Page 165 of The Mask Falling

Now I was this close to him, I sensed pain. Agony barked from his rigid jaw, the tendons of hand and neck, his tortured muscles. Nashira was seizing her vengeance for the loss of another colony.

“All right.” I was afraid to touch him too much. “Do you think you can move to the parlor?”

After a minute, he eased into a sitting position and draped an arm around my shoulders. Between us, we got him down the corridor, into the parlor, and onto the couch. I fitted a cushion under his head and held a glass of wine to his lips. Even swallowing took him effort.

“You’re all right,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “It will fade.”

He moved onto his side with a nod. I got some covers from the bedroom and slipped under them with him, as if I could lend him my warmth. He rested his cheek on my chest, and I propped my chin on the top of his head, wishing I could draw some of his pain out through the cord.

For a long time, my breath was the only sound. At last, Arcturus lifted his head to look at me.

“Paige,” he said, “I know this is new to you.” His hand moved across my stomach, to my hip. “I meant what I said. It was an overture. What comes next, we will write together.”

“I know.”

We looked at one another for a while. I brushed his hair back.

“Will we just play it by ear, then?” I asked softly. “Or do you know what you want from this?”

“I want you with me.” He set his forehead against mine. “That is all I know.”

I had said those same words to him once. I took his face between my hands and breathed him in.

“Ducos and Stéphane came this morning, before you woke,” I eventually said. “We have to leave this place tonight.” I sighed. “And I don’t think we have a future with Domino.”

Arcturus held my waist as I told him what had happened. Every so often, his muscles tightened, and I held him close.

“If Domino severs the connection, I imagine Le Vieux Orphelin will allow us to take shelter in Passy.” He returned his head to my chest. “We should see what is happening abroad.”

It had been a while since I had checked the news. I reached across to the coffee table for the remote.

“—Weaver has sanctioned the execution by firing squad of Esteban de Borbón, who will be the last King of Spain,” Scarlett Burnish was saying, her control as ironclad as ever. I sat up. “Esteban took his family into the Bascilia de San Francisco el Grande, telling them that God would keep them safe. Instead, he shot and killed his wife, Queen Antonia. He shot and killed their heir, seven-year-old Luciana. He shot and killed his father-in-law, barrister Torben van Buskirk, who died attempting to protect his granddaughter.”

The blood drained from my face.

“These crimes, reminiscent of those of the Bloody King, serve as judicious proof that monarchs, like unnaturals, have no place in the civilized world,” Burnish said, eyes glacial. “The anchor will rise over Madrid.”

“They killed them all,” I murmured.

Not for one moment did I believe King Esteban had committed those murders. Scion had killed his family in that church. When he was executed, he would remind the world of why it should turn to the anchor, away from crowns and gods.

Arcturus interlocked our fingers. He knew there was nothing to say. From the sound of it, Spain was all but defeated. Now King Esteban was in custody and accused of murder, the Prime Minister would have little choice but to surrender.

In two and a half months, the anchor had taken the whole of the Iberian Peninsula.

It was an hour before the pain eased enough for Arcturus to slip back to sleep. I stole away to make breakfast. I ate two rounds of honey on toast before I began to pack.

My only possessions were the music box and the parcel from my father. I retrieved the latter from under the wardrobe, though I still had no stomach to open it. Both went into my backpack, along with as much spare clothing as I could fit. Finally, I slid in my weapons, my dossier from Domino, and the ledger I had stolen from Ménard.

Except for the money and some clothes, Arcturus had brought nothing with him from London. I did, however, find one of the swords from the colony under his bed.

For the rest of the day, I watched the news from the armchair, too bone-weary to do anything more. All the raconteurs could talk about were the evils of monarchy, and how Scion would soon release Spain from its bonds.

At noon, there had been a break in the cycle—an announcement that Inquisitor Ménard was investigating the possibility of terrorist involvement in the recent fire in a Type A Restricted Sector. He appeared briefly on-screen, instructing those responsible to come forward and confess.

He must have known it had been me, but he was keeping that close to his chest. I frowned. This would have been his perfect chance to pin the blame on me and the Mime Order and to somehow turn that against Weaver.

His face, as ever, gave nothing away. He was too well-trained for that. I wondered what the mood was in the mansion. Whether he feared retribution for his failure to protect the colony.

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