On the inside of that shuttle, one portion of the dangerous cargo watches the rest. Misery, her wrists and ankle heavy with stone, studies the princess and the Duke, both silent and impenetrable in their despondency. A ring of foam lines the shuttle, with space for eight to twelve, and the three of them form points of a triangle along that circumference. Up front is the pilot’s seat. Major Reyes isn’t piloting, but xe sits beside the name-unknown grunt and watches Misery back. She doesn’t let her gaze linger over the major—xe intimidates her for reasons she can’t yet articulate. A pair of stone-faced guards with unnecessarily large guns rounds out their company.

To Misery’s unpracticed eye the princess looks more angry than dejected, which does not bode well for their future. Misery had better watch her back. And her front. After all, the last time the Lady Alodia Lightning tried to kill her, she wasn’t very subtle about it. Military prison won’t keep the princess from murder if she’s determined about it.

On the other hand, the Duke of Apis slumps in the memory foam consumed by dread, every plane of his beautifully sculpted face exuding hopelessness. Frankly, she’s worried about him; she had imagined that the fount of his good cheer would never run out. Wrong, obviously. She wishes she knew what he’s thinking. Who’s running the duchy now that he’s been imprisoned? Probably the Emperor’s installing someone amenable to his interests.

Even Major Reyes has noticed the Duke’s despair. “Chin up,” xe says. “You’ll find it isn’t so bad.” And the Duke does lift his chin, but specifically to fix the major with a glare so hot with anger it could melt glass.

The major just laughs, a gravelly noise. “You will see. Have some faith, Lord Argan.”

Faith, again. These people put so much stock in faith, Misery wants to spit blood.

Ruin slouches across the foam next to the Duke. The delusion grins at Misery’s seething discomfort. “Xe’s right,” zie says. “Things will be better than you imagine.”

Sure, like a delusion knows anything. She can’t imagine how things will smoothen out from here.

“Oh,” says Ruin, sitting up, sockets flaring with joyful light. “I said better, not smooth. I said nothing about it being smooth.”