The Mime Order (40 page)

It sounded priceless. My aura was the one thing that almost always gave me away in London. “When you say ‘mask,’” I said, “do you mean from other voyants?”

“Yes.”

“And Senshield scanners?”

“Perhaps. We have not yet had the opportunity to test that theory.”

“And soon enough, when word reaches the last strongholds of the Netherworld, we will also be able to provide soldiers of our own,” Terebell said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Word of what?”

“The amaranth in bloom,” Errai said, looking as irritated as Rephaim could look. “It is the Ranthen’s call to arms, that which will persuade our old allies to return to us. Why do you think we never acted before now? We were waiting for the true sign. For an opportunity to revive what has faded.”

My head was whirring. I tucked my hands into my pockets and took in a long, deep breath.

“We do not have time for you to ponder this proposal,” Terebell said. “Answer me now, dreamwalker: will you ally your forces with mine?”

“It’s not as simple as ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ If I win, I’ll do my best to persuade the London voyants that taking down Scion is a good idea,
but
it won’t be easy. They’re thieves and con artists with no military training whatsoever. The money should convince them to help us, but I can’t guarantee it.”

“As you cannot
guarantee
it, we will have to impose our own guarantee.” She indicated the nearest two Ranthen. “In order for you to win the scrimmage, you will submit yourself to our training. Errai, Pleione, you will instruct the dreamwalker to ensure she is up to standard.”

From the look Errai gave me, you’d have thought she’d asked him to lick the floor. “I will not,” he said.

“I will,” Pleione said, with a note of menace.

“It would make more sense for me to train with Warden. I’m used to his training style,” I said, trying to sound offhand. The thought of these two training me was not a pleasant one.

Tension crept into Terebell’s jaw. “Arcturus has other duties. He is no longer your keeper.”

“It will save time. We don’t have a lot of it.”

Her eyes grew hotter. You could almost see her mulling it over, weighing up the pros and cons of leaving the great Arcturus Mesarthim on his own with an upstart human. She turned to Warden and spoke to him in Gloss, her whole body held up as if by a taut rope. He looked at me for a while.

“Paige is right,” he said. “It will save valuable time. For the Ranthen’s sake, I will do this.”

Terebell’s features were rigid. “So be it.” She reached into her coat and handed me a thick envelope. “Be grateful for this patronage, dreamwalker. And know that if you do not succeed in the ring, I will make you sorry you were ever born.”

She spoke to the other three in Gloss, and the four of them left the auditorium without another word. Only Warden remained behind. I tucked the envelope into my coat, out of the reach of pickpockets.

“
They’re so friendly,” I said.

“Hm. And you are a talented diplomat.”

“Dreamwalker.” Terebell was still on the stage, looking out from behind the curtain. “Before you begin, a word.”

My pulse quickened. I glanced at Warden, who said nothing; then I followed her, up the steps and on to the stage. She seized my arm and pulled me behind the curtain, where she slammed me into the wall. My spirit reared up inside me.

“The Sargas have spread a message through the Netherworld. Every chol-bird is singing that Arcturus Mesarthim degrades himself with humans.” Terebell forced up my chin. “Is this true, girl?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her grip tightened. “If one more lie falls from your tongue, it will rot to the root. The golden cord may have helped you find him, but its mere existence implies an intimate relationship. I will not allow you to—”

“Rephaim don’t consort with humans.” I cut her arm away. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t touch him.”

My tongue, as it happened, did not rot to the root. “Good,” Terebell said softly. “I may have agreed to fund your revolution, and I may have saved your hide in the colony. But do not cease to remember your station, Paige Mahoney, or I will see you fall as a crop falls to the scythe.”

She let go of my arm. I marched toward the door, more shaken than I dared to show. Fuck her training. Fuck the lot of them.

Outside, it was starting to rain. The Punisher hadn’t returned. He was fortunate; at that moment, I probably would have killed him.

With my hands balled into fists in my pockets, I walked away from the music hall, blowing out slow breaths to cool my anger. I’d always known what of Rephaim thought of humans, but I never imagined that Warden would care what others thought about him. I had to be impervious, like they were. Let it all run off me, like water.

“
Paige.”

His voice was close, but I kept walking. “I don’t think we should talk,” I said, not looking at him.

“May I ask why?”

“I can think of several reasons.”

“I have plenty of time to hear them. Eternity, in fact.”

“Fine. Here’s one: your so-called allies are treating me like filth on their boots, and I don’t like it one bit.”

“I did not think you could be so easily rattled.”

“Let’s see how rattled you are when I start talking about what cruel, tyrannical bastards you Rephaim can be.”

“By all means,” he said. “They would benefit from a lesson in humility.”

I stopped beneath a streetlamp and faced him. The rain was already picking up, plastering my hair to my face—and for once he looked as human as I did, standing in the downpour on this London corner. “I don’t know what their problem is, or what they know about the Guildhall,” I said, “but they need to get over it if we’re going to work together. And you need to decide how many of Terebell’s orders you’ll follow if we go ahead with this alliance.”

“What I do is my prerogative, Paige Mahoney. Thanks to you, I am my own master.”

“You told me once that freedom was my right.” I held his gaze. “Maybe you should do something with it.”

A furnace roared to life behind his eyes. It had come out sounding like a challenge.

Was he a gambler, too? And was the gamble worth it, when neither of us could win? I thought of the patronage, of the money and support I needed. I thought of Jaxon, watching the clock, waiting for me to return from my tryst.

