Arcturus switched on the evening news. The Chief of Vigilance explained away the security alert, claiming it was a system test. All was well. I ate tiny bites of toast and coughed.
Ménard must be furious. The thought that Cade might suffer his wrath made me uneasy. Even if he had failed in his attempt to soften a vicious tyrant, he seemed decent, if misguided.
After the local news, Scarlett Burnish appeared. She welcomed the new denizens of the empire to Scion, speaking over clips of well-behaved troops. Next, Weaver gave a speech aimed at Pilar Brugués Olivencia, the Prime Minister of Spain. He urged her to oppose King Esteban and surrender (“Will you fight to keep one man enthroned, or spare your people weeks of blood?”). Burnish returned to reflect on the pride and self-regard of monarchs, their lust for power. She was the perfect servant of the anchor. No crack in her façade.
I had never been able to thank her for saving me. Most likely, I never would.
King Esteban would die. A republican like Daniela Gonçalves could be molded into a Grand Inquisitor, but not a monarch. Never a monarch. Nashira Sargas would brook the reign of no sovereign but herself.
My skin burned through my nightshirt. Between deep stabs of pain, I dozed and shuddered and coughed. When the front door opened, Arcturus woke me with a small tug of the cord.
My arms were too weak to support me. He offered a hand, which I took, and lifted me into a sitting position. I tried to thank him, but the pain was too much to bear. Even swallowing hurt.
Cordier entered the parlor first and flashed a smile at Arcturus. Tonight she wore a cream silk blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt, and pumps with tiny spotted bows.
“Hello,” she said to Arcturus. “Again.”
Arcturus offered a nod.
“Cordier,” Ducos said in a starched tone as she stepped in, “see to Flora, if you please.”
Cordier dropped the smile and came straight to my side. “Flora.” She turned my face into the light. “You’re burning up. And these bruises—” Delicate knuckles skirted my forehead. “How long have you had a fever?”
“Since last night,” Arcturus said, when I could only rattle and wheeze.
“All right.” Cordier placed a hand on my back. “Let’s take a look at you, honey.”
While Cordier moved her case to her lap, Ducos sat in the armchair. A long black coat was buttoned to her chin, and her stiletto boots gleamed.
“Flora,” she said. “And auxiliary. Good to see you both alive after that little . . . interlude.” Her dark hair fell in roller curls. “Flora, I can see you’re unwell, but I need you to—”
“Isaure,” Cordier broke in, “please. She can hardly breathe, let alone talk.”
Ducos opened her mouth as if to protest before I dissolved into more bone-racking coughs. She pursed her lips.
“I’ll need you to take off your shirt,” Cordier said to me. “Let’s send these two out, shall we?”
Shivering all over, I shook my head. Arcturus had seen me that undressed before, and I doubted Ducos gave a damn. I eased off my nightshirt and crossed my arms over my breasts.
It had been about twelve years since I had last had a checkup from anyone other than Nick. Cordier checked my temperature, listened to my breathing, attached my forefinger to the same device she had used before, and took a couple of blood samples. Next, she aimed a handheld scanner at my chest. It spat out a monochrome image, which Cordier studied, her expression grim.
“What is it?” Ducos asked tersely.
Cordier breathed out through her nose. “Pleural effusion,” she concluded. “I’ll need to rule out an empyema.” Ducos looked as if she had developed a sudden headache. “Command should never have cleared her for assignment without a comprehensive medical. It’s a wonder she’s been able to get out of bed, let alone—”
“Pleural effusion?” I whispered. Every word now caused a jag of pain. “What is that?”
Cordier turned to me. “It’s a buildup of excess fluid in the lungs,” she said gently. “In your case, it’s unilateral—just in the right lung. Given your symptoms and personal history, I suspect this is a complication of pneumonia, caused by foreign material being aspirated into the respiratory tract.”
Arcturus had courteously averted his gaze during the examination, but now our eyes met.
“From the waterboard,” I said.
