Shan Yuan shrugged elegantly. ‘She’s here too, hunting for information. She wanted to prove herself to you – which, if you’ll allow me to point out, is a highly laudable goal. You’re doing her no favours by keeping her sheltered.’

Like you’re trying to do with Kai? hovered on Irene’s lips, but she bit the words back. This was not the time. ‘You’ve made a mistake,’ she said, her voice quiet and deadly. ‘Catherine doesn’t have the training or experience for a situation like this. If she told you she did, then she was mistaken. Where is she now?’

Something in her words or tone got through to Shan Yuan. He looked away, choosing not to meet her eyes. ‘One learns by doing,’ he protested. ‘If you keep her out of work like this, how will she ever learn to do it properly?’

‘Where is she?’ Irene repeated, her voice deadly cold.

‘She’s only a—’

Irene’s hand tightened on his arm. ‘Your highness,’ she said quietly, ‘that had better not be “She’s only a Fae”. Not if you want me to have any respect for you at all.’

‘I am the son of his majesty Ao Guang!’ Shan Yuan snarled.

‘Oh, I’ll respect your rank,’ Irene said. ‘I just won’t respect you.’

‘Very well.’ His words were nearly a hiss. ‘We arrived here fifteen minutes ago. She said she was going to the theatre, then planned to check the cellars. That is all I know. I was far more concerned with investigating the artificial intelligence angle – seeing if I could overhear anything useful.’

‘Thank you,’ Irene said. She released his arm. ‘For future reference . . . don’t take advantage of those far younger than yourself. You’ve exposed Catherine to considerable danger.’

The air was perceptibly warmer around the two of them. Nearby discussion groups fanned themselves absently or complained about the heat. Shan Yuan showed no sign of caring. ‘This makes me certain that you are no fit companion for my little brother,’ he growled. ‘You have no understanding of priorities. When I tell my father of your bad influence, he’ll see to it that someone else is assigned as dragon treaty representative – someone who won’t be distracted by your childish diversions.’

Someone like you? Irene wondered. No wonder you want in on all this. Find the crucial new technology, demonstrate your ability, prove Kai’s incompetent, get his position. She could see the game plan. But trying to steal Kai’s job was a petty offence compared to what he’d already managed to do tonight. Driven by fury, she jabbed a finger into his chest. ‘That girl is my apprentice. She was entrusted to me by her only living relative. It is my job to keep her safe, whatever her birth, whatever her nature. If your father disapproves of that, then so be it, and I’ll answer to him in person.’ She met his eyes. ‘But I’m not required to answer to you.’

‘Excuse me, excuse me.’ An attendant bustled by, ignoring their disagreement, just as he was ignoring all the other quarrels, arguments and outright duels. He thrust a paper into Irene’s hand. ‘Schedule for the evening’s events, new additions marked in red . . .’

Irene looked at it automatically, and a name caught her eye. Doctor Perchatki, Moscow University. She translated from the Russian automatically. Perchatki – gloves.

Gloves. Guantes. Was this a coincidence? Irene wasn’t sure she believed in coincidences any more – especially not in a high-chaos world like this one, where Fae abounded and narratives had an unfortunate habit of coming true. Perchatki’s demonstration – it didn’t say what – was due in fifteen minutes in the theatre.

‘We will continue this later,’ she said to Shan Yuan. ‘I need to get to the theatre – now. If you see Kai or Vale, tell them where to find me.’

There was no time to waste. If Catherine was now in the theatre, she could be in very grave danger – if Irene’s supposition that Perchatki was Lord Guantes was correct. And while she hoped against hope that she wasn’t right, she had a strong feeling that she was . . .

CHAPTER NINETEEN

‘I don’t understand,’ Shan Yuan complained, trailing behind her. He twitched the programme out of her fingers and scanned it. ‘None of these names mean anything to me.’

‘I’m interested in Doctor Perchatki. Excuse me.’ Irene politely tilted a woman’s arm as she ducked past, so her death ray was pointing at the ceiling and not at Irene. ‘He’s near the top of the list.’

‘Why him?’ Shan Yuan asked in bafflement. Either he didn’t understand Russian, or he wasn’t aware of Fae tendencies to pick appropriate and thematic pseudonyms.

Irene wasn’t going to shout an explanation while shoving through the crowd – and they were close to the theatre’s entrance now. However, as they neared, she could see it was blocked. A couple of security guards were doing gatekeeper duty, controlling the flow of people and policing the more dangerous pieces of equipment.

‘Ah, Doctor Viltred,’ Vale said, materializing at Irene’s elbow. It took a moment for her to accept that it was Vale – despite recognizing his disguise. His make-up and the altered voice were simply that good. Her own attempts at changing her appearance were workmanlike and functional but couldn’t match that level of artifice. ‘I wasn’t expecting this gentleman,’ he said, his eyes shifting to Shan Yuan.

‘Do I know you?’ Shan Yuan asked, clearly not recognizing Vale, voice frosted with polite disdain.

‘You do,’ Irene confirmed shortly. She noticed that Vale was also carrying a programme. ‘I take it you’re here for Doctor Perchatki’s demonstration?’

‘Precisely. I had no doubt that you’d notice the name . . .’

‘Wait, what?’ Kai said, coming to a halt as he joined the group, his eyes widening at the sight of Shan Yuan. He glanced at Irene then back to his brother in confusion. ‘I thought you’d said you weren’t coming.’

‘For all the thanks I’ve been getting, I shouldn’t have bothered,’ Shan Yuan muttered.

‘Excuse me, coming through!’ At the far end of the room, the crowd were being forcibly parted by a group of people carrying various pieces of experimental-looking apparatus – glass domes filled with circuitry, cables, a large console covered with levers and dials, and so on. Then towards the back of the procession . . .

Irene’s hands tightened into fists and she felt the scars of old lacerations on her palms. Lord Guantes strode at the rear of the group, recognizable in spite of his mask. Beside him, a couple of men in lab coats were carrying the unconscious Catherine. If she’d been wearing a mask, they’d removed it. She was strapped into a stretcher, though the ties binding her had been mostly concealed.

This Lord Guantes showed no signs of having been shot, being about to crumble into dust or anything else untoward. He must be the latest personality imprint – and was probably thinking that he was the real Lord Guantes, just as the rest of them had. He was cloaked in an aura of firm determination, every inch the noble scientist striving for the betterment of his fellows. In keeping with this persona, he gave his followers and the crowd the odd nod, wave or occasional word of encouragement. His eyes moved over the throng, and Irene was grateful for her mask and disguise.