Page 158 of The Mask Falling

I sensed his gaze on my face, but couldn’t meet it. Suddenly my stomach was tight with shame.

“If our roles were reversed,” I went on, “if you had once been close to the person responsible formytorture, if you had still cared too much about him to be able to hurt him . . . I’m not sure I could forgive you.” I folded my arms. “Jaxon was right. Some deep part of you must resent me for it.”

“No. In truth,” Arcturus said, “I expected it. You are not an executioner, Paige Mahoney.”

“But this is war. I need to have the spine to kill. I left Jaxon alive once before, out of mercy, and I lived to regret it.”

He stepped toward me. For a moment, I thought he would embrace me, but he stopped before our auras could touch.

“Mercy,” he said, “is an undervalued quality. It is what sets you apart from Scion. In any case, Jaxon Hall is either dead or a condemned man. Nashira will kill him for his failure to protect the colony.” His voice was low. “I deceived you because I was loyal to Terebell. You may no longer be loyal to Jaxon, but in your heart, you will always feel you owe him a debt you cannot pay. He opened a world to you. He was father and savior and friend.”

“That was the past. And everything he told me was a lie.”

“And I am an oneiromancer. Of all people, I understand the enduring power of memory.”

Slowly, I looked back at him, finding only candor in his face.

“Forgive me,” I said.

“I already have.”

He closed the space between us then. Cupped his fingers beneath the tips of mine, barely touching me at all. He held me as if our hands were spun from glass, not scarred and hardened by our battles.

Strange how a feeling could blossom where once there had been nothing. Then again, I had never feltnothingfor Arcturus Mesarthim. Never been indifferent to him. From the instant our eyes had met, we had reacted, like fire and kindling. First with fear and hatred, then a quiet respect, and then something else. Something that had never stopped burning.

“I wanted to go back for you,” he said. “I tried.”

“I know you did. Nadine said.”

“Hm. As it turns out, you did not need me or anyone. You confronted your fear alone.”

“I did,” I said, my voice almost too soft to hear, “but . . . I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

He was very still. I moved my fingers, tracing the broad mount of his thumb, the burl of bone at the side of his wrist. Except for the size and strength of them, his hands were so human-like. I wanted to know them. I wanted to know the precise slant of his collarbone, the depth of the curve in his back, the way his mouth felt on all of my skin. I wanted to know every inch of his body, and for him to know every inch of mine.

Our gazes locked fast.

“Do you wish to return to the safe house?” he asked.

I thought of the honeyed light through the windows, the place I had started to feel I belonged.

“Yes,” I said. “Let’s go home.”

21

Overture

It was almost nightfall by the time we surfaced on Rue des Eaux. Renelde had arranged for a buck cab to pick us up from a street near the Champ de la Tour. With the dissimulator ruined, I wore a scarf over my face.

The Eiffel Tower smoldered across the river, illumined in lambent orange, as if the wind had showered it with embers. It loomed, its spire half swallowed by fog. Impossibly beautiful.

We crossed the nearest bridge over the Seine. I wanted to look at Arcturus, to break the silence, but I did neither. Whatever we said next had to be said when we were alone. The golden cord was still and taut.

Above, the tower. Emberlight and the pendent dark. Below, the hidden world that sheltered the forsaken. And I walked liminal between them, with a god at my side and the streets like dying coals around us, waiting to be stoked. The fire was in the citadel, in his eyes, in my skin.

The cabbie drove us to the right district. From there, each step lasted far too long. Cloud steamed from my lips, and the air drank away the heat of the spring, but I no longer felt the cold. Every moment, every breath, moved me closer to my end. There was no more time to waste. I had come so close to death again. Now I meant to live with abandon.

In the hallway, I took off my coat. He did the same. I tried not to wonder what would happen if I kept undressing until there was nothing to keep me from his sight. I imagined him taking me in his arms, hunger overcoming his eternal self-possession. And I imagined him just standing there, silent and arcane, his gaze as sensual as a touch.

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