The Mortal Word

by Genevieve Cogman

  Irene shuddered with the effort of trying to say no. It wasn’t working. Her mouth wanted to say yes. Her heart wanted to say yes. Saying yes was the right thing to do, the proper thing to do, the only thing that she could do . . .

  She tried to look away from the deep, melting blue eyes of the Princess, but she couldn’t even focus on anything else, not even the window beyond her and the snow outside. At the back of her mind she tried to frame some sort of logical idea for escape, some way out of this whirlpool of emotion and need.

  What she needed was order. And there was none inside this room. But maybe outside, where Ao Ji’s temper made the snow dance and the winds howl . . .

  “Windows, break.” The words twisted on her vocal cords, but the Language gave her strength, and the gasp of surprise from the Princess as the Fae was distracted gave Irene even more freedom. “Snow, come in!”

  The windows shattered in a crash of glass, and wind and snow came funnelling into the room in a furious blast of pure winter. The air was full of cold, biting whiteness. The Princess cried out in shock, releasing Irene’s hands to brush the snow away from her own face and hair, but Irene welcomed the cruel cold. She breathed it in, grateful for its harshness, her mind her own once more.

  “Your Highness, here . . .” Irene unlocked the door and pulled it open. The Princess fled out into the corridor, and Irene followed her, taking care to keep a safe distance. “You ought to rejoin your delegation, Your Highness,” she suggested. “They’ll be worried about you.”

  “You’re right,” the Princess agreed. Irene could see how sympathetic she was to even her servants and menials, and her heart was touched . . . damn it, not again. She tried to find strength to hold on a little longer, until the Fae was someone else’s problem. She focused on her Library brand, on the coldness of the snowflakes melting and streaking her dress with water stains, on anything other than how good and nice and beautiful the Princess was.

  “You’re a very noble person,” the Princess said. She was within Irene’s reach again, and Irene wasn’t sure she had the strength to fight back this time. “I trust you.”

  The touch of her hand against Irene’s cheek was like fire.

  Then she was gone. Irene sagged against the wall, each breath coming hard and making her tremble. Part of her wanted to curl up and weep at the loss of her true love. The rest of her, more sensibly, was trying to point out that not only was the Princess not her true love, but Irene had never had a true love in any case. So she didn’t even know what it felt like to lose her true love.

  At least she didn’t have to worry about letting a murder suspect escape. Irene was reasonably sure that of all the people in Paris, the Princess was the least likely person to stab someone else from behind. It just wasn’t in her character to do such a thing. Prutkov, on the other hand—what was he up to? He wasn’t just trying to manoeuvre the Library into a better position. He was playing some entirely separate game of his own.

  Too many games. Too many narratives. And all of them wanting Irene to play some different role in them. Was she the Library’s agent or the Princess’s knight? The Cardinal’s spy and assassin or the Countess’s victim? Kai’s lover? Vale’s friend? Where did she ultimately stand in all this?

  Steps approached. Irene raised her head and saw Li Ming.

  “Miss Winters,” he said, taking her in with some surprise. “What have you been doing?”

  CHAPTER 19

  Irene brushed flakes of melting snow from her dress in as unconcerned a manner as she could manage. “Lord Li Ming, how nice to see you. I hope I’m not taking you away from anything important.”

  “Only the usual round of meetings,” Li Ming said. “I take it that you haven’t been asked to join any yourself?”

  “No,” Irene said, grateful that nobody had tried to corral her. “I’ve been kept busy with this investigation. And as you’ve probably deduced, that’s what I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “I’m not really surprised.” Li Ming glanced along the corridor. “Will here do for a little chat, or would you rather take it elsewhere? And do you require witnesses?”

  “What I require is information,” Irene said. “I can’t promise that what we discuss will remain secret, but I’ll be as discreet as possible when it comes to sharing it.”

  “Then I suggest that we speak in private, and somewhere that we can be reasonably sure we won’t be overheard.”

