“Blood Forging?” repeated Zofia, paling.
Hypnos whistled. “Certainly a rather expensive indulgence.”
“What’s blood Forging?” asked Enrique. “I’ve never seen that.”
“A talent for a mixed set of affinities,” said Zofia. “Mind and matter, liquid and solid metal.”
“It’s very rare to find someone who can manipulate both the mind and the presence of iron in the bloodstream,” said Hypnos, before smiling slyly. “And also very pleasurable.”
Séverin had seen such artists a couple times in L’Eden. Many of them chose to hone their craft in ice affinity rather than blood, but the ones who specialized in blood were often brought along with a patron who either required numbing during painful medical procedures, or for recreation, to heighten one’s senses before certain … activities.
“We need to separate Vasiliev from his bodyguards,” said Séverin. “Something that can pull men apart—”
“Money?” asked Enrique.
“Love!” said Hypnos.
“Magnets,” said Zofia.
Laila, Enrique, and Hypnos turned to stare at her.
“Powerful magnets,” Zofia amended.
“Can you do that?” asked Séverin.
Zofia nodded.
“That does not solve how we would enter his salon,” said Enrique.
“I have an idea around that,” said Laila. “I am L’Énigme after all. I can bring a certain notoriety when I wish.”
Despite himself, Séverin looked at her. A thousand moments converged and fell apart. He saw her hair spangled with sugar. He saw the blur of her body when he’d thrown her to the ground, thinking she was Roux-Joubert’s target that night in the Palais des Rêves. He remembered the painful words he’d uttered and how he wished, now, that they were true. If only she weren’t real.
Laila raised an eyebrow.
“I am assisting you, am I not?” she asked frostily.
“Yes.” Séverin pretended to adjust his sleeves. “We leave for St. Petersburg the day after tomorrow. We have much to do.”
“What about after we get the Tezcat spectacles?” asked Hypnos. “Will we tell the Order—”
“No,” said Séverin sharply. “I don’t want their interference until we know what we’re working with. Winter Conclave is in three weeks’ time in Moscow. If we have something by then, we’ll share.”
Hypnos frowned at this, but Séverin ignored him. He was not letting the Order take this from him. Not after so much had changed. As Séverin turned to leave, he caught sight of evening falling outside the stargazing room.
Once, this meeting room had served as a reminder that the stars themselves were within reach. Once, they could tip back their heads and dare to gaze at the heavens. Now, the stars seemed a mockery: teeth-white snarls of destiny and constellations, spun out into a celestial calligraphy that spelled unshakable fates for all mortals. That would change, thought Séverin. Soon … they would find that book.
Then, not even the stars could touch them.
6
LAILA
Laila watched Séverin leave the stargazing room, a tilted emptiness settling inside her.
On the one hand, she let herself hope for the first time in ages. If Séverin’s informant proved right, then perhaps she had more left of life than she imagined. On the other hand, Séverin stained all that fresh hope with hate. She hated the cold light in his eyes and the frigid tug of his smile. She hated that the sight of him twisted something inside her, forcing her to remember that, once, he had made her feel wonder.
Worse, she hated hoping that the moment he found The Divine Lyrics would be the moment he would return to who he had once been. As if some spell might be broken. Laila tried to push out that dream, but it was stubborn and stuck fast to her heart.
“My laboratory—” started Zofia, at the same time Enrique muttered about the library. Hypnos shushed them violently.
“Non,” he said. He pointed at the floor. “Stay here. I will be right back. I have a surprise.”
He fled the room, leaving the three of them alone. Laila cast a sidelong glance at Zofia. She’d hardly had a chance to speak to her before the meeting. Now that she looked at her, new details leapt to her attention … Zofia had not changed out of her traveling clothes. Violet circles haunted her eyes. There was a thinness to her face that spoke of worry. That was not how she should look after spending Chanukah with her family.
“Are you well? Are you eating enough?”
Before Laila had moved out of L’Eden, she’d written explicit instructions to the cooks on how to serve Zofia. Zofia hated when her food touched; didn’t like overly bright or patterned plates; and her favorite dessert was a perfectly pale and perfectly round sugar cookie. Laila used to do those things for her. But that was before. And the moment the question left her mouth, the more guilt sharpened in her heart. What right did she have to ask after Zofia when she had left? When she had put distance between them?
Laila turned the garnet ring on her hand. Sometimes she felt her secret like a poison slowly leeching into her bloodstream. More than anything, she wanted to tell them, to free herself from this burden … but what if the truth repulsed them? Her own father could barely look at her. She couldn’t lose the only family she had left.
Zofia shrugged. “Goliath is losing his appetite.”
“Considering Goliath eats crickets, I’m not sure I blame him,” said Laila teasingly.
“He’s not eating as many crickets as he should,” said Zofia, plucking a matchstick and chewing it. “I made a chart documenting the volume of crickets consumed, and the trajectory is descending. I could show it to you if you’d like—”
“I’m fine without,” said Laila. “But thank you.”
Zofia stared at her lap. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
Laila almost reached out to hold Zofia’s hand before pausing. What looked like love to her did not always look like that to Zofia. Zofia’s gaze lifted to the black cushion Tristan used to sit on, now shoved under the coffee table.
“Perhaps Goliath is grieving,” said Laila softly.
Zofia met her gaze. “Perhaps.”
Zofia looked like she would say more, but Enrique wandered over to Laila.
“We need to talk later,” he murmured before he sat in front of her.
“There’s little to say,” said Laila.
Enrique fixed her with his you-reek-of-lies face, but he didn’t press her. Laila had told him about the jaadugar in her town, who had once guarded The Divine Lyrics … but that was all. Enrique and Zofia knew she had been trying to find the book, but they didn’t know why. And she could not bear to tell them.
Sighing, Enrique angled his back just so, and Laila, recognizing what he was doing, sighed and started to scratch between his shoulder blades.
“I miss back scratches,” said Enrique sadly.
“There was a dog in Poland who used to do something similar,” observed Zofia.
“I don’t have the energy to unpack that insult,” said Enrique, sounding at once amused and bruised.