The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

the Prince—who was still on his hands and knees. She sat where she had, and Chang picked up the Prince’s upended chair and extended his stick toward Karl-Horst. The Prince, taking the hint, scuttled away like a sullen crab.
    “If you will give Cardinal Chang and me a moment to discuss our situation, Highness?”
    “Of course, Contessa—as you desire,” he muttered, with all the dignity possible when one is crouched like a dog.
    Chang sat, pushing his coat to the side, and looked to the table. Gray had removed the restraints and was detaching the mask of glass and wire, peeling it away from what looked to be a pink gelatinous residue that had collected where the mask touched the skin. Chang was suddenly curious to see the fresh scarring firsthand, but before the mask was pulled completely free Rosamonde spoke, drawing his attention away from the spectacle.
    “It seems a long time since the Library, does it not?” she began. “And yet it was—what—but little more than a day ago?”
    “A very full day.”
    “Indeed. And did you do what I asked you?” She shook her head with a mocking gravity.
    “What was that?”
    “Why, find Isobel Hastings, of course.”
    “That I did.”
    “And bring her to me?”
    “That I did not.”
    “What a disappointment. Is she so beautiful?” She laughed, as if she could not keep the pretense of it being a serious question. “Seriously, Cardinal—what is it that prevents you?”
    “Now? I do not know where she is.”
    “Ah…but if you did?”
    He had not remembered the color of her eyes correctly, like petals of the palest purple iris flower. She wore a silk jacket of the precise same color. Dangling from her ears were beads of Venetian amber, fitted with silver. Her exquisite throat was bare.
    “I still could not.”
    “Is she so remarkable? Bascombe did not think so—but then, I would not ask a man like Bascombe for the truth about a woman. He is too…well, ‘practical’ is a kind word.”
    “I agree.”
    “So will you not describe her?”
    “I believe you have met her yourself, Rosamonde. I believe you consigned her to rape and murder.”
    “Did I?” Her eyes widened somewhat coyly.
    “So she says.”
    “Then I’m sure I must have.”
    “So perhaps
you
should describe her.”
    “But you see, Cardinal, that is exactly the trouble. For—and perhaps this is obvious—in my own interaction with the lady I judged her to be an insignificant insolent chit of no value whatsoever. Is there any more tea?”
    “The pot is on the floor,” Chang said. He glanced to the table. Gray was still bent over Flaüss.
    “Dommage,”
Rosamonde smiled. “You have not answered me.”
    “Perhaps I’m unsure of the question.”
    “I would think it evident. Why have you insisted on choosing her over me?”
    If it was possible her smile became even more engaging, adding a tinge of sensuality to her lips, teasingly revealed as the first hint of explicit temptations to follow.
    “I did not know it
was
my choice.”
    “Really, Cardinal,…you will disappoint me.”

    It was an odd conversation to have in the midst of toppled bodies, crouching princelings, and the trappings of scientific brutality—all in a secret room in the maze of the Foreign Ministry. He wondered what time it was. He wondered if Celeste was in another room nearby. This woman was the most dangerous of anyone in the Cabal. Why was he behaving like her suitor?
    “Perhaps it had to do with your associates trying to kill me,” he replied.
    She dismissed this with a wave. “But
did
they kill you?”
    “Did you kill Miss Temple?”
    “Touché.”
She studied him. “Is it merely that? That she survived?”
    “Perhaps it is. What else am I, but survival?”
    “A provocative question—I shall inscribe it in my diary, I assure you.”
    “Xonck knows, by the way,” he said, desperate to shift the conversation.
    “Knows what?”
    “That there are diverging interests.”
    “It’s very charming of you to get ahead of yourself like this, but—and please do not take this as in any way a criticism—you were best to concentrate on mayhem and rooftops. What Mr. Xonck knows is my affair. Ah, Herr Flaüss, I see you are with us.”
    Chang turned to see the man on his feet next to the table, Gray at his side, his face livid with looping burns, the skin around them drawn and slick, his collar moist with sweat and drool. His eyes were disturbingly, utterly, vacant.
    “I do admire you, Cardinal,” said