  A few minutes later, Li Ming was taking a seat in Irene’s bedroom. Irene decided not to tell him that it was the same chair Silver had been lounging in earlier. Li Ming had adjusted his clothing to the local fashions but was in his usual light grey, with black cravat and cuff-links. His silver hair stretched down his back in a long braid, every strand perfectly in place. He could have been a moulded statue of marble and silver, if not for the bright focus of his eyes. Irene did wonder for a moment what the local Parisians were making of the fact that this was an apparent woman in a man’s clothing—but then again, extravagant foreign visitors could get away with all sorts of violations of custom.

  “I had been told you wanted a meeting with me,” Li Ming said. He folded one hand over another in his lap. “I appreciate your tact in arranging it privately via His Highness, Prince Kai.”

  “I see no need to spread rumours unnecessarily,” Irene answered. “But when there are rumours about a possible connection to this murder, we have to investigate them.”

  “And you wish to ask me about a rumour?” Li Ming asked politely, as if it was nothing more than a question about how many lumps of sugar he’d like in his tea.

  “I think I’d be negligent not to.”

  “And the rumour is?”

  Irene sighed mentally. Clearly she was going to have to work every step of the way in this conversation. “Concerning the fact that you and Lord Ren Shun may have had a disagreement in the past.”

  Li Ming frowned. “Normally I’d ask who told you that, but I suppose under the current circumstances there may have been a queue of people lining up to inform you. Let me be blunt. Am I a suspect?”

  “The main suspect is the Blood Countess, as you probably know,” Irene countered. “But it’s our duty to review all possible people with the means, opportunity, and motive.”

  “I see,” Li Ming said icily. “And when you’ve finished interviewing half of Paris, what will be your next step?”

  Irene shrugged. “Half of Paris doesn’t have any motive at all, unless Lord Ren Shun committed a great many crimes which I haven’t yet heard about. And I have great difficulty imagining any normal human subduing a powerful dragon. I cited means and opportunity first because they significantly lower the number of possible suspects.”

  “And you believe that I could do it?”

  “In purely physical terms . . . my lord, you are a close servant of His Majesty Ao Shun. You are not weak. I’ve seen you on the verge of launching a snowstorm across London.” Irene wondered if Li Ming would react to that, given that they’d nearly been in conflict at the time, but he didn’t so much as twitch an eyelash. “So, yes; I believe that you could do it. However, I see no reason why you’d want to derail the peace negotiations. But I’ve been told that if we wish to convict the Blood Countess, we need actual proof. And we don’t have this, yet, so suspicions can be pointed anywhere. I’ll find it much easier to discount you as a suspect if I know why you came under suspicion in the first place.”

  Snow hissed against the window outside, and the faint noises of traffic drifted past: horse-drawn carriages and carts, motor vehicles, the murmur of human voices. Finally Li Ming asked, “How much do you know about our families?”

  “Not a great deal,” Irene admitted. “I know that they exist as major political forces inside your society.” And she knew she wanted to stay well away from the Winter Forest and Black Mountains families, after certain recent events. Even if they’d been ordered no
t to hold a grudge against Irene by the Queen of the Southern Lands herself, that didn’t mean they’d be friendly. Although Li Ming served another dragon royal entirely, and they’d had their differences too . . .

  Li Ming remained entirely still. He didn’t move his hands or tilt his head in the way that a human might have done. “I believe Prince Kai has chosen not to talk about certain aspects of our society, and you have chosen not to ask him about them. That was wise of you both. It would have cast a shadow over perceptions of your relationship, if you had appeared to be seducing him for information.”

  “Our relationship has always been a careful one,” Irene agreed. And is probably non-existent if things go badly here. Along with a lot of other things, such as my parents’ lives, my liberty, the Library’s future . . . She restrained herself from glancing towards the bed as she thought of Kai, and wondered just how well-informed Li Ming was. Why delude herself? Part of Li Ming’s job as personal aide to the Dragon King of the Northern Ocean was to know that sort of thing. “Let me be blunt. After all, neither of us wants people asking why we’ve vanished for a long private conversation. What am I missing here?”