“That seems likely. If you inhaled your own vomit, or water got into your lungs, it could have caused an infection,” Cordier said. “Especially if the water in question was soiled. You’re also dehydrated.”
Her voice sounded distant. Instead, I heard my own terrified screams as the water carved its way down my throat. I tasted it again.
I had thought the memories were all that had followed me from that dark room. Yet ever since, I had been growing a souvenir inside my own body.
Cordier cupped my elbow, stirring me back to the present. “Is anything else bothering you, Paige?”
I pressed my ribs. Part of me was still in the darkness.
“Broke my wrist last year.” I drew my nightshirt back on. “Gives me trouble sometimes.”
Cordier waited for me to show her which arm, then rolled up my sleeve. She kneaded the fine bones of my hand and wrist before she used her scanner again. I had never relished strangers touching me, but Cordier was so composed, it was difficult to be tense in her presence. Even the way she spoke was calm, her voice as even as the surface of a pool.
“Scaphoid fracture,” she concluded. “That bone tends to heal slowly. Did you fall on it?”
I nodded. “Scion knows she has an injury to that wrist,” Ducos pointed out. “A cast will make her conspicuous.”
Cordier shot her an exasperated look and probed my wrist again. This time it was harder not to flinch. “It needs support,” she said. “This kind of fracture can lead to painful difficulties.” She reached into her case. “A temporary brace will do. She can remove it on assignment.”
Ducos chewed the inside of her cheek. Presumably taking her silence as permission, Cordier went to work, a crease between her razor-thin eyebrows. By the time she was finished, it looked as if I was wearing a fingerless glove. I gave my hand an experimental clench.
“There. Wear it when you can.” Cordier tucked her sleek hair behind her ears again. “I know a medic in another sub-network who has dealt with waterboard survivors. He’ll have what I need to treat the effusion.” She rose and smoothed her skirt. “Give me a couple of hours. Until then, Flora, you need to rest. Lie on your right side to help with the pain.”
I made a noncommittal sound. She gathered up her case and left the room at a brisk trot.
“Cordier is one of the best in the network,” Ducos said. “I am sure she can ease your discomfort.”
I was too tired to so much as nod. Even my fingers hurt, right down to the smallest joints.
“I need to know what happened in there.” Her expression softened. “I’m sorry to make you talk, but—”
“It’s fine. This is important.”
Speaking in an agonized whisper, I gave her a lightly edited version of how I had ended up imprisoned in the Hôtel Garuche: I had wanted a closer look at the outside of the building and had left the safe house to scout the perimeter. Another clairvoyant had detected me. I had been able to dispose of my dissimulator before I was hauled inside and locked up.
“By hiding the dissimulator, you broke the link to Mannequin,” Ducos mused. “Even in the face of arrest, you remained calm and protected the network.” For once, she made no move to smoke. “Now, the million-pound question. Did you obtain the intelligence we require?”
“I did.”
Ducos dropped her shoulders and exhaled. It was the strongest reaction I had seen from her. For the first time, I noticed the puffy shadows under her eyes, impossible to polish.
“Tell me,” she said.
“What do you know about the Suzerain?”
“An unidentified entity or entities at the highest leve
l of Scion. That’s all I can disclose.”
If only she knew.
“Weaver ordered Ménard to provide a residence for that entity in France. A city where rare anormales will be transported in tribute,” I said. “Ménard hates the idea, and despises the Suzerain. The document I mentioned, the one Frère took to London, was the Great Territorial Act—his formal agreement to the deal. He signed under pressure, and it seems he’s honored it.”
Ducos was listening raptly. Her left hand lingered close to her pocket, where she kept her silver case of cigarettes, and I realized she must be refraining for my sake.
“Ménard is plotting a coup,” I continued. “He plans to imprison the Suzerain and her supporters inside the city he was forced to build for them. He plans to take England from under Frank Weaver. And then he plans to destroy them both. To claim Scion for himself.”
“Where is this city?”
