The Masked City (The Invisible Library #2)(71)

‘Or I could offer you to Alberich.’ Lord Guantes’ hand reached across to clamp down on her wrist, pinning it to the arm of the chair.

Irene jerked against his grip, but his hand ground down, hard enough to hurt, and he turned in his chair to watch her. There was pleasure in his eyes, in the way that he looked at her, but it wasn’t a sadistic amusement at her pain. It was simply enjoyment of his power over her. How very like Silver. I should tell him that, if I ever really want to insult him. ‘Ah no, Miss Winters. That is not an option. You do not leave this box until we have decided your fate, one way or another. Tell me, are you so very afraid of him?’

‘Of Alberich?’ Sheer disbelief coloured her voice. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘Come now.’ He was playing with her. The voices onstage were all male, interlacing in threat and defiance, promising imprisonment and death. ‘What is there to dislike so much?’

‘I’m sure you know the sort of thing he does,’ Irene snapped.

‘I’d like to hear it from your own mouth.’ His eyes caught hers, and this time she couldn’t look away, even if she wanted to. They compelled her. It was his will against hers, and even her Library brand wasn’t enough to save her now.

She barely recognized her own voice as she began to speak. ‘He skins people—’

The sound of her voice broke that moment of control, and she jerked herself back against the chair, her body shaking. Her back ached as if she had been beaten. This was far worse than Silver’s attempt to get under her defences. Lord Guantes had done it.

She’d lost time somewhere. Tosca was onstage and singing now, her voice arcing through the opera house in smooth, effortless sweeps of sound, like a silver pendulum counting away the seconds.

‘Charming,’ Lord Guantes said slowly. ‘Quite charming.’ His hand stayed on her wrist, his glove smooth and unwrinkled, as though he wasn’t applying any pressure at all. ‘I begin to see why Lord Silver likes you so much. You really are quite stimulating, Miss Winters. You are exactly what I want.’

‘But what do you want?’ Irene whispered. Her voice shook, just as it should if he’d managed to cow her. She’d had people try to break her will before now, but none of them had actually succeeded, and she didn’t want to think about the implications.

‘You as my servant, in public, this very night.’ His smile was the essence of smugness. ‘We’ll already have proven we can strike against the dragons. Having a Librarian in my service too will demonstrate that they will not be a significant threat in this conflict. Wouldn’t you agree?’

Irene’s heart sank. He was right. Parading her as a trophy might push some of the Fae swing-votes towards war. And it was all her own fault for coming here and running her head into the noose …

No, that was what he wanted her to think. She thought of the pendant around her neck. She had done the right thing - the only thing she could have done - in coming here.

It was time to make her move. ‘Brandy, boil!’

The glass of brandy and the bottle both shattered in a gush of steam. Brandy was a volatile fluid, and the bottle went up in a gratifyingly dramatic display. The violence of it took Lord Guantes by surprise, and his attention shifted from Irene as his eyes flicked over to the shattered glass.

Irene slipped the gun from her skirt with her free hand, raising it to point at him. ‘Your move,’ she said.

His attention swung to her again, and this time there was no holding back. His eyes were a thousand tons of weight pressing down on her, cold and heavy as lead, and ice seemed to close around her limbs and heart. His hand bit into her wrist and she gasped in pain. The burn of the Library brand on her back and the weight of the pendant around her throat were once more distant things, far away from the present oppression of his gaze.

Play along, pretend he’s won, part of her mind suggested. Just put the gun down …

She considered that statement. The most important bit seemed to be put the gun down, and that was the last thing she was going to do. She couldn’t stop fighting now. If she did, she’d lose. But it was taking all her strength and, the moment she lost her focus, her will would break.

She could feel herself losing, inch by inch. The gun was cold and remote in her hand, and she could scarcely feel her grip on it.

Do something.

She couldn’t.

‘Answer me,’ he said.

She struggled with the Language for Break, shatter, fall, but she could feel her mouth begin to move in a yes.

‘I believe the lady declines your invitation,’ Vale said from the darkness behind her.





CHAPTER TWENTY



Lord Guantes turned to look at Vale, cutting his connection to Irene. She breathed in great sobbing gasps of air. There was just enough space in her head for her to think, and the thoughts went: Keep that gun pointed at him.

‘Peregrine Vale, I believe. This box is locked,’ Lord Guantes said. ‘How did you—?’

‘I didn’t,’ Vale broke in. ‘I arrived before the performance and simply waited behind those curtains. I found your conversation most interesting.’

‘I see.’ Lord Guantes’ tone was still composed, but Irene detected a sense of simmering anger and uncertainty. He seemed unsure which of the two of them to target, in terms of directing his will and therefore his powers. She wondered suddenly if he couldn’t control two of them at once.