting with no end in sight. A state of besiegement. “She was all right. She seemed sad. Tired.”

“Oh.” Pyrex Imogen’s exclamation is quiet and matted with grief. They lower their head, trapped in private agony. Misery wishes she understood. Her longing for home has dulled to a soft ache that no longer bothers her. In a way she was blessed by the Larex Forge, growing up in a broken house that broke her also. It leaves her with few attachments, no psychic tangle messing her up, no homesickness to catch her by the ankles. She can get where she needs to go.

“So this discovery,” the General says, breaking the silence. “Is the sign that you were looking for?”

“It is indeed.” Now that she is sure, now that she has decided, the anxiety has left her like a swamp drained. She will not rest until the will of the Larex Forge be done.