“The best intelligence I have suggests Versailles.”
I filled her in on the fine details as much as I could, only leaving out the affair between Frère and Cade—useful information, but it might put both Cade and the child in danger. I explained that Ménard had captured an emissary from the Suzerain, and that he was the one who had given me the location. Yes, I was confident he would keep quiet about it.
“You did well. Very well,” Ducos said, at last. “All of this could have explosive potential.”
“I did as you asked,” I said. “Completed the assignment. Proved I could follow orders.”
“Yes.” She seemed lost in thought. “You did.”
“Then perhaps we can discuss my militia in London.”
Her gaze sharpened. “When I return, I will hear you out.” She stood. “Well done, Flora. To have escaped Inquisitorial custody in one piece is a tremendous accomplishment by itself, but to have done it in your condition, and finished the assignment—I am very proud to have you in Mannequin.”
I nodded, relieved both that Ducos was pleased and that I could stop talking for a while.
“Now that Portugal has submitted, it may take several days for me to receive new orders,” she said. “Until I return, stay indoors.”
The news curdled in my stomach. “President Gonçalves has surrendered, then.”
“The fight was over. She must have accepted that no help was coming.” She slid her hands into her pockets. “Cordier should return by noon tomorrow.”
She turned to leave. “Ducos,” I said, and she stopped. “Do you think Scion will take Spain?”
Her face was impossible to read, but something in her eyes chilled me.
“I think,” she said, “that it’s only a matter of time.”
15
A Sedition of Clairvoyants
Our plans were on hold. Arcturus made it quietly clear that he had no intention of leaving me alone with pneumonia and a fever, and even I wasn’t fool enough to think I could find the perdues myself in this state. Until Cordier came back to treat me, there was nothing to be done.
I lay in my bedroom and listened to the rattle of my breath. Each time, I imagined rotten water bubbling in my lung.
Even though I had slept after the escape, I was so tired and sore that I drifted off again. When I woke, it was sunset. I turned back onto my bad side and tried to remember how to just rest. My fever made it hard. I was too hot for the duvet, too cold not to have some of it over me.
After a while, a knock came at the door. Arcturus came in and placed a large glass of water on the nightstand.
“Cordier said you were dehydrated.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“And I found this in the bookcase.” He handed me a rolled-up page. “It may interest you.”
On any other evening, I would have asked him to stay and distract me, but speaking was still difficult, and there was a tension between us that had yet to be snapped. I nodded my acknowledgment instead, and he left. I unrolled the paper to find a regional map of the Scion Republic of France.
Kornephoros had said that Versailles was to the west. I traced a line from our location to a large area of woodland, where I found two words.
ZONE INTERDITE
A forbidden sector.
I had learned about Versailles in my Scion history lessons at school. Our classes had focused on the debauchery of its aristocrats, who had gossiped, gambled, banqueted, and otherwise frittered their time away while the poor starved on the streets. All of them, our teacher told us, had deserved to have their heads cut off and paraded about Paris. Good riddance.
With its proven suspicion of religion and monarchy, France had been the perfect candidate to join the fold of the Republic of Scion. The official story was that Versailles had been demolished within two years of the conversion.
Nadine and Zeke were in there. The last time I had seen them, they had chosen to leave with Jaxon after the scrimmage and support his claim to be the rightful Underlord. Now they had clearly joined me and Arcturus on the list of people Jaxon Hall had stabbed in the back.
And Michael. He had been imprisoned in the first colony for years, and now he had been thrown into another.
He had lasted over a month on his own before Scion had re-arrested him. If only we hadn’t been separated in London, I might have been able to keep him safe.
I was certain Sheol II would be twice as secure as its predecessor. Trap-pits and landmines. Ethereal fences. Armed guards. Almost certainly some Emim, too, if there were enough auras to tempt them. I could only hope the perdues would know of a way to avoid its defenses.
If Arcturus was right. If they did have a route into Versailles.
