“I’m glad you understand.” He smiled at her, his eyes like blank glass. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make sure things are under control . . .”
And he was heading back towards the Salon Tuileries.
Irene looked down at herself. Dust and cat hairs smeared her skirts at knee-height and below. Her evening slippers felt as if they were in rags. Her gloves were dirtied and torn. She could still smell the echoes of blood and chlorine. A ferocious headache was twisting behind her temples. She was absolutely not fit company for a polite evening’s state dinner. And she was exhausted.
The stairs up to her bedroom seemed to take forever. Weariness had settled into her bones, and she was reminded with every step just how little sleep she’d gotten the night before. I’m not twenty years old any more, she thought sourly, and given the way things are going, I’m not even sure I’m going to live to see another birthday . . .
She slammed the bedroom door behind her and kicked her slippers off, sending them tumbling across the room. The petty violence made her feel a little better. She peeled her gloves off, shivering as the cool air ran up her arms, and wondered about the possibility of a bath.
There was a knock at the door.
Irene opened it to find Kai standing there. He had a tray in one hand, and even with the cover over it she could smell hot soup and fresh bread. “May I come in?” he asked.
Irene hesitated, though her stomach clenched, reminding her just how hungry she was. “I’m fairly sure that your uncle will be very unhappy if he finds out that you’re acting as a waiter.” She knew she was making excuses—possibly even stupid excuses—but she had been through quite enough this evening already. The situation was fragile enough as it was.
Kai lowered his voice. “I’ve spoken with Duan Zheng. I know what happened tonight.” Raw anger showed in his voice, and his eyes were briefly dragon-red, like rubies with a flame behind them. “I should have been there too!”
Irene took a deep breath, biting back the urge to agree with him. “When we agreed to have you come and find your uncle, we both knew that would mean working with him rather than necessarily working with me. The point is getting the treaty signed. Right?”
“Irene.”
“Yes?” She tried to raise an eyebrow coolly, but she’d never been very good at that.
“Look me in the eyes and tell me in the Language that you didn’t want me there.”
“Kai.” Irene counted silently to five. She wasn’t sure she could have reached ten. And she couldn’t look him in the eyes. “Let me make something clear to you. An evening when I have been facing off rats, poison gases, evil Fae, and useless, selfish management is not the evening to be asking me emotionally revealing questions about our relationship.”
There was another silence, and Irene wondered if Kai was employing his own private version of mentally counting to five. But then his expression cleared, and he said, “You have a point. And I have something for you.” He offered the tray.
“Aren’t you coming in?” Irene would have liked to talk with him, if nothing else.
Kai coughed. “Well, to be entirely frank with you . . . I have had it suggested that I should seduce you in order to get more information out of you. And as you said, it’s been a difficult evening for you. I wouldn’t want to make it worse.”
“Really?” Irene found her spirits lifting. “Well, just for the record, I’ve been told to seduce you as well.”
Kai frowned. “That sort of order shames whoever gave it to you.”
Irene was tempted to agree. “But what about you?”
“That was just a suggestion,” Kai said. “That’s quite different.”
“Well, I’m not obeying orders,” Irene said, and took the tray from him, stepping aside so he could enter. Her headache was vanishing. So was her exhaustion. What she wanted, right now, was to be with someone whom she could trust. Kai might be ordered to act against her. She could accept that. But he was honest. He wasn’t lying to her. And she desperately needed—no, wanted—to share that with him, for just one night. For their own reasons, between the two of them, and for no other motive than that. “I’m off the clock for the rest of the evening. That’s been made quite clear to me. What happens next is just between the two of us as private individuals.”
“But what about tomorrow?” Kai objected, taking a hopeful step forward.
“Tomorrow is another day,” Irene said.
She beckoned him in and locked the door behind him.
CHAPTER 16
Irene’s dreams had been as peaceful as the snow falling outside: unformed and indistinct, but quiet and unthreatening, free for the moment from fear and desperation and worry. When she opened her eyes, trying to work out why she’d woken up, the only noises were the crackling of the fire and Kai’s breathing next to her in the bed.
Then the thunder came again, tearing away her last shreds of sleepiness. Someone was rapping on the bedroom door. Actually, rapping was too minor a word for it. Someone with absolutely no concern for sleepers in this bedroom—or neighbouring bedrooms, or possibly the entire corridor—was pounding on the door.
“Winters!” It was Vale’s voice. “Winters, are you awake in there?”
“I certainly am now,” Irene muttered, staggering out of bed. Pale greyness outlined the window, leaking around the edges of the thick curtains. She flipped the light switch and blinked in the sudden illumination; the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece said it was seven o’clock in the morning. She shook her head, pulling herself together, and looked round for her dressing gown. “Yes!” she called, more loudly. “Give me a moment . . .”
Kai had come awake and was sitting up in the bed, his black hair ruffled but his composure untouched. “Should I be found here?” he asked softly.
“I have news about that explosion,” Vale explained through the door. “Lord Silver’s with me. May we join you?”
