Now …

Now it was something else.

He felt the string cutting into his flesh. His skull throbbed. The music of the lyre built inside him, hungry for release. It was not a music of this world. It was the moan of falling stars and the sonorous yearning of tree roots, the exhale of the sea before it rose up to swallow a village whole—

Séverin.

His thumb stilled on the lyre. Its frantic music went silent. It was as if he had reached the threshold of something, because here, finally, he heard the voice he craved.

He had first heard his mother’s voice after he confronted Ruslan and clutched the lyre to him in the night. She had said something to him, something that conjured light in his thoughts, something that gave him hope. He had been starting to think he had imagined it.

Habibi … listen … listen to me.

Kahina’s voice was a thousand candles springing to life in the dark, and Séverin felt every luminous halo as if it were a step leading him out of chaos.

“I’m listening, ummi,” he said, shaking. “I hear you.”

Time contracted around him. For a moment, he was a boy once more curled up in his small bed. He remembered Kahina folding his pudgy hands into fists and kissing them twice.

“In your hands lie the gates of godhood,” she whispered. “Let none pass.”

A loud knock at the door jolted him. Séverin’s eyes flew open. He was breathing fast. His hands shook, and sweat beaded down his back.

“Are you nearly ready, Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie?” asked Eva sharply.

Ready?

The world slowly came into focus. Séverin blinked, staring around him: red room, red bed. The past two days rushed back into his thoughts: the empty Bridge of Sighs, the knife to his throat, Ruslan’s plans for tonight.

“Hello?” asked Eva again.

“Yes,” said Séverin, swallowing hard. “I … I’m nearly ready.”

He could hear Eva lingering at the door, but then she turned and left. Slowly, Séverin eased his thumb off the string, careful that it should not tremble. His thumb looked purple. He brought the divine lyre to his forehead as if it were the cold hand of a priest.

“Thank you,” he said fiercely. “Thank you.”

This was the sign he had begged for. This was the proof he needed that he was no cosmic joke. There was a reason for it all, and his mother’s voice proved it:

In your hands lie the gates of godhood …

He had failed his friends miserably, but not all was lost, for he was on a greater path. He may have been an unequivocal ass in the way he’d pursed his dreams, but he would not end up like King Midas. His riches were meant to be shared.

Séverin closed his eyes, picturing the moment he would see Enrique, Hypnos, Zofia, and Laila again. A sharp ache ran through his chest. They were, justifiably, furious with him. But he would prove that he was worthy of them. He would make amends. He would never leave them in the dark again.

And surely, once they saw the lyre’s power … once they saw that he had always intended to share its gift … they would forgive him. For a moment, he pictured Tristan’s gray eyes shining once more. He saw Tante Feefee, the matriarch of House Kore, resting her warm palm on his cheek. He would tell her he had found a way to make his love more beautiful. She would be proud of him, he thought.

When Séverin stood, he smiled.

His mother’s voice moved through him like an unfurling dawn. This was the kind of light that remade the world, and Séverin felt its warmth on his skin like a promise.

* * *

“YOU SEEM MUCH changed, Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie,” said Ruslan.

“How so?” asked Séverin, straightening his plum and silver–brocade jacket as he stepped outside his rooms. He was immediately met with two members of the Fallen House. Séverin heard the familiar creak of the hinge on the glass and ice box, still opened from when he had last removed the lyre. A beat passed. If he was going to get rid of the patriarch and leave with his lyre, the blood Forged box posed a problem. Eva might have been the solution, but one glance at the stoney-eyed girl standing next to Ruslan did not fill him with confidence.

“You seem … newly invigorated,” said Ruslan, tilting his head to the side. “Whatever were you doing all alone in your rooms? Scheming, perhaps, for tomorrow’s acquisition of the map to Poveglia?”

Eva moved closer, laying a hand on Séverin’s arm. It might have looked like a gesture of confidence or intimacy, but she was wearing a new, onyx ring on her hand. And when it touched his skin, Séverin felt an unfamiliar presence against his pulse that was not unlike the interrogation table in Ruslan’s dining room.

It was testing to see if he would tell the truth.

Séverin raised an eyebrow, then dropped the lyre into the box. “If you must know, I was preoccupied with stroking my instrument.”

The presence on his skin stilled.

A speaking look passed between Eva and Ruslan. Ruslan threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, how I like you!” said Ruslan, reaching out and tousling his hair. “Now, you shall be quick, Eva, will you not?”

Eva nodded, removing her hand from Séverin’s arm. Tonight, she wore a peach-colored gown with a high collar at her throat. The bejeweled knife from around her waist was gone.

Ruslan snapped his fingers.

A member of the Fallen House stepped forward, a length of black cloth dangling from his hand. Séverin frowned.

“What is this?”

“For you, my friend,” said Ruslan. “To keep where you are going a wondrous surprise!”

Séverin stilled. Ruslan knew something and didn’t trust him. What had he found out?

“Very well,” Séverin said, careful to keep his voice neutral.

The black cloth settled over his eyes. It was Forged, of course, and the moment he blinked, he was in utter darkness. His senses felt heightened. He could smell the rot on the lagoons even from here.

“You will select two masks from the mascherari salon,” said Ruslan. “Once you possess them, you will know where to find House Janus’s Carnevale party.”

House Janus. Up until now, Ruslan had shared only vague details of his plans. Séverin had known that the location of the Carnevale party held the secret map to Poveglia’s temple, but the information about House Janus was new. Séverin knew little of the small Italian faction, but he remembered they specialized in treasures of cartography and considered themselves guardians of their acquisitions, which remained untouched.

“Two masks?” asked Séverin. “You will not be joining us?”

“I am officially a persona non grata at such events,” said Ruslan, sniffing disdainfully. “The Order thinks I’m somewhere in Denmark and is currently hunting for me there. I cannot risk showing my face, not after the reported discrepancies.”

Séverin felt his heartbeat notching higher. “Discrepancies?”

“The body count after we left the Sleeping Palace is not what it should be,” said Ruslan. “According to my contacts, the Order of Babel cannot locate the remains of the patriarch of House Nyx. They did, however, find the matriarch of House Kore at the bottom of the lake.”