The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

Rosamonde.
    He turned to her. “I’m flattered.”
    “Are you?” She smiled. “I admire very few people, you know…and tell even fewer.”
    “Then why are you telling me?”
    “I do not know.” Her voice dropped to a provocatively intimate whisper. “Perhaps what has happened to your eyes. I can glimpse the scars, and I can only imagine how terrible they are without your glasses. I expect they would repulse me, and yet at the same time I have imagined myself running my tongue across them with pleasure.” She gazed at him closely, then seemed to restore her composure. “But there it is, you see, now I am ahead of my own self. I do apologize. Mr. Gray?”
    She turned to Gray, who had walked Flaüss quite near to them. Chang was sickened by the man’s dead eyes, as if he were an example of ambulatory taxidermy. He turned away with discomfort, wishing he had been able to intervene more quickly—what had happened to Flaüss was somehow worse than if he had been killed. A rattling choking snapped Chang’s gaze back—Gray’s hands were around Flaüss’s neck from behind, throttling him. Chang half-rose from his chair, turning to Rosamonde. Hadn’t they done enough?
    “What is he—”
    The words died on his lips. Both of Flaüss’s hands had shot forward and wrapped around Chang’s windpipe, squeezing horribly. He pulled at Flaüss’s arms, tried to pry apart his grip. It was like steel, the man’s face still expressionless, the fingers digging into his neck. Chang could not breathe. He drove his knee into Flaüss’s stomach, but there was still no reaction. The vise of his hands tightened. Black spots swam before Chang’s eyes. He wrenched apart his stick. Gray’s face was staring at him, over Flaüss’s shoulder, Gray’s hands were still squeezing Flaüss…Flaüss was reacting to Gray! Chang drove the dagger into Gray’s forearm. The old man screamed and flung himself away, blood pouring from his wound. Released, Flaüss immediately relaxed, his hands still in place around Chang’s neck but loosened. Chang thrashed free of his grip, sucking in air. He did not understand what had happened. He turned to Rosamonde. There was something in her gloved hand. She blew on it. A puff of blue smoke burst into Chang’s face.

    The sensation was instantaneous. His throat clenched and then felt bitterly cold, as if he was swallowing ice. The bitter feeling flowed into his lungs and up through his head, wherever he had breathed in the powder. His stick and dagger fell from his hands. He could not speak. He could not move.
    “Do not be alarmed,” said Rosamonde. “You are not dead.” She looked past Chang to the Prince, still on the floor. “Highness, if you would assist Mr. Gray with his bleeding?” She turned her violet gaze back to Chang. “What you are, Cardinal Chang,…is my own.” She reached out to take hold of Karl-Horst’s arm, stopping him on his way to Gray. “Actually, why doesn’t the Cardinal help Mr. Gray? I’m sure he has more experience staunching wounds than the Crown Prince of Macklenburg.”

    He helped them with everything, his body answering her commands without question, his mind watching from within, as if from a terrible distance, through a frost-covered window. First he effectively bound Gray’s wound, then lifted Blach onto the table so Gray could examine his head. How long had this taken? Bascombe returned with several red-coated Dragoons and spoke to the Contessa. Bascombe nodded and whispered earnestly in the Prince’s ear. He then called to the others—the Dragoons lifted Blach, Gray took Flaüss by the arm—and led them all from the circular room. Chang was alone with Rosamonde. She crossed to the door and locked it. She returned to him and pulled up a chair. He could not move. Her face bore an expression he had never seen, as if deliberately purged of the barest trace of kindness.
    “You will find that you can hear me, and that you can respond in a rudimentary way—the powder in your lungs makes it impossible to speak. The effects will fade—unless I desire them to be permanent. For now I will be satisfied with a yes or no answer—a simple nod will suffice. I had hoped to sway you with conversation, or barring that give you over to the Process, but now there is no time and no one to properly assist—and I should be very annoyed to lose all of your information in a mishap.”
    It was as if she was asking someone else. He felt himself nod in agreement,