  “You might say that there are two main axes of power in our society,” Li Ming said carefully. “There are the monarchs, and then there are the families. One is obligated to one’s family. But one is also obligated to one’s king or queen. These mutual obligations can create problems.”

  Irene could recognize a don’t quote me on this, but . . . speech easily enough. “I’d expect it to be a strictly internal matter, if a dragon finds themselves caught between obligations and duties,” she said. “A dragon certainly wouldn’t mention it to outsiders, who might try to exploit the situation.”

  Li Ming’s eyes narrowed in satisfaction at her assurance of discretion. His irises were the same pure silver as his hair and eyebrows, and his pupils were startlingly dark in comparison. Like Kai—like many of the other dragons here—his face could have been a classical line painting, all sharp lines and shadows. “Between the two of us,” he continued, “Prince Kai escapes a great many potential problems because his mother is not from a distinguished family.”

  Oh. Irene knew how that could play out in a lot of human societies, and it wasn’t always pretty. Kai was an acknowledged prince, but no doubt there were degrees of authority even among princes. And this might explain why a dragon royal might be allowed to run off and do his own thing, rather than settle down to studies or service. “Would this have anything to do with the way that he was allowed to infiltrate the Library, or his occasional lack of duties?” she asked as delicately as she could.

  “It might,” Li Ming agreed. “And while he is dear to his father, not all of his paternal relatives have the same affection for him.”

  There was a clear warning in Li Ming’s eyes and tone. Irene tried to translate whatever the dragon didn’t want to say out loud. She knew that Kai’s uncle Ao Shun cared for him, but could the same be said of Ao Ji . . . “Between the two of us, is there a problem?”

  Li Ming’s eyelids flickered. “Well, His Majesty Ao Ji could possibly come to value Prince Kai, for his current hard work and support. But that would certainly be an unexpected turn of events.”

  In other words, Kai is going to get the short end of the stick, and don’t hold your breath hoping for anything better. A painful resignation weighed Irene down. It would have been so nice to believe that Kai’s family were wholeheartedly behind him, whatever the circumstances of his birth. Why did they have to be so damned human about it? Kai probably considered it just part of how things were, and he’d avoided telling Irene because he knew she’d be angry on his behalf.

  And why should she be angry, anyhow? It was how things worked. History told her as much. Maybe that’s why we need a bit of chaos in our lives, so things can happen against probability and outside logic, where a family can love one another even if one of them is low-born—or adopted . . .

  “Thank you for making that clear to me,” she said flatly.

  “It’s blatantly obvious why and how Prince Kai happened to turn up at this particular moment too,” Li Ming added, almost kindly. “But since he is making himself useful, nobody will raise the point.”

  So much for even semi-plausible deniability over their relationship. “Our aim is to find the murderer,” Irene said. “And to get the peace treaty signed. I hope that everyone else here has the same priorities.”

  “Priorities. Ah yes, the murder. And Ren Shun.” Li Ming glanced towards the window a moment, as though looking for words. It seemed that for him, discussing Ren Shun was more uncomfortable than delivering political warnings. “Both Ren Shun and I myself are of the Yellow River family. We share the same father, Lord Shantsu, though he companied with different dragons to bear us.”

  Irene sorted through her reactions before replying. Gawping at Li Ming and saying, You’re brothers? would be stupidly rude. Even if it had been her first thought. And why hadn’t Mu Dan told her? Didn’t she know about it? Or had the other dragon assumed it was public knowledge? “I offer you my condolences on the loss of your brother,” she murmured.

  “Your courtesy is appreciated,” Li Ming said. “I fear that we had not been on speaking terms for several decades now, after a sadly public disagreement at a family gathering.”

