Page 134 of The Mask Falling

“Unless you believe two unarmed humans to be a threat to me, Vigile, I will not require a chaperon,” Arcturus said. “Get outside and search the groves. Bring any infiltrators to the north wing, alive and unharmed, or the blood-sovereign will hear of your incompetence.”

The Vigile offered a smart bow. “My lord.”

They both made themselves scarce, leaving the three of us alone.

The Lower Gallery was attached to the central vestibule of the palace, which had smooth red pillars, veined with white, like meat. I leaned on one of them.

“Okay. We’re in.” I tried to slow my breathing. “There are two clusters of dreamscapes. One in this wing, one in the other. They might be prisoners, or they might be Vigiles in a guardroom.”

Renelde held a hand to her chest. “What about Malperdy?”

Finding him was harder. “North wing. This floor.”

“He is alive, then.”

“For now,” I said. She suddenly pinched her nose. “What is it?”

“Le Vieux Orphelin. He is . . . sending me an image. A door.” She blinked several times. “I will search the north wing and start to move prisoners toward the reservoir, as planned. With any luck, I will intercept Léandre and Ankou.”

“We’ve got the south wing,” I said. “Good luck.”

Renelde was gone without a sound. Pain throbbed deep in the flesh of my calf, and my trouser leg was damp inside. Arcturus turned to the front doors.

When he opened them, the frigid air hit me again. So did a shimmer of sleet. As we strode across the black-and-white marble at the front of the palace, I dared not look over my shoulder. The windows of the King’s Apartment watched over this courtyard. In the distance, through the fog, I could make out the vanguard of soldiers, their silhouettes sketched out by gas lamps.

Don’t turn around.

Arcturus silently opened another set of doors, and we were back inside, out of sight of the soldiers. A wide staircase took us up to the former apartments of the queens of France. With my fatigue tided back again, I took them two at a time.

“Jaxon will be in the King’s Apartment. I’m sure of it,” I said to Arcturus, once we reached the top. “Free any prisoners in this wing and wait for that flare to go up. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

“Very well.” His gaze flicked across my face. “Good luck.”

“And to you.”

We took off in opposite directions.

Faded gold leaf shone dully on the walls, reflecting the torches that burned at regular intervals. I crossed a room that must once have been a bedchamber, so ornate and floral it was like being inside a chocolate box. Next was a square antechamber. When I tried the gilded doors inside it, neither of them budged.

I listened. There was no sound from within, but I could just perceive a dreamscape.

Jaxon had locked himself in.

Then I heard it. Music. “The Thieving Magpie”—one of his favorites—was playing beyond the doors. The volume climbed until it was booming through the corridors.

He knew.

Like wasps in a nest, dreamscapes stirred across the palace, as if the music were some hellish public alarm clock. Sensing a gust of movement on the floor below, I spun on my heel and pelted back through the apartments. The music was a grindstone on my ears and jaw.

Arcturus had forced the doors to the south wing. I shoved through them. The Rephaite keepers must carry keys. I would need his strength to take one of them down.

Jaxon could lock himself in as tight as he liked. He was the one who had taught me not to let any lock bar my way.

The music became frantic, deranged. I skidded into a hall with an arched ceiling, four hundred feet long, where chandeliers dripped wax and cast small ripples of gold on the floor. Paintings towered on the walls, each showing a victory in the history of Scion. No dreamscapes called out from the æther here, but I no longer fully trusted my sixth sense. Emite blood could be hiding them.

Two mirrored doors flanked a wall-sized depiction of the Battle of the Iron Gates, which dominated the end of the gallery. I made for them.

The music came to a sudden halt. I stopped, too, sensing a presence behind me. When the sixth sense failed, human intuition stepped in, warning me of danger, a predator. I lowered my hands from my ears and turned.

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