Page 176 of The Mask Falling

“She’s fine. We have to keep moving,” he muttered, “but tell me what happened. So I know where to take you.”

I shook uncontrollably. Léandre draped his coat around my shoulders, but nothing could keep out the chill in my bones. The chill of shock.

“Paige.” He grasped my shoulder. “Is he dead?”

All I could do was stare at the black river. I moved my lips, tried to explain.

“I wish he was,” was all I could say. “I wish—”

The tears were silent at first. Then came sharp breaths, then huge, brutal sobs that wrenched my ribs and stemmed from deep in my stomach. Léandre edged an arm around me, and I wept into his coat, so hard I was almost choking. Hideous sounds that racked my whole frame.

The first meeting of our lips. The long nights. The lilt of my own laughter when he danced with me in a derelict hall. He had crafted that music box by hand, each part chosen to reflect me.

“Sorry.” I mopped my cheeks, chest heaving. “Sorry, Léandre.”

He gave me a last, uncomfortable pat on the head before he backed off, looking relieved.

“Has he changed sides?” he asked me.

I nodded, then shook my head. Hot tears drenched my cheeks. “No. Maybe. I don’t think he was ever on my side.” I scrunched my hair into my hands. “Fuck. I don’t understand.”

Léandre delved into his backpack and unscrewed a flask. I accepted it and took a few gulps of brandywine.

“Tell me what happened,” he said again. “Be quick.”

With effort, I wadded down my panic enough to make room for my breath. “He said he was working for the enemy all along. Spying on us. He’s one of my high commanders—” My mind darted ahead. “I have to send someone to London. To warn them. Nadine and Zeke, they could go.”

“Do they have papers?”

“No.”

Léandre considered.

“The merchants,” he said, more to himself than to me. “They’ll have a way.” He scooped an arm under both of mine and hauled me to my feet. “Come. I will arrange it with them.”

“Call Nadine first. Now,” I said, “before she gets rid of her burner or goes underground. Tell her to get Ivy and Zeke and meet us somewhere near Gare du Nord.” Raw-eyed, I looked across the river. “We have to warn London. Before this destroys everything.”

24

Steel Queen

The train left Gare du Nord at ten past nine. Since I had my dissimulator, we risked the Métro, keeping a sharp eye out for night Vigiles. By half past eight, we were in a cookshop opposite the station, waiting for the others. The dissimulator was giving me a headache, and my knee ached where I had bruised it on the roof. It was the only physical reminder of what had happened.

Léandre took a sip of his coffee and observed the other customers, fingers drumming on the table. Now and again, he shot me a disconcerted look and pressed his lips together.

If the blood-consort had already told Nashira everything he knew, soldiers could be descending on the Mime Order at this very moment. I could only hope they were no longer all in one place. That they had returned to the cell-based structure as soon as Senshield had failed. Glym would have done that—he was rigid in his efficiency—but Ivy had told me they were still using the underground shelter.

My hand shook as I lifted my cup of saloop. It took all my restraint to just sit and wait. Stillness was a threat. It let me think. If I faced what had just happened, I would snap, and I had to be as cold as rock for just a little longer. For the syndicate. For the revolution.

At ten to nine, Nadine and Zeke arrived, both ruddy-cheeked with cold, the latter with a backpack on one shoulder. They both squeezed into our booth. Nadine wore a peaked hat at an angle.

“Ivy can’t risk coming in here.” She moved her fringe out of her eyes. “What happened?”

I wet my lips.

“Léandre,” I said, “give us a moment, will you?”

It was the first time I had spoken since the bridge. With a curt nod, Léandre slid out of the booth. “You have five minutes before we need to leave.”

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