“The sovereign-elect orders us to train,” he said, “but she did not specify the manner in which I should train you.”

“
That sounds ominous.”

“You will have to trust me.” He turned back to the music hall. “Do you?”

19

Ciuleandra

The music hall was empty when we returned, though I still checked for dreamscapes. Warden closed the doors behind us. I sat down on the edge of the stage and brought one knee up to my chest.

“How do you know Lucida isn’t a double agent?”

He barred the doors. “Why do you ask that?”

“She’s a Sargas,” I said.

“Did you agree with your father on everything, Paige? Your cousin?”

“No,” I said, “but the Mahoney family aren’t tyrants who specialize in brainwashing.”

The corner of his mouth gave the briefest twitch. “Lucida broke away from her kin a long time ago. She would not have starved herself for a century without good reason.”

“What about the others?” My breathing was slower now, steadier. “What about Terebell?”

“I trust them, but the alliance will not be easy. Terebell has always been a harsh judge of the human race.”

“
Any particular reason?”

“I have studied many books on human history, and if there is one thing I have learned from them, it is that it is not always possible to find reason in tradition. It is the same for Rephaim.”

Truer words had never been spoken.

Warden took a seat beside me, not quite close enough to touch, and clasped his hands. We both looked up at the carved pillars, the high ceiling. Unlike Terebell, he took in the hallmarks of violence that had been wrought on this building. His gaze lingered on the nearest collections of bullet wounds on the walls, the torn and blackened stage curtains.

“I apologize for how I treated you in the doss-house,” he said. “I wanted to prepare you for the Ranthen’s conduct. Their tolerance for humans waxes and wanes.”

“And you thought the best way to prepare me was to act like a—” “—Rephaite. Most Rephaim are that way, Paige.”

I made a noncommittal sound.

In the colony, our relationship had been about fear. My fear of his control. His fear of my betrayal. Now, I realized, it was about trying to understand each other.

But fear and understanding were kindred things. Both involved the loss of the familiar and the terrible danger of knowledge. I didn’t know if I understood him yet, but I wanted to. That in itself was a shock.

“I don’t want this to be a repeat of the colony,” I said softly.

“We will not allow that.” Pause. “Ask.”

He hadn’t even looked at me. “The plan to ‘quietly eliminate’ Nashira,” I said. “That was you.”

It was a while before he replied. “Yes. Only when she chose me did I see an opportunity to end her.”

“When were you betrothed?”

“Not long before we came to this side of the veil.”

“
Two centuries,” I said. “That’s a long time.”

“Not by our standards. Centuries are nothing but grains of sand in the infinite hourglass of our existence. Fortunately,” he said, “Nashira and I were never formally joined. She wished to wait until after the Bicentenary, when she was certain of our hold on the penal colony.”

“So you never—”

“Mated? No.”

“Right.” Heat rose up my neck. There was a tincture of amusement in his look.
Stop talking about sex, stop talking about sex.
“I . . . see you ditched the gloves.”

“I may as well embrace a life of sedition.”

“How daring of you. What’s next? Your coat?”

Silent laughter played across his face: a softening of his features, a quick fire in his eyes. “Is it wise to torment your mentor before he begins your training?”

“Why break the habit of a lifetime?”

“Hm.”

We sat together for a long time. The tension was still there, but slipping away by the moment.

“Come, then.” Warden stood, towering over me. “Have you possessed anyone since coming here?”

“A bird. Jaxon saw that. And a Vigile,” I said. “I made her talk into her transceiver.”

“And did you hurt her?”

“She was bleeding from every orifice in her head.”

“Blood is not pain. Do not fear your gift, Paige. Your spirit aches to wander,” he said. “You can do more than merely force your opponents into unconsciousness. You know that very well.” When I didn’t answer, he glanced over his shoulder. “Possession is only dishonorable if you do deliberate harm to the host—assuming the host does not richly deserve that harm, of course. The more you practice your skills, the less likely you are to hurt.”

“
I just want to run through quick-fire jumping again. It’s still quite hard to switch from flesh to spirit.”

“You are out of practice, then.”

I shrugged off my jacket. “I call it ‘keeping a low profile.’”

“Good. Nashira will have very little means by which to trace you.” He walked past me. “There are two fundamental problems you face when you dreamwalk. First: your breathing reflex stops. Second: your body falls to the ground. The first problem can be solved with an oxygen mask, but the second . . . not so easy.”

It was the real weakness of my condition. In the scrimmage, it would be my fatal flaw. The moment I jumped, my body would be left vulnerable on the floor of the Rose Ring. One stab through the heart and I would be unable to return to it. “What do you suggest?”

“When I trained you on the meadow, your transition from flesh to spirit was clumsy, to say the least. But you are not a novice any longer.” A vintage record player was balanced on a dusty old piano. He pushed open the lid. “I want to see fluidity from you. I want you to jump into the æther as if you belonged there. I want you to fly between dreamscapes.”

He switched on the record player. “Where did you get that?” I said, fighting a smile.

“Somewhere or other. Like most of my belongings.”

Not quite as beautiful as his gramophone, but still exquisite, set in a wooden suitcase. It was carved with the symbol of the amaranth, over and over again, petals woven through petals. “And what’s it for?”

“For you.” A sonorous viola played. “Maria T
nase, Romanian actress and singer of the twentieth century.” He bowed to me, keeping his eyes on my face. “Let us see if dreamwalkers can dance.”