Page 59 of Carousel

“Do you have anything to add to your statement?” Ephraine asks her.

“Nothing to add,” she says, to the crowd. “Only that a count of attempted murder could easily have been four counts of actual murder.”

Riss is excused and returns to us while Ephraine continues.

“I also have a statement here from Captain Dezeeves Pire.” He clears his throat. Shuffles his papers, bringing a new one to the front. “Threatening any prisoner of war – be they Integrating or Fully Integrated, is against our system here on The Emperor. A system that has been highly praised by The Assembly for reflecting our value of mercy. A system that not only combats our declining crew, but in improving the fleet through the knowledge and – in some cases – blood magic these Rhavnans may have.”

Ephraine says, with a tone of finality, “In light of this infraction of The Assembly’s Accords, article two under On Conduct, we call forwards your State Craftsman, Lore Mallory of Lore Village, to deliver the verdict.”

The ageing man in State Craftsman uniform steps forwards.

“Guilty,” he declares.

For the first time, Chapp’s composure slips. He tries to flee for the platform’s railing – only for Ephraine to kick him to the ground with such force I can hear the crack of bone from here.

“The sentence will be – in accordance with The Accords – Execution by Airlock.”

He hauls up Chapp by his long hair – Chapp flails against him, but it’s pointless – and then swings open the glass door and throws him through it into the smaller, self-contained dome.

Chapp beats his fists against the glass with such horror in his eyes, such violence, it makes me wince. He’s clearly shouting, screaming, for his life, but all we can hear is silence.

I turn to face the others for the first time. Riss, for all of her confidence on the platform, looks pale now, as does Cosmer.

But Drake, as always, seems unnervingly relaxed. He could be watching a Rhavnan play, or listening to a poet, for all you’d know from the look on his face. Has he witnessed many executions? Or is he just highly skilled in hiding anything he’s thinking or feeling?

After watching Chapp thrash about a while with what I’m sure is enjoyment, Ephraine finally yanks down a large lever by the glass door, set into the platform. The back of the smaller dome slides left instantly, and from what I can see, it’s like a rush of wind floods in.

One second Chapp is there, the next he’s gone.

Ephraine and the State Craftsman nod at each other before climbing down from the platform. The soldiers and pilots around us are leaving.

I realise I’ve been holding my breath. Like I’m expecting there to be more. Chapp hardly even had the chance to defend himself.

Even though I know for a fact he was guilty, what I’ve just witnessed somehow still seems wrong.

I force my eyes away from the platform. They land on Cosmer, who, it seems, has been staring at me strangely.

I hate it. Because it reminds me of the last time he looked at me like that – right before he scolded me for not staying in the cabin.

It made me feel so small. And weak.

“Please don’t ask me if I’m all right,” I say to him.

His eyes crinkle up. “Okay, then. I won’t.”

I turn to Riss. Look at her, pleadingly.

“I want to learn how to fight,” I say, my voice clear. “If there’s ever another Chapp, I need to be able to defend myself.”

She looks taken aback.

But Cosmer pipes up before she can answer. “You don’t need to know how to defend yourself. You’re in Intelligence. It’s not part of your Integration.”

“What about at night?” I ask. Sharp.

“At night, I’m in your room.”

“And if you’re asleep? Or you’re not there?”