Tank and Diamond exchange glances, a moment of uncertainty as they each weigh the question and all the factors that make an answer. But Lightning says: “Don’t worry. I’ll go with you.”

A buzz of confusion—the knowledge of what the princess can do has not been widely disseminated. Lightning sighs. “Look. Since I was returned from the dead—well. Since I was returned from the cave where we found the archangel, I’ve been able to control the seraph freely. I was touched by divine Grace, and the tools of the Larex Forge now do my bidding, as though an extension of my body.”

A hush descends over the command room as the meaning of her words sinks in. Veins of disbelief and bewilderment run through the other captains, who weren’t fully briefed on this new ability of Lightning’s. Captain Crystal Martin’s face wrinkles with uncertainty. “You can control it the way Heretics do?”

“I can move it with my will. The Forge’s will.” The last part said with concentrated acid; Lightning chose her words carefully, and she does not appreciate the captain’s spin on it. “As I was in slumber, healing from my long journey, I heard the voice of the Forge call out to me. Zie said that I had been chosen as companion for the Messiah upon their journey. I was the first to herald their coming. I was present at their enlightenment and awakening. So let me accompany them. Let me be there as they deliver the most glorious of victories into our hands.”

She has a speechmaking instinct that would make Crem proud. Misery expects nothing less of the Imperial princess, fed the milk of power and influence from birth. “I need her by my side,” Misery says. “She will ease our path when we reach Monkglass.”

“Yes,” murmurs the General. “After all, they have been cut off from our networks for months. They would not know of her … fall from grace, shall we say. They would recognize her as a figure of authority.”

Silence falls again, contemplative and unsure. Misery scans the room trying to average out some kind of mean, gauge the overall mood of Angelsteeth’s decisionmakers. They’re afraid of commitment, afraid of saying yes to the big risk. She understands. Commitment is a scary thing. But that’s what faith is.

“So,” the major says, breaking the silence, “it’s decided, then?” Xe’s not thrilled about it. But the General believes, the Archbishop believes, who is xe to object? That no-nonsense character of xers, tending toward impatience. Xe desires quick resolution, aching for a path forward, a next step that requires action, even if xe does not agree with the principle of the action. A good soldier.

A collective breath held. The General nods once, finally. “It is decided. The two of you shall go. Let’s get to planning.”

“What you said at the command center. What was that about?”