The Mortal Word

by Genevieve Cogman

  He had put aside his first emotional reaction and was arguing like a courtier, knowing his feelings alone wouldn’t be enough to convince her. Irene respected that. She also knew that all the other dragons would agree with him; they wouldn’t even consider her new hypothesis plausible. Kai at least was pointing out the possible holes in it. Li Ming or Mei Feng would simply shrug in disdain and have her shown out of the room.

  “It seems unrealistic that the one side we aren’t considering blaming here is the Fae delegation,” she said. “But it’s true. The Princess . . . well, I grant you that she’s Fae, but she’s as trapped in her role as any of them. Treachery isn’t in her nature. And I believe the Cardinal would know the possible consequences if you were killed—thinking of your capture by the Countess. He might endanger you, but I can’t see him handing you over to her . . .”

  A sudden realization of just how narrow their escape had been seized Irene by the throat and nearly choked her. She had carefully, very carefully, been avoiding thinking about what might have happened. From the moment she’d entered the Countess’s lair and seen Kai and the others in chains, she’d put the brakes on her own imagination so that she could function. She hadn’t allowed herself to think what might happen if she failed. And now here she was, talking about it so casually, so lightly, as if it was just another clever political move and not the very real possible torture and death of people she cared about.

  For a moment it was as if she was back there in the red-lit room, her lungs full of the smell of blood and sweat and malice. She wanted to hold on to Kai, to shield him, to keep him from being endangered like that again. She was the one who’d brought him here, and so far not only had she put him into deadly danger, but she was on the verge of accusing his uncle of murder—and trying to ruin the negotiations. Good job, Irene. Impressive. What do you do for an encore?

  As if from a great distance, she pushed the latent hysteria down and walled it away. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Whatever happens, I think this is going to be messy.”

  “Will you stop apologising!” Kai grabbed her shoulder, dragging her round to face him. “You just saved my life. You’re wrong about which faction is harbouring the murderer, but that’s not something you should be apologising for! And you’re not the only person responsible for making things right around here . . .”

  “I am the person who’s had all this dumped in her lap,” Irene said through gritted teeth, “and I’m the person whose parents might get killed if I get this wrong. Do not lose your temper at me, Kai. I’m not in the mood to be nice. And I’m running out of consideration for your feelings. For anyone’s feelings. Very soon, I’m going to have to be strategic, rather than kind, and I thought I might at least apologise for that first. But by all means take responsibility for sorting things out as well. I am all in favour of other people being responsible!” She considered the last couple of days wearily. “I’m just not going to count on it.”

  “No,” Kai said bitterly, “you’re just going to try to shoulder everything yourself and then take the blame if it all goes wrong.”

  “That’s unfair.” Irene was aware that their conversation had veered into the sort of painful emotional argument she’d always detested, but she wasn’t sure how to steer it out again. “You have no right to criticise me for doing my job.”

  “Except that you’re not my superior officer in the Library any more,” Kai said. “I’ve left the Library. We’re independent now.”

  “I wasn’t talking about our positions in the Library. I meant the investigation. And if you ask Vale or Silver, or even Mu Dan, I think they’ll all agree that I’m giving the orders there.” Honesty compelled her to add, “Until I tell them to do something that they don’t want to do, of course.”

  Kai let go of her shoulder with a sigh. “So where do we stand on this?”

  Irene could only hope that the answer wasn’t going to ultimately be on opposite sides. “My position is that I have to find out the truth,” she said. “Even if it’s Prutkov. And believe me, I will throw him to the wolves if he’s responsible. But it would reassure me to know that you were genuinely supporting this attempt to make peace—and not just because you know I want it.”

  Kai flushed but inclined his head in agreement. “I still detest most of the Fae that I’ve ever met,” he said, “but if they’re willing to deal in good faith and try to make peace, then I can do no less.”

  When it came to motives for building a new future, retaining the moral high ground was a bit underwhelming. Still, Irene was prepared to count end results as what mattered in this case. “Thank you,” she said. “I needed to hear that.”

  “I will help.” He touched her chin, his fingers warm. “I’ll do what I can. But you and Vale need to prove your findings. Li Ming, Mei Feng, my uncle . . . if you accuse anyone in our delegation, and I support you, then they’ll say I’m biased. And they’d be right.”

  “So noted,” Irene said. She reached for the door handle. “We’d better get moving. There’s no time to lose.” She knew that it wasn’t settled yet, that the whole question hung between them like an unexploded bomb. But . . . they’d have to deal with that when they came to it.

  In the hotel foyer, Irene ignored an argument between Silver and Mu Dan, and a brooding Vale slumped in a chair, and made her way to the desk. “Can you tell me if Monsieur Prutkov is present?” she asked.

  The desk clerk was delighted to inform her that yes, Monsieur Prutkov was indeed present and had not gone out, and that they could send a pageboy up to fetch him.

  “No, thank you,” Irene said. “I’ll go up myself.”

  She was aware that she was attracting glances due to her battered male attire, but fortunately Mu Dan and Silver were with her and well-dressed enough to shield her from challenges. She was also aware that from a self-serving Library point of view, she should question Prutkov in private first. But if he was the murderer, then she wanted backup. And if he wasn’t, then she needed his help—and having the rest of the group with her might be useful in persuading him to give it.

