“No,” says the princess Lee Alodia Lightning, and she’s staring right at Misery, making sure she’s paying attention. “I’m royal blood. I can hold an audience too. You’re not the only one who checked the rules. Plus, primogeniture is bullshit.”

Her brother the coward Emperor chokes with indignation. But Alodia Lightning’s gaze bores into Misery like it’s acid. It’s a test. When they fought in the bowels of the station, Misery woke the holy ruby weapon in the princess’s hand. She knows Misery is different. She knows. And she craves something—more knowledge, perhaps. She’s not afraid, not that Misery can tell. She wants to see what else Misery can do.

The princess’s gaze is the thunderclap that ruptures the walls holding Misery together. But instead of destroying her—instead of tearing her to incoherent shreds—instead of breaking her and turning her flesh into unspeakable monstrosity—instead of doing any of that, it frees her. The pressure built up inside her, gone. The tension and dread that have plagued her since she set foot on this station, gone. A great weight upon her soul, which she hadn’t realized was there, also gone. Misery feels lighter than she has in ages, as though she could reach out and touch every star in the universe with her bare fingers. Infinite possibilities lie before her. Does she know what she needs to do? She does.

The delusion that calls hirself Ruin blazes with purpose and hunger in the periphery of her vision, human borders subliming into something approaching the divine. “So do it,” zie says. “Do what your heart is telling you.”

People like the Emperor cannot be persuaded by words alone. The callous ranks of the privileged will not accept a gentle guiding hand. They need to be bullied, all of them. Misery has to put the fear of the Larex Forge in them. She has to be like her brother.

She closes her fists.

Misery summons a speaker drone with the ease of a saint, calling its holy tigereye to her side. Beside her the Duke tenses with anxiety: “What are you doing?” She ignores him. A greater mission calls, the voice of a higher authority speaks. She knows now that she has been prepared for this since childhood. A thousand sermons bubble within her, the foamy-mouthed offspring of raw material injected into her being when it was still soft, when she was still forming. She lets her spirit fill with the ghost of her brother at the pulpit, railing against sin and excess while she rolled her eyes at the back of the churchhall. She draws upon the deep well of disdain and anger he would turn upon her, little sister whose misbehavior displeases the Larex Forge.

Misery fills her lungs with breath. “All of you. Listen to me.”