The Mime Order (The Bone Season, #2)

by Samantha Shannon

Arcturus

We’d never met on neutral ground before.

“They know that you started the revolt. Terebell and Errai know about the golden cord. And they know of a Sargas rumor of something more between us.” His gaze held mine. “That is all they know.”

I am a flesh-traitor. A renegade,” he said, indifferent as ever. “All Rephaim have been told of my disloyalty.”

“What does being a flesh-traitor entail?” “It is to be denied access to the Netherworld for all eternity. To be non-Rephaite. A blood-traitor betrays the ruling family, but the flesh-traitor betrays all Rephaim. To earn these punishments, I committed one of the very highest flesh-crimes. I consorted with a human.”

“You knew that was the consequenc...

I couldn’t keep this up for two more years. I wasn’t a good enough actor to keep spinning along in his danse macabre. The scrimmage was my only chance to break free of his hold.

Something told me not to tell him that the scars had been washed away by amaranth.

So you’ve got two people who are on the right side of the truth and two who aren’t,”

“How does . . . the one who lives underground . . . know about the puppet masters?”

“A hand without living flesh, its fingers pointing to the sky. Red silk surrounds its wrist like a manacle. The hand snatches white feathers from the ground. Two fingers break away, but it keeps snatching.”

A hand without living flesh, its fingers pointing to the sky.

At that time, their leaders were the Mothallath family. The star-sovereign, Ettanin Mothallath, had decided that Rephaim should enter the physical world and soothe the ethereal unrest, encouraging the spirits to go into the Netherworld, where they could come to terms with their deaths in peace.

The star-sovereign, Ettanin Mothallath, had decided that Rephaim should enter the physical world and soothe the ethereal unrest, encouraging the spirits to go into the Netherworld, where they could come to terms with their deaths in peace.

“So that’s what the Netherworld is for,” I said. “To ease the passage of death. To sto...

A proud and respected family of scholars—the Sargas, whose duty had been to study the ethereal threshold—had decided that crossing the veil would be an act of inconceivable desecration. Their belief was that interaction between Rephaim and humans should be avoided, that their immortal flesh would perish on Earth. But the threshold was climbing higher, and the Mothallath rejected their counsel.

Their belief was that interaction between Rephaim and humans should be avoided, that their immortal flesh would perish on

To protect themselves, the Mothallath made a strict law that they would never reveal themselves to humans. They were always to maintain their distance.” “But someone didn’t,” I guessed.

It was only after that event—the Waning of the Veils, as Rephaim call it—that humans began to interact with spirits.

War had torn through the Netherworld then, war that turned Rephaite against Rephaite and all factions against the Emim.

Those who were still loyal to the Mothallath called themselves Ranthen, after the amaranth—the only flower that grew in the Netherworld.

The Sargas won. The Mothallath were usurped and destroyed, and the Netherworld could sustain us no longer.”

“To save themselves,” he said, “the Ranthen declared loyalty to the Sargas.

Nashira— one half of this pair—declared that she would take one of the traitors as her blood-consort, to show them that even their leaders would conform to the new order. As ill luck would have it, she chose me.”

“The Ranthen believe the Netherworld can be restored, but we do not wish it to be isolated from the human world, as it once was.

“To prevent the total collapse of the veils.”

“It has never happened before,” he said, “but I feel it will end in a cataclysm, as do many other Rephaim. The Sargas aim to bring it about. The Ranthen aim to stop it.”

Most Rephaim cannot abide living here, as half-things, and many bitterly resent the Sargas for forcing them to stay.”

“Everything here is dying. Even your fuels are made of decomposed matter.

Humans use death as a means of sustaining life. To most Rephaim, that is an unpleasant thought. They see that as the reason why humans are so bloodthirsty, so violent. Most Ranthen would leave if they had the choice. But the Netherworld is broken, too. Decaying, like the Emim. And so we must stay.”

do not believe in Sargas lies,” he said. “You are alive until your dying day, Paige. Do not let their madness into your mind.”

“I am indeed.” He inclined his head. “Knowing that, are you willing to continue our alliance?”

So what the hell is it that you want, Arcturus Mesarthim?”

“You are not the only choice. But if I could choose anyone on earth, it would still be you, Paige Mahoney.”

“Warden.” “Hm?” “Why did the amaranth bloom?” “If I knew,” was his reply, “I would tell you.”

The symbol of the Spiritus Club—two fountain pens inside a circle, joined to create the hands of a clock—was carved on to a shield above the mantelpiece.

“He does keep the Unnatural Assembly posted on his section’s changes. He’s had three mollishers that I know of. I never heard the first one’s name, but the second was called the Jacobite, and the most recent is La Chiffonnière. She became mollisher in February this year.”

Flimsy. Like a moth.

There were two more weeks until the scrimmage. All I had to do was stay alive until then.

Warden was waiting for me near the desecrated sundial pillar. He stood when I approached. The sight of him sent a tremor down my back.

“There is a reason I have been behaving the way I have. What happened between us in the Guildhall is common knowledge among Rephaim. Nashira has spent a great deal of time telling her people that I am a rotmonger and a flesh-traitor.” He looked me in the eye. “But you must deny it, repeatedly and emphatically if need be, to the Ranthen.”

Because the truth must be too awful for Rephaim to wrap their heads around.

She went straight to Warden and pressed her forehead to his, murmuring to him in Gloss. They were almost of a height. The sight of it made something wrench behind my ribs.

“They are calling you the great fleshmonger of London. They say the earth beneath your feet is scorched and rotten.” Her gaze slid down to my boots. “It looks decidedly undamaged to me.”

indoctrinate

“You’re visibly sickened by my presence.

“It has many properties,” Warden said, “the most useful of which is masking the aura. A small dose will corrupt its appearance, so the nature of the gift cannot be determined. Naturally, harvesting the blood is a perilous venture, and tasting it, a deeply unpleasant one.”

“The amaranth in bloom,” Errai said, looking as irritated as Rephaim could look. “It is the Ranthen’s call to arms, that which will persuade our old allies to return to us. Why do you think we never acted before now? We were waiting for the true sign. For an opportunity to revive what has faded.” My head was

She turned to Warden and spoke to him in Gloss, her whole body held up as if by a taut rope. He looked at me for a while.

And know that if you do not succeed in the ring, I will make you sorry you were ever born.”