  The few words she managed to exchange with Vale on the way upstairs, out of hearing of the others, confirmed her thoughts. He’d come at it from a different angle, but certain matters had solidified his theory. A discussion with the hotel laundry. A review of the weather patterns on the night of the murder. The post-mortem reports on Ren Shun’s agents.

  And, of course, the note from Ren Shun’s pocket.

  What Irene hadn’t expected was the man waiting outside Prutkov’s room. He was thin—gaunt, even—and in his sixties, with an old scar that ran down the right side of his face. It ran from the top to the bottom of his right eye socket, pale against his dark skin. What remained of his hair was grey and wispy, combed back from his face. His suit was battered, but his cuffs and collar were spotlessly clean and white. He nodded slightly as he caught sight of them. Before Kai could sweep Irene behind him protectively, the man stepped forward. “Irene Winters, I think?” he said.

  “Yes,” Irene admitted. “But we haven’t had the pleasure, so you are . . .”

  “Azevedo,” he said. “From the Library. I hope the word Nevksy means something to you.”

  Relief filled Irene like oxygen, giving her new energy. “It does. Thank goodness. You’ve spoken with Prutkov?”

  “I have. You were correct.” He glanced over the rest of the group. “Normally we’d want to keep certain matters private, but under the circumstances I suppose it would cause more suspicion than it’s worth. Please come in.”

  Prutkov was hunched over in a chair, and he didn’t bother to rise as they filed in. His expression was sour to the point of viciousness, and there was a grey undertone to his skin that Irene wasn’t sure how to interpret. Shock? She nodded in his direction. “We have some questions to ask,” she said.

  “You won’t be the first person this evening,” he said. His gaze mo
ved to Azevedo, who was carefully shutting the door. “Melusine is not going to approve of everyone being present while I’m . . .”

  He seemed to be casting around for the right words. “Getting an earful?” Irene suggested helpfully.

  “And you are proving that you have no discretion.”

  Irene looked down at him, her suddenly rising anger boiling in her stomach like acid. “You know, under some circumstances I’d be annoyed by that. But given that it’s you who’s accusing me, I will only say that you have done a piss-poor job of organising an undercover operation.” She heard Vale’s intake of breath at her vulgarity but ignored it. “You remember the Blood Countess? We’ve just broken open her lair while we were escaping, because—thanks to someone who let them walk into a trap—she was about to kill Kai and Vale here. And Silver too, as a matter of fact. But she wasn’t warned that he was coming—presumably because he’s a Fae. Which leads to a question I need to ask here. Well, one of them.”

  Prutkov’s frown was growing. He picked up a glass of water from the side table by his chair and sipped it. “What questions do you need to ask?”

  “First question, and I would like you to answer in the Language.” Both Azevedo and Prutkov frowned at that, and Irene knew why. It was impossible for a Librarian to lie in the Language—even though they could, theoretically, make an honest mistake while using it. If Prutkov accepted her demands, then he’d be speaking absolute truth in front of a room full of outsiders. And since they’d all hear the Language as their own native tongue, they’d understand whatever he was saying. But it had to be done. “Did you kill Ren Shun?”

  Prutkov’s eyes widened. Apparently he hadn’t expected that question. “I did not kill Ren Shun,” he said in the Language, without hesitation.

  Kai hissed between his teeth. He knew what that meant. Irene had just knocked the main suspect in his theory out of contention. “Ask him if any of his minions might have done it,” he suggested.

  Prutkov shot Kai a look of plain dislike. “I did not give any orders for Ren Shun to be killed, either directly or by implication,” he said. “You aren’t seriously saying that I’m a suspect here?”

  “You’re unreliable. Given the stakes we’re dealing with, I have to be sure.” Irene wanted to say more than that—to ask him what the hell he thought he’d been doing, playing with these stakes, with so many lives at risk. But that would have been self-indulgence, when there were more important questions to which she needed answers. “Second question. Did you—or anyone under your orders—send a message to the Blood Countess under the Theatre of the Grand Guignol to let her know that Vale and Kai were coming?”

  “She can’t have been there,” Prutkov objected. “We had the place checked for chaos. Twice. It was too obvious!”

  “She’d obtained wards from Alberich, in the past, which allowed her to suppress chaos in her local area.” Irene pulled the remaining ward-script out of her coat and offered it to Azevedo. His expression darkened further as he looked it over. “That’s why none of us could find her there. But trust me, she was there, we can all vouch for that. Now please answer my question.”

  It was strange how her vocabulary and usage defaulted to please and thank you, Irene reflected grimly, as Prutkov hesitated over his words. Once it’s been ground into you as a child, you can never break free . . .

  “I have never sent any sort of message to the Countess, nor did I order one to be sent.” Prutkov took a deep breath. “And I didn’t know where she was based. Nor did I know that the dragon and the detective had gone to the theatre.” He dropped back to English. “Satisfied?”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t know they’d gone out, or where they’d gone,” Mu Dan said. “It seems the sort of thing you would track.”

