Dr. Child’s rebuke is gentle. “I cannot speak about that. You are, after all, a prisoner of the Throne, and I am obliged to remain neutral.”

He has that saint’s opacity, but there’s no ill will in his demeanor she can detect. “Did the Archbishop come to see me?”

“That they did.”

So it was not a hallucination. Misery has quietly hidden Mother’s amulet under the gray slipsuit; she would rather die than be separated from it again. For a loathsome moment she’s flooded with gratitude at the Archbishop’s show of care. “If I asked what’s going to happen to me, would you be able to answer?”

His smile this time is genuinely sad. “Forgive me. I cannot.”

It was worth a shot. Misery wonders about the fear and sorrow in his expression—what does he know? She’s been told nothing about her punishment, and she’s sure it’s punishment that awaits. Forgiveness is a rare beast these days. What’s the penalty for killing a thousand rich fucks?

“It was really only a couple hundred deaths, give or take a dozen,” Ruin says.

The delusion reclines on the supply cabinet like a little saint, chin in hand. “You’ve been sentenced to die,” zie says. “The fatalities aside, it’s a capital offense to threaten the life of an emperor.”

Dizziness overcomes Misery, hypercondensed anxiety stirred into wonky blood pressure. A monitor screen bleats in consternation. Ruin continues, with measured insouciance: “Of course, there are procedures. Hearings and judgments and racks of bureaucracy. An ocean of protocol to follow. They’ll drag it out, turn it into dirty public spectacle. Don’t want people getting ideas about sedition being profitable, you know?”

Misery clenches her fists and tries to corral some thoughts, but her mind is choked with static and thinking is impossible. Ruin says: “While they’re making preparations, they’re sending you to Angelsteeth, a high-security base at the edge of the system. There are some interesting things there. I think you’ll like it.”

The delusion can’t possibly know that. How could zie know that? She must have overheard something while half-conscious. Misery forces her breathing into a reasonable pattern, but the blood pressure monitor remains unhappy at her. A death sentence, a high-security base. Surely there’s still some way out. Surely she can escape this.

“But why would you? It’s where you’re meant to be. It’s where the road to your destiny awaits.”

Oh. She sees what the delusion is doing. Ruin has taken on Crem’s job in his absence, telling her what’s she good for. Which is nothing. Worse than nothing. Effluvium of the world, a disgrace to the family.

“Oh, you of little faith,” Ruin says, running over with disdain. “You’ll see.”