"Not an isolated incident," Ilde repeats, patiently, hooking her fingers through Ivan's belt-loops and letting her attention settle properly on Deacon.

"The plague shut down the entire city, forced divine fucking intervention from the Twelve Point-" the first hint of something under that coolly fey exterior, now, but it doesn't present as anything more remarkable than irritation, "-and then before that, the invasion. Genetic experimentation- one of the animal breeds they sent out acted as a receptacle for the smaller ones. Not natural. Diseased, too." They were disgusting; Ilde had spent her time in the river, and when they'd been stupid enough to come near her she'd made them regret it. Briefly. "After the invasion, we found the houses- what they had inside. Candlelighters. The houses became the hives that carried the plague, and the book club propaganda is consistent with the texts they left behind."

With a tilt of her head, she says, "But they get dismissed as rumours and stories and incitement and that doesn't seem like a bad strategy if you don't want anyone looking closely at what you're doing and why."