Chapter 25
Rousseau studied Evander for a long moment, his gaze probing like he was trying to unearth the Duke’s secrets.
“Very well,” he said finally. “I shall inform the Police Commissioner of your findings and arrange a surveillance operation of the viscount and his associates.” He rose, signalling the end of the meeting.
“Comte Beaulieu will remain in Paris to coordinate with our officers. I trust you will share any relevant intelligence as your investigation progresses?” He arched an eyebrow.
“Of course,” Evander said with a deferential nod.
They bade the Frenchmen goodbye and made their way out of the building. Leon caught up with them in the courtyard, his expression thunderous.
“A word, Evander.” He jerked his head toward a quiet corner near a fountain. “In private.”
Evander followed without protest. Viggo positioned himself within earshot, ostensibly examining a statue of some long-dead French dignitary.
“What really happened last night?” Leon demanded in a low voice.
“I told you—”
“You told Rousseau a story so full of holes I could strain pasta through it.” Leon’s grey eyes flashed. “I’m not a fool, Evander. I know when you’re lying.”
Evander was silent for a moment.
Viggo could sense his ambivalence about how much to reveal to the Frenchman.
“We clashed with a group of dark mages,” Evander finally confessed in a low voice.
Leon swore colourfully, causing Fairbridge and Rufus to look over with curious stares. The Frenchman paced the courtyard angrily before pinning Evander with a suspicious glare.
“How the hell did you make it out of there without alerting Brassard and his accomplices?!”
“I can’t tell you that,” Evander said stubbornly.
Leon’s face reddened. He raked his hair with a hand.
“You could have been killed.” Leon’s voice dropped, which was somehow worse than shouting.
“All of you. Walking into a den of dark mages without backup, without—” He broke off, visibly wrestling with his temper.
“This isn’t London, Evander. You don’t have jurisdiction here. If something had gone wrong—“
“But it didn’t.”
“That’s not the point!”
Viggo watched the exchange with mixed feelings. Leon wasn’t wrong. They’d taken an enormous risk, one that could have ended in disaster. The memory of Guillaume’s bloody smile and his ominous words still lingered in Viggo’s mind.
London will be your grave, Ice Mage.
“We should arrest Brassard,” Leon said flatly. “Right now. Before he warns whoever he’s working for.”
Evander frowned, the first sign of true emotion he’d shown during their exchange. “If we move against him now, we’ll alert the entire network. They’ll scatter, change their routes, destroy evidence. We’ll lose any chance of tracing them to the source.”
“And if he warns them anyway? If people die because we sat on our hands?”
“Then their deaths will weigh on my conscience.” Though Evander’s voice was steady, Viggo caught the flicker of anguish in his eyes. “But stopping one man won’t end this conspiracy. We need to find whoever is pulling the strings. We need to find ‘I’.”
Leon stared at him for a long time, his jaw working. He finally let out a frustrated breath.
“Fine. We watch Brassard. Follow his shipments. See where they lead.” His expression hardened.
“But heed my words, Evander. You cannot continue taking risks like you did last night. There will come a day when things won’t work out the way you want them to and the outcome, I fear, will be all too deadly. ”
Evander’s face tightened but he didn’t respond.
Leon sighed, bade him a curt goodbye, and left.
Evander rejoined Viggo and the others in tense silence. The carriage ride back to the hotel was equally subdued, everyone lost in their private thoughts.
Viggo waited until they’d dispersed to their rooms before following Evander to his door.
“We should talk.”
Evander paused with his hand on the doorknob, his expression tired. “Viggo—”
“Inside.”
Something in Viggo’s tone must have warned him not to argue. Evander opened the door and reluctantly stepped back to let him enter.
The room was already half-packed, Evander’s trunk open on the bed with neatly folded clothes stacked beside it. Viggo closed the door and leaned against it, arms crossed.
“Leon’s right.”
Evander stiffened where he’d walked past him and stopped in the middle of the room. “About what?”
“About all of it.” Viggo rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “We took a stupid risk last night. We should have told him what we were planning. We should have had backup.”
“There wasn’t time—“
“There’s never time.” Viggo pushed off the door and crossed to where Evander stood. “That’s always your excuse. We have to act now, we can’t wait, the opportunity will pass.” He grasped Evander’s shoulders, forcing the mage to meet his eyes. “One day that excuse is going to get you killed.”
Evander’s mouth thinned. “You think I don’t know that? And you’re not exactly one to talk!”
“I know.” Viggo’s grip tightened. “And I think you don’t care. I think you’ve convinced yourself that this mission matters more than your life. More than any of our lives.”
Anger darkened Evander’s eyes. “That’s not—”
“Isn’t it?” Viggo interrupted. “You jumped in front of a train, Evander. You walked into Brassard’s mansion knowing it could be a trap.
I’m equally guilty for our actions last night.
But you? You keep throwing yourself into danger like you’re expendable and I’m bloody terrified that one day I won’t be fast enough to save you. ”
His harsh words echoed in the fraught silence that stretched between them.
Evander stared at him, hurt warring with resentment in his eyes. Hurt won.
“I’m not trying to get myself killed,” he mumbled, his shoulders slowly sagging.
Viggo’s tone softened. “Then what are you trying to do?”
“My job.” Evander’s voice cracked slightly as he met Viggo’s gaze. “People are dying, Viggo. Thralls, mages, scholars—anyone who gets too close to whatever ‘I’ is planning. If I don’t stop it, who will?”
“Not you alone.” Viggo gentled his grip and slid his hands up to cup Evander’s face, his heart twisting at the anguish he could read in the mage’s eyes. “That’s the point. You’re not alone in this. You have a team. You have me.” He pressed his forehead to Evander’s. “Let us help carry this burden.”
Evander’s breath shuddered out of him. His hands came up to rest on Viggo’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I know.” Viggo tilted Evander’s chin up with a knuckle. “Just so you know, I’m not going anywhere.”
He kissed him then, slow and tender, a promise rather than a demand. Evander melted into him with a soft sound, his hands sliding up to wind around Viggo’s neck, as hungry for the kiss as Viggo was.
When they finally broke apart, Evander’s eyes were bright with emotion.
“We should finish packing,” he murmured against Viggo’s lips.
“In a minute.”
Viggo kissed him again, deeper this time, trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words.
The fear that had gripped him when they’d been surrounded in that basement.
The relief when they’d emerged unscathed.
The bone-deep certainty that he would burn the world down before he let anything happen to this man.
A knock at the door eventually forced them apart.
“Train’s in three hours,” Rufus called through the wood. “Best get a move on.”
Evander huffed a quiet laugh against Viggo’s shoulder. “Duty calls.”
“It always does,” Viggo said wryly.
The train station was crowded with early afternoon travellers when they got there. They found their private sleeper carriages, a first for everyone, and settled in for the journey. The magic-powered locomotive gathered steam as it slid away from the platform moments later.
Viggo listened to Shaw chatter excitedly as he watched Paris recede through the window, the elegant spires and grand boulevards shrinking in the sunlight.
Somewhere in the city, Brassard and Guillaume were still trying to figure out what had happened last night.
And dark mages were hunting down anyone linked to Les Prophètes Illuminés.