Page 21 of The Bone Season

‘It can’t be true,’ I said in a whisper.

‘Look at them.’ Julian barely moved his lips. ‘They’re not human.’

‘There is no such thing as a Netherworld.’ I shut up for a moment when a Rephaite passed. ‘There’s here and the æther. That’s it.’

‘Rotties can’t sense the æther, but it’s real. Who’s to say there isn’t more?’

A wild laugh bubbled up inside me. I managed to restrain it. I had imagined many reasons for voyants being taken, but nothing like this.

Across the room, a Rephaite stopped in front of Carl. Her clothes were particularly spartan, down to her sturdy boots and the plain cut of her doublet.

‘XX-59-1,’ she said, ‘I lay claim to you.’

Carl swallowed. Once his new keeper had pointed him towards one side of the room, the Rephaim returned to their circling, like flimps sizing up wealthy marks. I wondered how they were choosing us.

After a few minutes, the whisperer joined Carl. Pleione claimed the oracle. One by one, we were picked like fish at the market.

A male with an angular face chose the palmist. She wept in panic, gasping ‘please’ to no avail. Julian was taken not long after – 26. He shot me a worried look and went with his new keeper.

They got to 38. Finally, there were only a few of us left: the amaurotics, a polyglot, and me.

The polyglot – a small boy with cornrows, probably no more than twelve – was led away by Pleione and given the number 39. Now I was the only voyant.

The Rephaim looked to Nashira. My spine pulled tight.

The one who had been watching me stepped forward to stand at her side. They seemed to have a silent conversation before she crooked a finger at me.So much for keeping my head down.

Seb was still unconscious. Noticing my predicament, one of the amaurotic men took him from my arms. Every eye was on me as I walked across the marble floor, my footsteps echoing, too loud.

I stopped in front of the platform. Nashira watched me, one hand on the balustrade. She wore black leather gloves, as they all did.

‘What is your name?’

‘Paige,’ I said.

‘And where are you from?’

I lifted my chin. ‘Ireland.’

A murmur passed through the room.

‘I see,’ Nashira said. ‘Your aura is intriguing. Tell us what you are.’

‘I don’t know.’

Head down, eyes open.

‘A mystery, then. I have good news for you,’ Nashira said. (I highly doubted it.) ‘You have caught the attention of my consort – Arcturus, Warden of the Mesarthim. He has decided to be your keeper.’

The other Rephaim exchanged glances, expressionless.

‘It is rare that he takes an interest in a human,’ Nashira told me. ‘You are fortunate.’

I didn’t feel especially fortunate. I felt like death warmed over.

Arcturus looked down at me. A very long way down.

‘XX-59-40.’ His voice was deep and soft. ‘I lay claim to you.’

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