An Assyrian protective deity with the head of a man, body of a lion and bird wings folded around its rib cage.

Séverin studied the room, a familiar prickle of awareness sweeping through him. This used to be his favorite part of acquisitions, the quiet way in which a room revealed its secrets. There was no obvious door, and thus the statues must operate as both exit and entrance. He turned, as if to tell someone beside him.

But Enrique, Zofia, Hypnos, Tristan, and Laila were not here.

There was no one to feed him history, summon more light in the room, jest about the smell, conjure strange flora, or tease out the secrets of an object.

There was only him. But he would find them. He would make amends.

Séverin looked up. There, shimmering as if suspended in the water, glowing writing appeared:

TO ENTER ANY UNKNOWN, WE WALK THE PATH OF THOSE WHO CAME HERE FIRST.

He smiled in understanding.

Arrogance might lead someone to pick the winged lion. It was the mark of Venice after all. But where did attributes such as wings come from? The present was a palimpsest, built upon the layers of that which had been sacred or profane from years past. The lion was meant to protect … but before the lion was an older version, an older symbol of protection.

This was House Janus’s test of humility.

They considered themselves the guardians of cartographical treasures after all, and perhaps knowing where one stood in the world was a treasure in and of itself.

Séverin walked to the lamassu, resting his hand on the rough stone of its body. They had nearly acquired such a piece from the kingdom of Prussia. Enrique had said the lamassus would have once been more than four meters tall, part of a pair flanking either side of the lapis-lazuli entrance to a palace.

“The king was considered semi-divine, and as such, he would be guarded like the location of heaven itself,” Enrique had said.

Séverin slid into the bench embedded in the back of the lamassu. Immediately, the wings lifted off the statue’s body. It rose unsteadily. Tiny rocks dislodged, hitting the ground. Where the wall had once been solid, now it thinned to translucence. Beyond it, Séverin could make out the distant glimmer of chandeliers, the blurry color of rich costumes. The lamassu lurched forward, preparing to take him through the wall.

Séverin felt his heartbeat rise steadily. With each step of the lamassu, the lyre rubbed against his skin. Its steady, uncanny hum wound through him, as if it had woven itself into his very heartbeat. He imagined Laila, Hypnos, Enrique, and Zofia standing before him, and hope glowed in his chest.

Behind him, the writing on the wall slowly vanished. Séverin kept his gaze forward, his senses alert. Even so, he felt a little smug.

It was natural that he would walk the path of the ancients.

He thought of his mother’s voice, the power in his veins.

He was meant for this.

17

ENRIQUE

Alone in the library, Enrique quietly breathed into his palm and sniffed.

It wasn’t bad.

Maybe there was a whiff of the coffee he’d drank from earlier, but nothing so repulsive that it explained why Zofia had yanked back in shock, clutching her heart as if he’d mortally wounded her with a kiss. When she’d pulled back, a wash of nerves fizzed through him.

“I’m so sorry,” he’d said, panicking. “Did I … did I misunderstand?”

“No,” she said, breathing fast.

“Are you upset?”

“Yes.”

But Zofia would not say more than that. The moment they had returned to the safe house, she’d fled to her laboratory to finish what inventions were needed before they left for Carnevale within the hour. Laila was not back yet. In the music room, Hypnos played the piano and sang a love song, pulling Enrique’s thoughts back into that kiss.

He’d thought it was rather suave of him, the whole “it could be so much better” line. He’d meant it too. The moment Zofia’s lips touched his, it was like answering a want he hadn’t been able to articulate. He’d wanted this. Wanted her.

When he kissed her again, a slim beam of light knifed through the swan wing enclosures of the boat. He’d glimpsed the bright blue shine of her eyes, the fey-like sharpness to her chin and the lit-candle gold of her hair. For whatever blunt words she spoke, Zofia’s lips were soft as snowfall, and the kiss blanketed his thoughts. For a while now, Zofia had unquieted something in him. They understood each other in a way he hadn’t experienced, in a way that made him feel safe and heard. But maybe it had always been a one-sided emotion.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Daydreaming?”

Hypnos leaned against the doorframe.

“You have been quite distracted since we returned,” said Hypnos. Something knowing gleamed in his eyes. Enrique’s face flamed.

“Well, yes, I mean, there’s the fact that we have no clues for what awaits us in Carnevale, and I’m still gathering my notes on Poveglia and—”

“And you kissed Zofia.”

“Please leave.”

“Nonsense,” sang Hypnos loudly. He cleared his throat and continued speaking. “Don’t worry, I’m not envious. I have a big, generous heart and a big generous—”

“Hypnos.”

“I was going to say ‘sense of humor.’”

“Lies.”

Hypnos grinned, then clapped his hands. “Well? How was it?”

Enrique glared at him.

“Oh, come now, mon cher,” said Hypnos. “Friends tell friends secrets!”

“We have been friends for less than a day.”

“Hmpf,” said Hypnos before turning around and exclaiming in delight. “Little Phoenix! You join us once more!”

Enrique stood straighter as Zofia entered the room. He was nervous about making eye contact with her, but it was impossible to see her over the pile of robes and masks in her arms. She lowered them slowly onto the wooden table in the library before turning to face them. She regarded Enrique mildly. It was as if nothing had ever happened between them, and he wasn’t sure if that left him grateful or gutted.

“Where’s Laila?” she asked.

“Here.”

Laila stepped inside, wearing a white dress. The color, he thought, looked funereal on her. Though she was no less kind, a distance had crept into her gaze since last night. Oftentimes, her fingers went to her wrist, as if she were checking her pulse.

“We’re supposed to meet Séverin at midnight,” she said.

Enrique’s jaw clenched. “How will he find us?”

Laila looked as if she was about to say something else and then thought better of it. “I’m sure it won’t pose a problem to him.”

“But where do we go when we get there?” asked Hypnos. “I imagine if one is throwing a party, the setting will be magnificent, possibly labyrinthine—”

“Leave that to me,” said Laila, wiggling her fingers. “Servants always see something. It’s easy to brush against their sleeves or touch what they’re holding and look into the rest of the room. Zofia, what have you brought us?”

Zofia touched the robes on the table. “Six explosives, a silencing board, one spherical detection device, five filtration devices for smoke, and smoking light deflection.”