Misery gives hir nothing in return. This is not a conversation she wants to have. Instead she ignores the delusion. She ignores hir when the white saints and companion soldiers come to claim their prisoner. Ignores hir as she is shackled at the wrists and her ankles are ringed with bands of holy tigereye. Says nothing through her long march down corridors that grow increasingly bare and metallic and harshly lit. Pretends the delusion doesn’t exist as she comes into the hangar bay where a shuttle waits to take her away from the Capital. Most of all, she gives the ersatz angel nothing when she sees her fellow convicts set for the same journey. Her heart skips several beats, but she keeps her lips folded and her mind flat and blank.

There’s the Duke of Apis, woebegone in carceral gray. Next to him, proud and stunning even in the drab jumpsuit, is the Imperial princess, Lee Alodia Lightning.

She graces Misery with a sardonic smile. “A wonderful predicament you’ve put us all in, Messiah.”

Lord Argan remains quiet, only looking at her as she passes by. She can’t parse what his sadness means, and wonders if he also resents her for his predicament. She can’t blame him for it. It occurs to Misery that Pyrex Imogen has cleverly managed to conceal their involvement in the whole affair, despite being the driving force behind it. Very canny of them.

The soldiers herd them toward a shuttle that idles at the mouth of the hangar, a silver lozenge whose rear gangway lies open, waiting for them. As they march toward that maw, feet heavy on the metal, a spectacular figure emerges from the darkness. A wiry, weathered nixen blessed with a pink trident of scar tissue across the face and a right arm that’s holy jade all the way to the shoulder. Tag reads Major Reyes Photon, xe/xer pronouns. Xe scans the prisoners. “Is that all three? Finally.” Xe props a fist on xer hips. “Let’s not waste any more time. All aboard for Angelsteeth.”

PART TWO ANGELSTEETH BASE

CHAPTER 8

Angelsteeth inhabits the edge of the duchy, several hours away by sublight warp. But this duchy is the zone of plenty, so that distance is laced with jump ports, lozenges of holy bluestone just large enough for a single ship. The silver shuttle with its biohazardous cargo leaps from one to the next over the course of twenty minutes. Military privilege.