Page 74 of The Mask Falling

“Well.” He gave his coffee another stir. “We will cross that bridge, as they say, when we come to it.”

“And we know what will be on the other side. You’ll want to erase all evidence that you ever colluded with unnaturals. The guillotines will work around the clock,” I said. “Between you and the Suzerain, I don’t know who I’d rather have. The Rephaim, at least, need some voyants alive to feed on. They’re also our principal line of defense against the Emim.”

For some reason, that made Ménard smile.

“Yes. The monsters from across the veil.” He sipped his coffee. “On that count, at least, you need not trouble yourself.”

The way he said it made my nape prickle. I had no idea what he was driving at.

“I will give you time to consider my proposal,” Ménard said. “Work in my service. Lend me your allies, Rephaite and human. Commit to a new Scion. Or die in whatever way Luce desires.”

From the look in her eyes, Frère would have me torn apart.

“I’ll consider it,” I said.

“Very good.” Ménard glanced toward Cade. “Fitzours, take our visitor back to her room. You may stay with her for half an hour. Perhaps you can join your voice to our cause.”

Cade dipped his head. “Yes, Grand Inquisitor.”

When he stood, I half expected him to bow. I pushed myself from my chair and followed him toward the door.

“One more thing,” Ménard said, calm. I stopped. “Frank Weaver did not seize his chance to be rid of you. I hear that was because the Suzerain wanted something from you first. Be aware, anormale, that I am not so generous. I will give her nothing she desires.”

A slow-moving cold licked up my back and across my shoulders. The disquiet of a hunted thing.

“If you choose not to see things my way, you become a liability. Nothing more or less. I will have no incentive whatsoever to keep you alive. Pollute my spouse, or my children, or any of my staff, and I will send you to the highest cell of the Grande Bastille. They have a machine there, la mâchoire. I will ensure it tastes some pieces of you before you lose your head.”

Silence followed. I was dismissed. Cade took me by the elbow, giving me the jolt I needed to walk on.

When he returned to France, Cade must have told his employers that Nashira Sargas wanted my gift, and had kept me alive for months so I could die in the right way, at the right time. Ménard had no need for that kind of restraint. He would only spare me if I proved myself useful, and there was no end to the ways he might hurt me if I refused his bargain.

I had once entertained the fantasy that destroying Nashira would be all it took to topple Scion. Now I realized that her creation had become a monster all of its own. Hatred of clairvoyants had washed across nine countries in two centuries, with countless more set to fall. Nashira might have forged the anchor, but humans had latched onto it willingly.

I learned that humans have a mechanism inside them, she had told me, the last time we came face-to-face.A mechanism calledhatred, which can be activated with the lightest pull of a string.

An empire founded on human hatred. That was what she had called Scion. If Ménard got his wish—if that were possible—she would learn the hard way that human hatred was too strong to be constrained.

Cade walked me back to the attic. When we reached my room, the Vigiles locked us in together.

“So,” I said, “that’s why you still work for him. You think he can take Nashira down.”

“Yes.” Cade faced me, purpose in every crease of his face. “Imagine it. A new Grand Inquisitor of EnglandandFrance who hates the Rephs. Think of the colossal money and power he would be able to turn against them.”

“He’s lost his mind. So have you,” I said. “The money and power comes from the Rephaim. TheyareScion.”

“No. It’s the other way around, Paige. It’sourmoney. Our power. Rephaim can’t hold bank accounts, can they?” he said, with feeling. “Legally, they don’t exist. They have to operate through us. What if we revoked our support? If the Rephaim aren’t lording it in our buildings, wearing clothes we made for them, feeding onourauras—what are they, really?”

Something in his words rang true. Without high walls to hide behind, without the comforts Scion afforded them, the Rephaim were scavengers. Powerful scavengers, yes. Difficult to take down —but scavengers, nonetheless. Scavengers could be picked off. Starved out.

“Ménard is not the only one who feels this way,” Cade went on. “He’s already found a firm ally in Birgitta Tjäder. She’s as much of a fanatic as him, and she has Inquisitor Lindberg of Sweden under her thumb.”

Tjäder had been at the Bicentenary, too. I remembered how unsettled and tense she had looked.

“We can turn their own anti-unnatural message against them, Paige,” Cade said in a low, urgent tone. “Don’t you see?”

“You heard him, Cade. He wants us all dead. A human-run Scion would still be Scion.”

“Humans are easier to overthrow. This is only the first step.”

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