Page 164 of The Mask Falling

“That target was not chosen at random! He was chosen because his death would sow tension withoutshatteringthe relationship between England and France. By setting fire to the colony—the root of their disagreement—you may have pushed the two countries into all-out war. The Suzerain could do anything in retaliation.”

“So be it,” I snapped. “If Scion is at war with itself, it isn’t at war with your benefactors. Command can dole out my punishment. Until then, am I still a member of Mannequin?”

Ducos looked as if she had half a mind to hit me. Stéphane puffed out their cheeks.

“I have no time for this now,” Ducos finally said. “Albéric—the agent who takes care of the safe houses—has dropped off the radar. We have no idea where he is, or why he isn’t responding to any attempts to contact him. As a precaution, we would like to move you and your auxiliary to a different part of the citadel. I have eight people to relocate by tonight.”

“I will collect you at ten,” Stéphane said to me. “Pack some clothes and food. If that’s not too dull an order,” they added under their breath.

I tried not to feel the loss too deeply. Wanderer that I was, I should have known better than to try to grow roots.

“Until I send my report and receive a response, you remain one of my agents, and you will be treated as such,” Ducos said. “You see, to me, and to Stéphane, the rules of this sub-network are not flexible. Or optional.” She turned her back on me. “Stay put until we return. If you eventhinkabout stepping outside this apartment—”

With a last shake of her head, she strode out in a waft of dark hair and a swing of scarf. Stéphane hung back.

“How badly have I fucked up?” I asked them quietly. They answered with a tiny shrug.

“I would not want to be you right now.” They put their spectacles back on. “Enjoy your last day in Rue Gît-le-Cœur. A week from now, you might not have a roof over your head. Or any memories in it.”

22

Lady of Paris

FEBRUARY 21, 2060

The horizon was as red as if the fire still burned. I watched the sunrise from the roof. Fog breathed into every nook and alcove of Paris, laced over the dark crests of the river, blanched the sky to the pink of salmon. I was sure the air was still spiced with the tang of smoke.

Beautiful though it was—this ancient, haunted citadel—there was a disquieting stillness to the morning. The sky was blood mixed into milk. The people down below were shadows, rendered faint and faceless by the mist. I trapped my breath and blew pale flags of cloud into my palms.

This was the coldest winter I could remember. Even on the farm, where all of us had been runny-nosed and the cowshed had been warmer than the house, I had sometimes found wild primroses or a sunburst of coltsfoot in February. Here, the air withheld even the rumor of a thaw.

We were leaving this apartment, where I had started to heal after the hardest trial of my life. Another lost home to add to my list.

Steam gusted from my mug of coffee. My lips were sweetly tender. I traced them, lost in thought.

I hoped Ducos was wrong. There would be repercussions for the loss of the colony—grave ones—but if Nashira was so enraged that she executed Ménard and Frère, a significant threat to her reign would disappear.

By nine, Arcturus had still not risen. Days without sleep must have drained him. I slid back through the hatch, suddenly self-conscious. By night, it had been so easy to let go of my inhibitions. In the cold light of day, it might be different. I might remember all the risks again.

Only one way to find out. I brushed my hair back, took a deep breath, and opened my bedroom door.

Golden light spilled into the room. He was still in bed, on his side, exactly as I had left him. As soon as his features came into relief, my nerves evaporated. I wanted him as strongly as before.

The feeling vanished as I sat on the bed at his side. He was stone-cold to the touch.

“Arcturus.”

His eyes cracked open.

“Is it the scars?” I asked. When he managed a nod, I placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Tell me what to do.”

“You cannot ease it.” He could barely speak. “Not without amaranth.”

“Did you not bring any with you?”

“Our stores were low. The others needed it.”

“You needed it as well, you bull-headed idiot.”

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