Page 139 of The Mask Falling

“And would you undo it, Paige, if you could?” The question was perverse in its tenderness. “Or has it made you stronger?”

Unexpected heat prickled in my eyes.

“You did,” I whispered. “You did know.” Suddenly the stiletto was out, and I lunged for him, ready to skewer his shriveled heart, all thoughts of mercy gone. “Cléir cháinte. You were like a father to me—”

Before I knew it, he had dropped his cigar to catch my wrist, and I froze as if I were still a young girl, terrified of his wrath.

“Make no mistake, Paige,” he said, “that if anyone is your father, I am. A father protects his progeny. A father sees potential and nurtures it. A father seeks justice for the sorrow of his child. The pointless amaurotic that sired you did none of those things. Who did?” His hand was cold. “All you have suffered, all you have survived—all of it has armored you. Who can break you now, Black Moth, now there is nothing left to break?”

At this, my other hand—my weaker hand—came up. He went very still as my revolver touched the underside of his chin.

“There is one thing left to break,” I said. “Whatever irrational affection I still have for you.”

Jaxon raised his eyebrows.

“I was sent here to kill you, Jax,” I said.

The storm loomed right over the palace. All I could hear, beneath the thunder, was the roar of my own blood.

“To kill me.” Jaxon smiled. “Come, Paige. We both know this is posturing. You had a golden opportunity to end my life during the scrimmage, but mercy stayed your hand.”

“Perhaps I’ve changed.”

“Oh, yes, Underqueen. Anyone could see it. You transform yourself to weather the seasons, just as I do.” Lightning stripped his face to the pallor of bone. “I almost hoped, when I saw you here, that you might have accepted the offer I extended in London. To save yourself.”

“Surely you know me better than that.”

“Of course,” Jaxon said, soft as a lullaby. “I know you better than anyone, my Pale Dreamer.”

“I have one regret,” I said. “That I still don’t understand you. I’ve never bought the idea that you were just another mindless follower of the Rephaim. Authority always chafed on you, Jax.”

“I thought the same of you. Yet you say you weresentto kill me.” Jaxon seemed unruffled by the gun. “Who commands you?”

As he spoke, I checked the æther. The others were all in the north wing. Still no sign of the flare.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “All of us are puppets in the Republic of Scion.” I held his gaze. “I’m onto your right-hand man, too. The Rag and Bone Man. Or should I call him Mister Rackham?”

“So you are now a contract killer.” Jaxon looked intrigued by the prospect. “How the plot thickens. Will you really not indulge me, darling, and tell me who it is that wants me off the board?”

“I’ve indulged you more than enough in this lifetime.”

The camera was a tiny weight beside my collarbone. All I had to do was put a bullet in him.

Just one bullet.

In just one man.

“If you want to claim a nice bounty for Rackham, it’s no skin off my nose,” Jaxon said. The cigar smoked on the floor between us. “He had his uses, but he has been more of a liability than an asset for some time now—and the only thing I despise more than incompetence is incompetent audacity. He tried to have you murdered. You ought to claim your vengeance for it.”

“I’ve you to deal with first.” I pressed the revolver a little harder into his chin. “Haven’t I?”

“Honeybee, I taught you better than this. I taught you respect for the finer things in life, and what it takes to win them.”

My grip on the gun tightened. I had once told him that my father called me seileán—honeybee—and he had stolen it.

“If you must be so gauche as to shed blood in such a charming location,” Jaxon continued, “at least have the decency to do it with your spirit.” His smile was strained. “How dull it would be for a man of my reputation to die by something as insufferablyamauroticas a gun.”

“I can’t do that.” I raised a bleak smile of my own. “I would, Jax, if I could.”

---