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I could well believe that Jaxon had been the one to convince him. Words were his finest weapon.

“Is the Grand Overseer in Sheol II now?” I asked. “To your knowledge.”

“I don’t know everything. I’m just a canary,” Cade said dryly. “But I would assume so.”

“And you’re okay with all of this.” I raised my eyebrows. “After all we went through in the first colony, you think we should leave this second one alone and allow Ménard to execute his grand plan.”

“Yes.” His face betrayed his disquiet. “I don’t like it, Paige, but war is a long game. I believe we should support Ménard until he succeeds in disempowering the Rephaim.”

“And how does Ménard succeed in that, exactly?” I was skeptical. “He might have got lucky with Kornephoros, but he could never capture Nashira or Gomeisa. You’ve seen their power.”

“I’ll work out how to take it. I am going to find a way to destroy them without turning them. If that means I have to starve Kornephoros and see what happens, so be it.”

As I scrutinized his face, I noticed the shadows under his eyes, darker than mine. Deep lines laced around them when his expression changed.

“I don’t supposeyouknow anything about Rephaite weaknesses,” he said. “Having worked so closely with them.”

“Only that they’re very averse to the poppy anemone, which you clearly already know.”

“Yeah. I brought seeds back from the colony. Contact with those flowers constricts their auras,” Cade said. “It also makes themlooka bit like Emim—necrotic. Kornephoros sometimes calls that disfigurementhalf-urge, too, even though it’s not the same condition. Just mimics the early stages of it. So . . . false half-urge.”

“All those fancy words and that’s where they choose to recycle.”

Cade chuckled. “Rephs.” He reached into his pocket and took out a single red bloom, slightly crushed. “Strange little things,” he murmured. “Almost like someone put them here to warn us.”

Without answering, I sipped my drink.

I did know another Rephaite weakness. I knew that a certain Netherworld substance could behead them, and I doubted they could get up again after, half-urge or not. Gut instinct warned me against telling Cade, perhaps because it felt for all the world like I was telling him how to hurt Arcturus.

Arcturus. Somewhere deep inside me, resentment simmered like a hearth of hot coals. He had warned me about his secret, but I was still frustrated with him for keeping it from me.

“I couldn’t sense Kornephoros at first,” I said.

“You wouldn’t have. I’ve been experimenting with Emite blood,” Cade explained. “I discovered it cuts the subject off from the æther. It also makes them much harder to detect.”

“You’ve learned a lot.” I tapped the arm of my chair. “That’s what they gave me before the meeting.”

“Yes. It makes it hard to use our gifts,” Cade said. “The human body can’t tolerate pure Emite blood very often, though. My self-experimentation involved a lot of puke.” He sat back. “Ménard expects your answer tomorrow night, in the Salon Vert.”

“You think any of this has changed my mind about working for him?”

“I hoped it would.” Cade met my gaze. “I imagine he wants you as bait, or a bargaining tool. He knows how much Nashira wants you, and how much your survival will discredit the Rephaite-supporting Weaver. In the meantime, he’ll treat you well and keep you safe.”

He really thought this was an attractive offer. His face was full of resolve, his eyes bright with it. To my surprise, he reached across the table and placed a calloused hand over mine.

“Stay,” he said. “We can make this work, Paige. Just wait a few more—”

Before I had a chance to cut him off, the door swept open, and he dropped my hand as if it were poisonous. Luce Ménard Frère stood in the doorway, dressed in black and white.

“Je veux lui parler seule.” She sliced a glance toward Cade. “Quittez ma vue, anormal, tout de suite.”

He left without a word. Frère didn’t look at him. Instead, she watched me, and I watched her.

“Stand up,” she said in English.

I rose. Frère crossed the room at her leisure, taking in what remained of the food. When she was near, she scaled and peeled me with her gaze. Her lips were red, her lashes brushed with lampblack. The last time I had seen her face this close, I had been looking into a mirror.

She backhanded me. I could feel that she had thrust every ounce of her loathing into the blow, but her hand was weak, inexpert. Her spousal ring still cut my cheek.