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‘Even if they die, those memories will always remain. Your spirit will feel a disturbance in the ground, but you will not understand why,’ he told me. ‘As an oneiromancer, I would counsel you tobring them into the light, where you can see them, even if they produce spectres. You deserve to live with your whole self in your keeping, Paige.’

I didn’t deserve the unbearable gentleness in his voice, or the way he was looking at me.

I still couldn’t bring myself to refuse him.

His room was similar to mine, with tawny bedding and a high ceiling. I locked the door, while he approached the armchair. Finding nowhere else, I sat on the end of his bed.

‘I have no more salvia. You may not see a great deal as you dream, but the memories will be clear when you wake,’ Arcturus said. ‘You will also be free of the aster fatigue.’

‘Just the usual fatigue to deal with, then.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Let’s get this done.’

He moved his chair towards me. It felt too intimate to lie on his bed, but there was nowhere else.

Without the salvia, I didn’t quite sleep. The dream was more of a hallucination, like something I would see in the grip of a fever. He coaxed my buried poppies from under the floorboards and snow. The memories passed in a blur, the sounds muffled. I was locked in a room, screaming to be let out. I saw myself almost escape; saw myself succeed four times, unaware of the tracker under my skin, only to be hunted down by the cold-blooded unreadable.

Arcturus stayed at my side, refining the work he had done in the apartment. When it was done, I opened my eyes, blinking away the past. Nothing I had remembered was especially useful.

Other than a name.

‘The Lepidopterist,’ I murmured. ‘That’s what Cordier called the person who was trying to buy me.’

‘That term refers to an individual who studies butterflies and moths.’ Arcturus paused. ‘Or collects them.’

A shiver trailed down my back.

‘Thank you for doing this.’ I sat up. ‘I’ll leave you to rest.’

‘A waking dream can be disorienting.’ He started to rise. ‘I will escort you to your room.’

‘It’s all right,’ I said quickly. ‘My room isn’t far. You really shouldn’t be seen.’

‘A wise thought.’

He sank back into his chair, his hand tight on its arm. I wet my lips.

‘You seem like you’re finding it hard to move,’ I said. ‘Are you in pain?’

Arcturus looked at his own gloved hand.

‘In the coffin,’ he said, ‘my ectoplasm vitrified. Your intervention changed that, but it seems to recall its previous state. When I will my body to move, it obeys, but slower than its wont. I suspect it may take some time for my blood to flow with the ease it once did, if it ever does.’

When he drew his hand into a fist, his knuckles made a slight crackle, like the crunch of broken glass.

‘Verca told me pink aster can strengthen the connection between the body and the spirit,’ I said, relieved to have remembered something useful. ‘Do you think that might help?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Okay. I’ll ask Nick if he can get you some,’ I said. ‘He’s not joining me in Rome for a few days.’ I could offer him quick fixes, if nothing else. ‘I don’t know if I’ll see you before we’re back in Scion.’

‘You do not have to return there,’ Arcturus said. ‘I would choose no one else as Underqueen, but I know you found it difficult.’ I looked away. ‘Nashira gave you no choice but to enter this conflict. I believe I convinced her that you died in Paris, even if she took the precaution of keeping a price on your head in the free world. You could walk away from Scion, knowing the revolution will continue in your wake.’

‘Maria already said this to me. I’m not hiding,’ I said. ‘I chose this path before I ever met Nashira Sargas. I chose it when Scion murdered my cousin and conquered my country. Besides, they need me in London.’

‘Then I will await you there.’

A new flower bloomed. It was a flower of false hope, and I had to let it die, for both our sakes. Saying he would wait for me was not the same – not at all – as saying he still wanted me.

‘I’ll get you the aster,’ I said. ‘Is there anything more I can do?’