Page 167 of The Mask Falling

And that was how I came to be clinging to a Gothic cathedral in Paris as dusk painted the citadel in shades of blue and gray. I had expected guards—Nick and I had often had to dodge private security when we climbed buildings in London—but clearly Scion had better things to do than watch a glorified clock.

We climbed up the south-facing side. Léandre needed little guidance. His long arms and legs gave him a spider-like ease. I occasionally pointed out a handhold if he fell behind, which he acknowledged with a grunt.

The cathedral offered crockets and ledges in abundance, as if she wanted us to scale her. I had spent a long time underground of late, but this was what my limbs had always itched to do. To make every building my ladder and stairway.

Climbing made me miss Nick so much it ached. I wanted to know that he was all right. Weeks had passed since I had left him on the dock in Dover. I hoped that wherever he was in Sweden, and whoever he was with, he was reclaiming the rooftops from Birgitta Tjäder.

Nick was used to leading a double life. He would have worked out how to be a rebel and a spy.

Léandre hurdled a balustrade and began to climb again. Just ahead of him, I grabbed onto a stump that must once have been a gargoyle. When I was high enough, I hoisted Léandre up by the arm, onto the edge of the roof, which provided us with a bridge to the bell towers. Its sides were alarmingly steep, treacherous with ice. We shimmied along it.

We finally stopped in the open-air gallery at the front of the cathedral. Paris sprawled before us. Léandre sat down and huffed into his hands, legs over the edge. I stayed on my feet.

“Not bad,” I said. A curt nod. “You go first, then. Since you brought me up here.”

“I do not apologize for leaving the prisoners behind.”

I let out a mirthless laugh. “Great start.”

“You saw what happened,” he said to me. “The Passage des Voleurs collapsed. I told you from the beginning that there was a risk of that.” He took a leather pouch from inside his coat. “If we had gone with your plan, all of those people would have drowned.”

“Instead, most of those people are dead in a forest. Or worse,” I said. “You allowed me to believe that we would try to save all the prisoners.”

“I never said that.”

“You knew exactly what you were playing at.” I stared out at the blue lights of the citadel, the dark slick of the river. “I don’t want lies or half-truths anymore. I’ve had plenty of those from too many people.”

Léandre took a narrow sheet of paper from the pouch. He held it open with one hand and used the other to sprinkle a line of shriveled aster petals across it.

“I knew you would make a fuss if I was honest,” he said. “That you would be irrational.”

“It isn’t irrational to care about people, Léandre. I might have been too optimistic to believe we could save them all,” I conceded. “Maybe it just isn’t possible to break into a government-controlled facility and get everyone out alive.”

“That was my opinion,” Léandre stated. “Would you have listened to me if I had been frank?”

I ground my jaw.

“I fought to get those prisoners out of the palace,” he continued. “Ankou and I waited until everyone was through the reservoir before we stopped defending the entrance. Even when the soldiers came inside.”

“You should have told me your plan from the start. I could then have toldyouthat sending them all into the Forêt de Meudon was not an option,” I said. “You don’t know what’s in those woods.”

“I didn’t then. I think I do now.” Léandre glanced sidelong at me. “Something chased us to the cemetery. An aura like a swarm of flies.” He rolled the cigarette and skimmed the tip of his tongue along the edge of the paper. “Les Emim, no?”

“Yes.” I finally sat beside him, bracing my heels on a ledge, and took off the gloves. “Most of what was in the pamphlet was real. Based on things that happened in the first colony.”

“But the pamphlet depicts the Rephaim as saviors,” he said. “And those guards in Versailles were not.”

“Rephaim aren’t good nor evil. They’re as complicated as we are. Having said that,” I said, “a fair number of them do want us dead, mutilated, or enslaved, so best to always approach with caution. As for the pamphlet, someone edited it without my permission.”

Léandre took a vesta case from his coat and removed a match, which he used to light his roll-up, releasing the cloying scent of aster.

“If it means anything to you, I am sorry.” He pocketed the case. “Not for the plan itself, but for hiding it. Now that I know you want honesty, no matter how brutal, I am happy to deliver it.”

“I can’t imagine everyone appreciates that attitude,” I said. “Does Le Vieux Orphelin?”

“Yes. He does.” He exhaled blue-tinged smoke. “When he rules this citadel, things will change, Underqueen. As soon as the Man in the Iron Mask is gone, he will summon all of the leaders of the Nouveau Régime, and there, we will confront that bastard, Le Latr—” His eyes narrowed. “What is happening down there?”

I followed his gaze to the Quai des Grands Augustins. As soon as I saw what he was looking at, I stood. Multiple squadrons of Vigiles had descended on the quay in armored vehicles, red lights glinting, no sirens to betray their approach.

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