They walked past cells carved into the rock, all blessedly empty. Although once she thought she saw something move deep in the bowels of one of the foul cages but could not be sure. Finally, they came to a stop. Mr. Ibrahim fiddled with a sconce on the wall, and a lamp came to life, casting a soft white glow in a wide swath around them.

“You keep her in the dark?” she asked, outraged.

“The Fallen do not need light.” He said it with the confidence of one who had studied a people from afar but never shared a dinner table with them.

“Of course she needs light.”

His gaze cut to Celeste, doubtful. “Even so, divinity remains in the walls. It casts enough light by which to see.”

The walls beside her were black and empty. “There is no divinity here. You yourself said this place is depleted!”

He looked surprised. “I was told as much by the prisoners but thought them liars.” He studied her in the lamplight. “I believe you are the first Fallen who has ever been down here who was not a prisoner.”

Words like “monstrous” and “barbarity” rose to her lips, but before she could utter them, a voice spoke from the cell before them.

“Celeste?”

She turned. “Mariel?”

Mariel emerged from the darkness, ragged and damaged, birthed back to Celeste like a once-discarded goddess. She was still beautiful—nothing could dull that—but her raven hair was tangled and wild around her brown face, and her once-fine Aventum dress was torn and filthy. A massive welt purpled her cheek.

She held a hand across her golden-ringed eyes, blinking in the light.

“Oh, Mariel!” Celeste rushed to her, but there were bars between them. She pressed her hands forward and was able to touch her palms to her sister’s, twine their fingers together.

Celeste smiled, trying to convey a half dozen feelings at once.

Mariel wept, tears cutting streaks down her unwashed face. “Get me out of here,” she hissed.

“I’m working on it.” Celeste squeezed her fingers once before letting go and turning back to Ibrahim. She channeled all her remembered Elect entitlement and said, “What is the meaning of this? No light, no food, no medical care? You purport to believe that we are all God’s children, but you have treated my sister as no more than an animal.”

The Virtue pursed his lips but said nothing.

“She is innocent until judgment,” she continued. “You said so to my own ears. Or are you a hypocrite, Mr. Ibrahim? A member of an order that calls itself just but would treat a woman like—”

“Enough, Miss Semyaza.” His voice was quiet, but his words had sharp ends. “You have made your point. I will fetch a doctor.”

“And food and clean clothes and—”

He lifted his hand, palm forward, and now his voice showed his irritation. “Do not push my goodwill.”