He was proving instrumental in this search. I had underestimated his ability to navigate the underworld. I wanted to break the silence between us, to return to the warm familiarity we had shared here, but both of us were smarting.
Cordier was late. By the time she returned, it was dark, and I was settled in the armchair with a mug of tea. She carried a briefcase in one hand and her own bag on her shoulder.
“Sorry, Flora. That took longer than I expected.” She set down her bags. “How do you feel?”
“No better or worse.” I set my jaw against the pain. “Just made a pot of tea, if you want some.”
“That’s sweet of you, but I can’t stay long.” Cordier took off her shoes, which were dusted with snow, and draped her coat over the back of the couch. “I need to get all this back to Figurine.”
“Figurine?”
“Another sub-network. Where’s your handsome friend?” she added as she unclipped the briefcase.
I nodded to the doorway. Cordier looked over her shoulder to see that Arcturus had appeared from his room. “So he is.” She brushed her silken hair behind one ear. “Hello again.”
“Doctor Cordier,” Arcturus said.
“Oh, please, call me Eléonore. We should all be friends in Mannequin.” Her crimson lipstick was so flawless, I was sure she must have used a stencil. “I never did catch your name.”
“Warden.”
“Warden. How mysterious.” Cordier smiled, then started to remove equipment from the case. “How did you two come to be . . . associates?”
“Long story.” With difficulty, I shifted upright. “You met when I was in the Hôtel Garuche, did you?”
“Briefly,” Arcturus said.
“Yes, we didn’t have much time to speak. I hope we can remedy that,” Cordier said lightly. “We work under such pressure in Mannequin. It’s important to foster good relations.”
Arcturus inclined his head to her, and her smile deepened. A strange feeling winged through my stomach as she took a bottle of antiseptic from her bag.
I had never seen anyone try to flirt with a Rephaite. He could flirt right back at her if he liked. It was no business of mine.
“I need to do one more scan,” Cordier said to me, rubbing the gel between her hands. “Do you mind?”
“No.”
Arcturus caught my eye, and I nodded. I wanted him to stay.
Cordier had me sit on a dining chair and remove my shirt again. After snapping on a pair of gloves, she slathered my back in something cold and rolled a scanner across it. After a while, she put it down.
“Good.” She wiped the gel off my back and delved into her bag again. “I have a course of antibiotics for the pneumonia, but I can relieve some of your symptoms now by draining the effusion. It’s a short procedure where I’d have to insert a needle between your ribs. You’ll be a little bit uncomfortable.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Can’t remember the last time I wasn’t a little bit uncomfortable.”
Cordier chuckled. “All right. Lean forward on the table for me, so I can reach your back.” I folded my arms on it. “Perfect.”
I decided not to look too hard at her equipment. A chill dab of antiseptic came first, then a sting and a throb as she injected the numbing agent. The edge of the table dug into my ribs. Arcturus brought me a cushion, which I slid between me and the table, before he took the seat opposite.
Cordier hummed spryly as she worked. Even though my back was numb, I grimaced when the pressure started. It was like she had pulled a plug from my back. I fought the sudden urge to cough again.
Arcturus offered a hand. I grasped it and squeezed until I was afraid I would crush his fingers. I was light-headed by the time Cordier said, “Needle out.” A rustle of movement. “Let me put a dressing on the puncture.”
She wrapped a bandage around my middle to hold the dressing in place, then came to sit beside me and placed two glass bottles on the table. They were full of something that looked horribly like melted butter.
“There,” she said, with an air of satisfaction.
“Lovely.” I had a strong stomach, but those bottles turned it. “All that was in my lung?”
“All lungs contain pleural fluid. You just had too much.”
She slotted both bottles into her bag and listened to my breathing again. Whatever the outcome, she looked content, and set about packing the last of her equipment away.
“Breathing and speaking should be much easier now. Change the dressing every few days, take it easy, and please, drink.” She patted the briefcase. “Medicine for the pneumonia. Everything you need is in here, including dosage instructions. Don’t miss a dose.”
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