  “Oh?” Irene said, as neutrally as she could.

  “We had both taken oaths to our respective kings at that point. I felt my younger brother was not serving his lord as well as his oaths demanded. He took issue with my opinion. The disagreement became public. We have scarcely spoken since that time, except at formal occasions or festivals.”

  Irene chose her next words carefully. This was important information, but she could sense a simmering slow-flowing resentment and anger beneath Li Ming’s glacial surface, as hot and dangerous as lava. Just because a dragon was polite didn’t mean that a dragon was safe. “I had a bad experience in America with a dragon who was certainly not serving his master as well as his oaths demanded.” In fact, said dragon had cheerfully betrayed his master in the hopes of personal advancement, without a single moment’s hesitation. “I’m sure a brother of yours would have done nothing as drastic, but . . .”

  The air in the room had become cooler. Irene had enough time to wonder if she’d said too much, and whether she might be the next dead body to turn up, before Li Ming answered.

  “How do you serve the Library?” he asked. “As it commands, or for its own good?”

  “I’d hope that the two aims were aligned,” Irene replied. But she thought of Prutkov’s words from earlier. He thought a dragon and Fae truce would render the Library’s mission obsolete and that they’d have to rebuild their power base some other way. She still served the Library as a keeper of the balance. She was not some sort of power broker.

  Li Ming leaned forward, and the cold air swelled around him like an ocean wave. “There are two sorts of servants, Irene Winters: those who are expected to obey without question, and those who are expected to use their intelligence and judgement. Ren Shun would have done anything for Ao Ji. He did not understand that for Ao Ji’s own sake, there are some things which his servants should never do.”

  Irene took a deep breath. The air tasted like ice in her mouth. “You think that he might have gone . . . too far.” The euphemism was petty, but it could cover such a wide area: fraud, blackmail, treason, murder. “And that some action of his might have resulted in his death?”

  Li Ming’s eyes flicked shut for a moment, then open again, as quickly as a serpent’s. “If you brought me proof that this Fae, this Blood Countess, murdered my brother in order to start a war, then I would welcome that. It would be a better answer than others which come to mind.”

  “I’m sorry.” Honesty was all Irene could offer. “I’m looking hard for that proof. No—let me be more clear. I’m looking for the truth, and I hope the truth will be that proof.”


  “Who told you about our quarrel?”

  “I thought you said that you weren’t going to ask,” Irene countered.

  Li Ming flicked his fingers casually. “Well, if it was Mu Dan, you might remind her that independence is all well and good, but it carries with it a lack of protection.”

  “Are you threatening her?”

  Li Ming’s expression was one of mild surprise. “She is already very aware that I think she has burned her bridges. If she goes around reporting private matters, then her family will no doubt want to discuss that with her in private—despite her public lack of affiliation to them. But without a family or a lord, what is she? What authority does she have?”

  Irene thought of some of Mu Dan’s earlier comments. “The value of her skill and experience?” she suggested.

  “That’s not the same thing, Miss Winters, and you know it. Consider your own position. Your words—your voice—have no power without the Library behind you. You are, and I say this with the greatest admiration for your abilities, only mortal. I respect your choice to bind yourself to the Library. But doesn’t that simply prove that what I’m saying is true?”

  Irene knew there should be an answer to that—something about inherent worth, or individual value, or choice. Unfortunately, from Li Ming’s perspective, he was simply stating facts. “It may be true that organisations give individuals their power,” she answered, “but it’s what those individuals do that makes the organisations strong. Without you as an individual, your family would be weaker.”

  “I think we shall have to agree to disagree,” Li Ming said, his smile showing he felt he’d won the argument. “But please be aware that I respect you both as a representative of the Library and as an individual. And that I trust your discretion concerning this little talk.”

  His tone hadn’t changed, but there was a flicker of red in his eyes: the true shade of dragon eyes, a sign of emotion or anger. And Irene knew that it was a warning.