The Grand Amphitheater sits at the lip of the Imperial quarter, an exclusive sector that is the heart of hearts in the Empire of the Faithful. Misery has made a good friend of the station map in the time since she’s been captive. Church and Throne each have their bubble, the two loci of power situated in opposition at the center of the Capital. In between these heavily fortified lobes lie seven great biodomes filled with life from the sourceworld. The light rail that connects Church to Throne runs right through them, glass tunnels punched into habitats that mirror the way things were on Old Earth, according to the legends. Misery and the Duke have a pod almost to themselves, discounting the six white-saint guards in Apisian colors, and Misery can’t help looking outward as the clear capsule runs along its strip of holy tigereye. In the jungle dome, an imitation sun lords over swells of green bursting with life. Widespread canopies heave with vines, and winged things burst forth in flashes of unimaginable color. Misery swears she won’t be awed, but finds herself holding her breath anyway. The capsule passes though an ice dome, a desert dome, a dome full of ragged cliffs and mist. In the ocean dome, glittering and blue, an enormous shadow passes over them, the shape and size of a midsize warship. “Blue whale,” the Duke explains. “Biggest living thing they took from the source.” Misery tries to imagine existing in a body with bones like that, obliterating reefs with one sweep of her tail, but her imagination cuts out. Can’t fathom what it’s like to live with that much power.

Ruin is in the water, a soft dark shape that glows as zie floats alongside the leviathan. The delusion has decided to tag along for the ride. Of course zie would; zie loves mess, and what’s about to happen is guaranteed mess.

Blue light breaks into yellow as they come out of the domes and into open space. The Imperial quarter wears a towering shell of projector glass, powered by holy opal and big enough to swallow moons. During the Imperial day it plays images of clouds and rain; at night it turns transparent, letting in starlight. Right now, which is evening, it casts slanting rays of gold over the tips and spires of the palace. The fast-approaching buildings gleam, surfaces all stone-smooth, wings and buttresses shaped in the gravity-defying patterns of holystone. “Is it all holy jade?” she asks.

“There’s holy marble and other supports,” says the Duke. “But yes. It’s mostly holy jade.”

“I’ve heard even the Grand Cathedral on Apis Prime isn’t holy jade all the way through.”

“It’s not.”