That settled Kai’s question without Irene even having to reply. It would be bad enough putting up with Silver’s verbal barbs on the subject of whom Irene might choose to share her bed. But outright confirming to him that she was sleeping with one of the dragon delegation, when he might report it to the Cardinal . . .
Irene pointed at Kai, then towards the bathroom. “Just a moment, please,” she called to Vale, wrapping her dressing gown round her. She was still shivering with cold—now that she was out of bed, the wintry temperature was much more noticeable, and her dressing gown was the lacy peignoir variety rather than the heavy flannel type. She dragged the counterpane off the bed to drape it over her shoulders as well.
Kai slipped out of the bed and caught up his clothing from the chair where he’d left it. He touched Irene’s hand for a moment—an acknowledgement, and a wish that they had time for more—and glided into the suite’s bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Irene stumbled across to the door, handling her multiple layers with some difficulty, and opened it. Vale and Silver were standing in the corridor. They were both still in last night’s evening dress. Vale looked a bit raw around the edges; he had the air of a man who could certainly do with sleep but was far too busy to bother with it for the moment, and would simply make up the difference later. She’d seen him stay awake for two or three days on end and then catch up on his sleep as a lump sum once the current case was over. She rather envied him that talent.
Silver, on the other hand, looked in the prime of life, his eyes sparkling and his hat cocked jauntily. No doubt given his usual schedule—rise mid-afternoon, then stay out partying and debauching until the early hours of the morning—this was nothing unusual for him. Or perhaps his ebullience was simply due to getting to see her in a lacy dressing gown. She tugged the counterpane tighter round her.
Vale strode in without bothering to wait for a formal invitation, and dropped onto one of the flimsy chairs. Silver followed, settling himself w
ith more grace. “Rather cold in here,” he commented. “I hope that you found some way to keep yourself warm last night.”
Well, that level of innuendo settled any questions about whether or not Silver knew about Kai’s presence. Irene ignored his comment and knelt to poke up the fire. “You said you had information about the explosion,” she remarked over her shoulder in Vale’s direction.
“I do,” Vale agreed. He slipped off his gloves and rubbed his hands together. “I’ll say this for the current weather—anyone out on the streets last night or this morning has a reason to be there. Unfortunately, this has resulted in rather fewer witnesses than usual, or so Inspector Maillon informs me.”
“Fewer than usual?” Irene took the remaining chair, huddling under the counterpane. She would have liked to get some clothes on, but this information was more urgent, and Vale in this current mood would barely notice if she was naked and painted with woad, other than to check her decorations for relevance to the current case. “Paris nightlife, I suppose?”
“Sadly curtailed at the moment,” Silver agreed.
Vale nodded. “We do have witnesses to when the explosions took place—yes, explosions, Winters, and kindly don’t interrupt me with questions, I’ll get to that point in a moment. Small charges were laid at various rooms in the Richelieu Library, most of them dealing with matters of the ancien régime: histories, lineage, whatever. One of the other rooms was the one which we arrived through when we came to this world, which is now unfortunately past saving. Of course, to Inspector Maillon this only supports the anarchist theory, though he did remark to me that he found the activity almost too obvious.”
Irene rubbed at her forehead. “Which it probably is. Given that it’s an attack on a library, rather than anywhere more significant in terms of royalty or authority, can we assume that this is someone just using the anarchist movement to cover their strikes against the peace conference? Rather than genuine anarchist activity? Though if the inspector’s noticing that something’s off-key, then we may have even more problems. I’d rather not cope with the Paris gendarmerie as well as everything else.”
“The inspector will probably be satisfied with the current story so long as no other compelling motive presents itself. And while we cannot be certain, the balance of probability seems to me to lean towards this attack being linked to the conference.” Vale leaned forward. “Which brings us to the next point. Why? Why set off explosives in the Richelieu Library, rather than at some more useful location? Granted, the Countess did try to blow up this hotel, but if her primary motivation was to assault the dragon delegation, would it not have made more sense to attack the Ritz? I think you may need to reassess her priorities, Winters. The evidence suggests that she is targeting the facilitators of this potential alliance just as much as the participants. Are your superiors well-guarded?”
Irene rejected the immediate thrust of fear, forcing herself to think practically. “I believe so,” she said slowly. “Besides Prutkov and Bradamant, there are half a dozen other Librarians currently in this hotel. They’ve been taking precautions.” Though there were very few precautions one could take against an assassin who didn’t care whether or not they survived, as long as they completed their mission. The thought chilled her more than the icy air. She withdrew from it into logical analysis. “But attacking the Richelieu Library isn’t really very . . .” She looked for words. “Effective. Even if it did break the direct Traverse between this world and the Library, it wouldn’t stop Librarians from being able to force a connection and get there from some other collection of books here in this world. I’m sure there are other libraries in Paris which could do the job. Either the Countess is very poorly informed—”
“Which is possible,” Vale interrupted. “She might have thought that she was cutting you off from escape.”
