Page 147 of The Bone Season

‘Our last meeting was not pleasant,’ Nashira said. ‘I trust you have had time to reflect on your conduct that night.’

I nodded once, avoiding the trap. I hadn’t been given permission to speak.

A bell jar stood in the middle of the table. Beneath the glass was a wilted flower, propped up by a wire stand, petals grey and shrivelled. Whatever kind it had been in life, it was unrecognisable in death. I couldn’t imagine why Nashira would have it on her dinner table – but then, she kept a fair amount of dead things hanging around.

I would soon be one of them, if something didn’t stop it.

She noticed my interest.

‘Some things are better off dead. Would you not agree?’ When I kept holding my tongue, she said, ‘You may speak freely at a feast.’

‘I’m not sure what you’re asking me, Suzerain.’

‘I hear three red-jackets accosted you. Kraz punished one with death,’ Nashira said. ‘Arcturus saw it as a squandering of many years of instruction, but we cannot allow you to come to harm, 40. You are worth more than all the others put together.’

There was cutlery in front of me, heavy and silver. The steak knife looked sharp.

‘Yet you still display contempt for our authority,’ Nashira said. ‘Suhail remains quite wroth with you, given your decision to attack and fell him. He has petitioned for me to punish you personally.’

Sitting in her presence was harder than I could ever have anticipated. All I wanted to do was shove the steak knife into her throat.

But I needed to keep a lid on my anger. Any hint of rebellion, and she might decide to cut her losses and kill me at once. I needed to convince her I was tamed, to buy myself as much time as possible – time to help Liss, form an escape plan, and leave before the Bicentenary.

‘I didn’t mean to attack Suhail,’ I said. ‘I can’t always control my gift.’

‘That much is apparent.’

‘I’m working on it.’

‘Are you, indeed?’

‘I’ve understood how lucky I am to be here, Suzerain. In London, I’m just an unnatural and a brogue. Here, I have a place. I have a purpose.’

‘Was it my consort who helped you make this realisation?’

‘Yes.’

The silence grew and grew. I had no idea whether or not to look at her.

In that silence, I made the grave mistake of looking up, allowing me to see the lines of plaster faces above the windows. Another strange choice of decoration. The nearest was peaceful, wearing the softest smile. A young woman, as calm as if she were asleep.

That was a famous French death mask. The face of a girl who was found in the Seine. Jaxon had a replica in the den. Eliza had made him cover it with a sheet, much to his annoyance. She said it made her skin crawl.

I looked around the room. All of the faces – the people – all of them were death masks. Nashira didn’t just collect spirits; she collected faces, too.

Seb could be up there. I dropped my gaze, pressing my lips together.

‘You seem unwell,’ Nashira said.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Good. I would hate for you to fall ill at this crucial stage of your training.’

She clasped her hands, allowing me to see the signet ring she wore over her glove, on her forefinger. I had to wonder if it was from Warden.

‘Some of the red-jackets will join us soon, but I wished to speak to you alone first,’ she said. ‘We will have a heart-to-heart, as you say.’

It fascinated me that she thought she had a heart.

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