“They are.”

Misery’s heartbeat quickens at the revelation unfolding before her. Conspiracy! Conspiracy against the Throne! A twist she didn’t see coming, but instantly opens her mind with a breadth of possibilities for her future. The General has turned their attention to her, their gaze febrile with curiosity. They know of Misery, and they’re curious about this contradiction that has landed in their lap—is Misery a savior or a serial killer? They haven’t yet decided. Here, then, is someone willing to give her a chance. Someone who might be amenable to suggestion.

“Is that them?” the General asks of the princess.

“It is. They don’t look like much, but I assure you they have caused untold amounts of damage.”

“That sounds promising.”

Misery keeps her face neutral and her gaze respectful. Speak only when she’s spoken to—for now. She wants to make a good first impression. Under the General’s scrutiny, she puts on the right veneer of humility.

They ask: “Are you the one they call the Savior of Rootsdown?”

“I am.” Modestly ducking her head.

“And what are you here to do?”

It’s a trap, this query. She answers it the way the Church always answers difficult questions: with soapwater bullshit. “I have come to do what I am asked.” The religious do love these sentiments about service and answering to a higher power. It gives them a veneer of plausible deniability when shit goes sideways. Wasn’t me, ’twas the will of the Forge.

“And are you willing to cleave to deception while carrying out your mission? Are you willing to bend the rule of the law?”

What is happening now? Misery’s arrest history is public, they know her history, so what purpose does this question serve? The General seems genuine in their sincerity, they’re not trying to catch her out, but she can’t know for sure. She needs to think this answer over. Think fast.

And then she’s saved by a siren, a song of glorious victory that fills the arches of the docking bay and wakes old memories in the pit of Misery’s stomach. It’s got the same tune as the summons for morning prayer back home, but a different arrangement. More martial, more urgent. The docking bay fills with purple light.

The General’s expression shifts as they look up. A habit of those who grew up wellbound, seeking the sky for answers. “They’re early.”

Major Reyes frowns. “Maybe. It’s within the window. Isn’t it?”

“Is it a raid?” asks the Lady Alodia Lightning.

“It is indeed.” General Tsung pins Misery with their gaze. “So, Misery Nomaki. The fates have aligned for you, it seems. The Larex Forge has decided to test you as soon as you arrived. Come. It is time to prove yourself.”

CHAPTER 9