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I wished Scion had more room for compassion. I wished I didn’t feel the need to curb it in him.

“So. This Man in the Iron Mask.” I pushed my hands into my pockets as we pressed on. “Think it’s a Rephaite?”

“A Rephaite would not abduct a human. My kind would leave such work to underlings.”

A disquieting thought occurred.

“The Rag and Bone Man vanished after the scrimmage,” I said. “No one saw or heard of him again after that night, even though I put a substantial bounty on his head. He has an unusual aura, like you. Ifhewas the attacker, that could be why Katell mistook you for him.”

“You believe he may have fled here.”

“Maybe. If he did, I’ll wager he’s up to his old tricks. Selling voyants to Scion again.”

“There is no reason to fear that the gray market has resurfaced. Caron may simply have been arrested.”

“True. I suppose he could also have had a run-in with debt collectors. Or vigilantes. All kinds of ways to disappear in Scion.” I spoke with more conviction than I felt. Something felt off. “For now, let’s just find the syndicate. Remind me whatcarrièresmeans?”

“Quarries. Katell was referring to the system of abandoned mines and ossuaries that lies beneath the skin of Paris, which covers at least two hundred miles. Scion has never been able to map it.”

“Sounds like the perfect hideout. And Mélusine could be our key to it. Our next link.”

“She will still be in the citadel tomorrow, Paige. It can wait.”

“I’m not tired.”

A barefaced lie. We both knew it. I also knew that if I didn’t push myself, I would never get my strength back.

“It will be safer if we separate for the journey,” Arcturus said. He stopped and handed me a roll of notes. “For your cab. I will meet you at an establishment in Montparnasse—La Mère des Douleurs. Ask the waitron for a café sombre.”

“Café sombre.” I raised an eyebrow. “Is the goal to sound as much like a tourist as possible?”

“Indeed. An ostensible mistake that will not attract unwelcome attention.”

“You really are the prince of mystery, you know that?”

“Yes.”

I tamped down a bout of nerves as I tucked the cash away. I couldn’t be afraid of striking out alone. If I let that sort of dread set in, it would mean the torture had broken something I might never fix.

“A gloomy coffee at the Mother of Sorrows.” As I turned away, I threw him a smile. “You really know how to show a girl a good time, Arcturus.”

I was sure the corner of his mouth flinched.

3

Gloomy Coffee

It was a short walk to the Porte Nord. Two pickpockets trailed me for a while, but when I turned and gave them a level stare, they melted away.

Carven faces gaped down at me from the triumphal arch, which honored the French soldiers who had fallen at the Battle of the Iron Gates during the Balkan Incursion. Idling across the street was a car with dabs of azure paint above its wheels. I climbed in, gave the address, and we were off. The cabbie smoked like damp kindling and paid me little mind.

Dull pain throbbed in my temple. Twice I snapped out of a drowse. The car rattled back over the river and into the south of the citadel, where it braked outside the shell of a church. I paid the cabbie and waded through a snowbank, toward a coffeehouse on the corner.

La Mère des Douleurs didn’t look as if it hid any secrets. The awnings over its outdoor tables were heavy with snow, its façade peacock blue, and bay windows flanked its door, each square pane laced with frost. The menu promised hot spiced mecks and Lyonnaise-style cuisine.

Inside, I scraped mud and snow from my boots. Customers lounged on wicker chairs, eating and talking. I checked my lenses were still in place as a waitron approached me.

“Bonjour,” she said.