  “That may be my fault,” Vale put in. “I was already suspicious of Mr. Prutkov here, and I did my best to avoid our coming to his attention.”

  Irene nodded, her brain whirling as pieces settled into a new configuration. “Kai,” she said, “I know that this won’t be enough to convince others in the delegations, but will you accept this as evidence for now?”

  “Yes. Unwillingly, but yes.” There was a glint of dragon-red in Kai’s eyes, and he looked as if he would like to be pacing the room. If he had been a cat, he would have been lashing his tail. “My lord uncle will not be happy if he learns one of the Library’s own people was manipulating events to his advantage.”

  “And while it’s scarcely necessary to point it out, nor will the Cardinal,” Silver remarked.

  “These accusations are unjustified,” Prutkov said, straightening his shoulders. “I’ve hardly been ‘manipulating events.’ I’ve been defending the Library’s interests. Just because one Librarian here dislikes the precise manner in which I’ve been doing it—”

  There was a rapping at the door. Everyone looked at each other. Then Azevedo gestured to Prutkov to answer it.

  “Who’s there?” Prutkov called.

  “Deborah.” Irene recognized the voice—she’d been talking to Prutkov while Irene hid behind the curtain with the Princess.

  Prutkov sighed. “Come in,” he said flatly. Either he’d given up on any further concealment or he realized how suspicious it would look to send her away.

  Azevedo opened the door. The woman beyond paused to see a stranger standing there, and her eyes widened further as she saw how full the room was. She hesitated, as if considering bolting, then shrugged and stepped inside. Fresh snow crusted her hat and the shoulders of her coat, and she left a damp trail behind her. “Prutkov, I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s turned bad. Ao Ji’s left the opera and he’s on his way here now.”

  “Why?” Prutkov checked his watch. “It’ll only just be the interval. It’s not even nine o’clock yet.”

  “I don’t know and nor do his people, but something’s gone wrong. He’s not in a good mood.” She brushed snow meaningfully from her coat. “And if the Fae get the idea that something’s up and leave the opera too, they’ll be coming right here as well. What’s going on?”

  Time seemed to slow as Irene came to a decision.

  “I think I know what to do,” she said, “but I’m going to require everyone’s cooperation on this one. And that means you too, Prutkov, because you have something I need.”

  CHAPTER 25

  It was yet another hotel room—pale, perfect, expensive, bloodless—and Irene was, once again, the most human and imperfect thing in it. There hadn’t been time to change her clothing or even brush her hair. She rose and bowed as Ao Ji entered, and waited for his gesture before she took a seat.

  Hsien and his men had swept the room for surveillance devices first, of course. Royalty had its privileges. And its paranoias.

  “You have requested a private meeting with me,” he said without preamble. “I would know your reasons.”

  “I thought that Your Majesty might want a report of the evening’s events so far, without witnesses,” Irene lied blandly. “There have been a number of developments.”

  His face was impassive. If Kai or Li Ming occasionally looked like a statue carved from marble, then Ao Ji was one carved from ice and snow, in some distant winter where the sun gave light but no warmth. “I felt an upswelling in chaos from across the city. I would not waste time at a theatrical performance while such a threat exists. You were involved?”

  “I was, Your Majesty. We discovered the lair of the Fae who was trying to interfere with the peace talks, the Blood Countess.”

  “Then why are you here and not rooting her out?” Ao Ji demanded. “Why is such a foul creature allowed to continue with her work? The Library promised to protect these negotiations. Or was I mistaken?”

  “Your Majesty, forgive me for being imprecise,” Irene said quickly. “We located her hiding-place and penetrated it but were forced to retreat due to insufficient strength and numbers. We believe w
e have hampered her operations and penetrated her disguises—so we can now locate her at our convenience.”

  Ao Ji’s eyes were slivers of ruby as he watched her. “Are you leaving anything out, Librarian?”

  Irene had been thinking how to phrase this. “Your nephew’s courage is notable, Your Majesty. He was among the first to find where the Countess was based and investigate it.”

  “Flattering my nephew won’t advance your cause in my eyes,” Ao Ji said coldly. “Is there some point to this?”

  “He was also the one who found a particularly interesting clue, Your Majesty. He said that he found the information while he was going through Lord Ren Shun’s papers.”

  A breath of icy air moved through the room, as though someone had entered silently and brought the outside chill with them. “And?”

  “I believe that Lord Ren Shun may have located the Countess himself, Your Majesty. It is logical to draw a connection between this and his subsequent death.”

  Ao Ji’s hand clenched on the arm of his chair, and Irene saw the glitter of claws on his fingertips. “You speak very casually of my liegeman’s murder.”

  “Please forgive me, Your Majesty,” Irene said quickly. “Perhaps as a human, I will never fully understand the sort of loyalty which is forged by centuries of service.”

  Ao Ji paused, tilting his head as though trying to find fault with that statement. “At least you acknowledge it,” he finally said ungraciously.

  Now it was time to take a risk. “It would be understandable if Your Majesty’s loss had prejudiced you against the Fae. But this is a treaty which depends on fair and unbiased dealing from both sides of the table.”