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“I’m sorry. You know what it was like in that place. Made you paranoid.” Cade looked at me. “I knew your rebels had spiked the drinks, that last night. I never betrayed you. We’re on the same side.”

It was true that he had at least kept his mouth shut. Sedating the red-jackets had gone to plan.

“Fine.” I set the tea down on the table. “Carry on. Before all this, what exactly did Frère propose?”

Cade settled back in his chair, one ankle resting on one knee.

“Ménard had received a summons to the Bicentenary,” he said, “to sign the Great Territorial Act. A formal agreement between the Republic of Scion France and the Suzerain that the former would host a penal colony for unnaturals. Now, most Scion staff with first-level security clearance are aware that there’s a power above Weaver, but they have no idea who—or what—it is. Ménard needed someone to find out.”

“You’re saying Scion is spying on itself ?” Ducos was going to love this. “In the colony, you said there was still a grain of sense left in the Archon. You meant the Hôtel Garuche.”

“I could hardly just come out and tell you I was spying for the French,” Cade said, amused. “But, yes. Frère issued me with a false identity and sent me to London to get myself arrested. As a rare voyant, I was sent to Sheol I. The whole time I was there, I was observing on Ménard’s behalf.”

“He wanted to know what he was agreeing to host in his country,” I said. “Before he signed up to it.”

“Exactly. I was his canary in a coal mine.”

The pieces of the jigsaw were at last forming a picture. “How did you escape the colony?”

“Do you remember Aloys Mynatt?” Cade said. The former Grand Raconteur of France, who had retired in November. “He was there to extract me. He got me onto the next train out.”

“And that’s when Frère became pregnant,” I said. A tiny nod. “I don’t know why you’re still working here. She’s due in June. If the baby is yours, shouldn’t you run while you still can?”

“When you’ve spoken to Ménard, you’ll see why I want to help him for as long as possible. You might even want to do the same.”

“You think I’d work with a tyrant?”

“Sometimes you need to shake hands with the enemy. You trusted the Warden, didn’t you?”

I wanted to point out that my alliance with Arcturus had been forged when I realized he was a fellow prisoner, and that Arcturus had never betrayed any desire to behead hordes of innocent people with a weighted blade. Cade cracked his neck and stood.

“Ménard expects you at nine, after the staff and officials have gone. I put in a good word for you,” he said. “Cooperate and you won’t be restrained.”

“Words to inspire an alliance of equals. You should write the propaganda.”

“Just friendly advice, Underqueen.” He had the cheek to wink. “You can keep the shirt.”

He rapped his knuckles on the door and was let out. I heard the distinctclickas the guards locked it behind him.

Already I had useful intelligence for Ducos. Tonight would bring more. High risk for high gain. Still, no matter how many secrets I unlocked during my stay, they would be no use to anyone unless I got out of this place alive.

I got up from the daybed. When I parted the dusty curtains, I found myself looking at a significant fall to a lower rooftop. Even if I somehow got down there without breaking my legs, I would be shot before I could reach the ground. Ménard had put snipers on the gate.

You have risen from the ashes before, Arcturus had told me.The only way to survive is to believe you always will.

The memory of those words tempered my nerves. I had survived this once—I could do it again. I would hear what Ménard had to say.

****

For the rest of the day, I observed the Vigiles who patrolled in the front courtyard of the mansion. There was no clock in the room, so I used the sun to estimate the time. I also took note of my position. My room was in the west wing. Ménard had placed me as far away from his living quarters as possible.

I could sense hundreds of people working downstairs. Staff and guards and officials. Close to sunset, a Vigile delivered me a cup of water and some clothes. A simple white blouse, gray trousers, a black sweater. Slip-on shoes with liners—flimsy things, not snug enough to run or climb in.

There was a sink in my cell, beside a door that led to a cramped toilet. The tap dripped. Beside it sat a hard-bristled toothbrush, toothpaste, and a bar of soap. Better than my last prison, though I suspected Ménard wanted me clean for my guards’ sake, not mine. Cast-iron radiators taunted me from the walls, icy to the touch.

I tried the golden cord. Arcturus needed to know that I was alive. Even as I willed myself to be calm, to hold the cord with both hands, everything conspired to distract me. My cough. My hollow stomach. The ever-growing shadows, which made me feel surrounded. Try as I might, there was a wall between us. In the end, I gave up. I would try again later.

At dusk, Alexandra Kotzia entered the room and looked me over, her face tight with dislike.