Irene nodded, acknowledging his point. “Or she thought that we’d all be haunting the place like bats, rather than sleeping in our hotel rooms. Though her spying efforts argue against that. Cancel that theory.” She frowned, thinking about it. “Or it’s another diversion.”
“From what?” Vale demanded.
“I don’t know. And that worries me.”
Silver had been watching them both thoughtfully. Now he spoke. “I’d appreciate a private word with Miss Winters.”
The fact that he was addressing her by her name, rather than some irritating epithet, was almost as disturbing as the fact that he wanted a private word with her. “I don’t think I have anything to say that I’m not willing to share with Vale,” Irene said carefully.
“I think you do.” Silver’s golden eyes glittered, for a moment as inhuman as any dragon’s gaze, as he considered her. “Detective, you have my word that I don’t intend any harm to Miss Winters. But all of us have our own private loyalties, don’t we? I’d like to discuss a little point with her out of your hearing. She can make up her mind whether or not she wants to tell you about it afterwards.”
Vale frowned. “Your choice, Winters,” he said, dropping the decision in Irene’s lap.
“You can go and wait in the bathroom with Prince Kai,” Silver suggested helpfully. “Compare notes, if you like. Tell him what you noticed during the night’s events that you haven’t told me yet.”
Vale shot him a look of pure dislike. “I assure you that I have not been concealing matters from you in particular. If I have been silent about some of my thoughts, it is because I require more information first.”
“A shame that can’t be said for everyone in this . . . hotel,” Silver murmured. “Well, Miss Winters? Your decision?”
Irene would have liked the chance to think about it first—and, preferably, be fully dressed. But this was obviously related to Silver’s earlier comment, yesterday, that they’d “talk later.” Later had arrived. And she wanted to know what he was thinking. Reluctantly she nodded. “As you wish, Lord Silver. I apologise, Vale—hopefully this won’t take long.”
Vale rose. “I trust you won’t be forcing your attentions on Winters,” he said coldly to Silver.
“For a situation where everyone’s talking about trusting each other, you both have remarkably little trust to spare for me,” Silver said. He leaned back on his chair—though, Irene noted, he took care that the flimsy piece of furniture wouldn’t give way and drop him ungracefully on the floor. “I’ll try to be brief. Though that may depend on Miss Winters.”
Vale snorted and retired to the bathroom.
Irene pulled the counterpane around her again. She was grateful for anything that shielded her from Silver’s eyes. They were remarkably speaking, and right now they were conveying a message that he’d like to see her naked. “Well?” she asked.
“I should be asking you that.” Silver permitted himself a languid smile. “For once, Miss Winters, I think I have you at my mercy, rather than the other way round.”
Irene’s throat was dry. “I don’t understand you.”
“You want to pretend ignorance? Understandable. You don’t want to be in a situation where you have to outright admit what you’ve said to anyone else.” Silver’s smile sharpened. “I can understand that. You can bind yourself to speak the truth in your Language, while I can bind myself by my name and power. Really, Miss Winters—my little mouse—we have so much in common.”
Irene should have known the polite nomenclature wouldn’t last. In a way, it made things easier: she could simply be irritated, and use that to ward off softer thoughts about his eyes, or his skin, or his lips . . . damn it, he was getting to her even in spite of everything she knew about him. “I’m going to guess that you think you have some evidence about me or the Library that I don’t want shared,” she suggested.
“How very hypothetical. But yes.” He had lowered his voice enough that it wouldn’t be easily audible through the bathroom door. No doubt Kai and Vale were doing their best to listen. “Something along those lines. I can unde
rstand your wish to keep silent. The question is, how much are you prepared to give to keep me silent?”
Irene’s heart sank. She’d been operating throughout on the principle that the Library was innocent of Ren Shun’s death. But if Silver knew something that proved otherwise, then . . .
Her mind ran frantically through possible alternatives, and every single one came up with the same answer. She had no options. The Library was at stake. Her parents’ lives were at stake. Silver had her trapped, and every passing second saw his smile widen as he enjoyed her silence.
He could be lying. This could all be a huge bluff. But she believed him when he said that he wanted the treaty signed. The Cardinal—and the Princess—had him boxed in on that side. Whatever else he might be up to, he wasn’t trying to personally torpedo the negotiations.
Perhaps she could use that. “Will the Cardinal be pleased with you if you share this information publicly?” she asked.
Silver shrugged. “He certainly wouldn’t. But there are all sorts of people I can tell about it without making things public. Including the Cardinal himself. I haven’t told him yet. And let’s be reasonable, my little mouse. Information can be released in many ways. Some are more damaging than others.”
Irene could feel the metaphorical wall at her back. She was running out of manoeuvring room. She swallowed, gathering her thoughts. Silver held all the cards. He obviously thought that what he knew was significant enough that she’d have to make a deal with him. But what could be that damaging . . .
. . . and why did he assume that she already knew what it was?
“Let’s assume that I’m prepared to agree,” she said carefully. “But I have a condition.”
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