For the second time in the past hour, Laila swayed a little on the spot.

All of it—Séverin’s calm, Zofia’s fire, Enrique’s lecture—felt too familiar. Part of her wanted to lean into the easy rhythm of it, but beneath that temptation lay the truth. She could not afford to be lured by easy smiles. She turned the ring on her hand toward her palm, the number three flashing on the jewel and inside her heart.

She didn’t have the time.

* * *

THE PASSAGEWAY STRETCHED out at least ninety meters before them. The black stone walls gleamed wetly. In the recessed niches lit with candles, Laila saw exquisite Murano glasswork Forged to the likeness of delicate ciocche—bouquets of glass flowers that gave off the scent of neroli—or ovi odoriferi, broken ostrich eggs brimming with rose water. Fragrances teemed through the hallway. Perfumes of peppercorn and ambergris, violets and woodsmoke stung the inside of her nose.

“Too many smells,” choked out Zofia.

“Who perfumes their treasury?” groaned Enrique.

Séverin stopped walking. “Cover your noses. Now.”

“We’ll be fine—” started Hypnos.

“It’s a trap,” said Séverin. “If they’re confusing your sense of smell, it’s because that sense must be a key.”

Zofia reached for the hem of her robes, hoisting them up. Enrique looked about the room, alarmed and turning red. “Um, is undressing truly necessary—”

“Yes,” said Zofia curtly.

Within seconds, Zofia had ripped strips off the petticoat beneath her robes. She tossed a shorn piece to Laila who caught it one-handed. The material was perforated silk, and the dull thrum of its material told Laila it was Forged.

“A filter,” Zofia explained, throwing the last piece to Enrique who, up until a few moments ago, was staring at the floor as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. “It was intended for smoke, but it will work for scents too.”

Laila knotted the silk around her nose and mouth, and the others did the same. Enrique, she noticed, dithered a little, his face bright red.

“Oh, mon cher, must you be so innocent,” said Hypnos, grabbing his piece of cloth and knotting it around Enrique’s face.

Any sound of protest was quickly muffled.

Six meters from them, the treasure room glowed dimly. Laila felt her pulse ratcheting higher. Her body felt almost feverish. They were so close. They had the lyre. They had the location for the temple where it could be played.

All that was missing was the map to reach it.

Some distance away, they arrived at the landing of a short, glass staircase that descended into a rather spacious chamber the size of L’Eden’s grand lobby. The marble floor had been Forged with phosphorescent threads, casting a warm glow throughout the room. A domed skylight stretched about eighteen meters above them, shedding moonlight on the treasures below.

Only, they didn’t seem like treasures at all.

There were twelve chest-high black pedestals, six on each side of the room. At the base of each pedestal was a little metal sphere, no larger than her palm. Atop each pedestal stood an exquisite glass perfume bottle. Each one looked fluted, the glass teased into shapes of unfurling violets or tight-budded roses, the warm glow cast from the floor tangled in the glossy crystal.

“Where are the maps?” asked Hypnos.

“Those are the maps,” said Séverin. “A rare, mind Forged substance that will drop knowledge of a place inside one’s head.”

Across the back wall stretched a large, square panel roughly the size of two large dining tables and filled with thick coils of blown glass. The pigment within them swirled with vibrant shades—mint green and persimmon orange, dusky rose and garnet red, a teeming riot of color. It undulated until the colors wavered like a hypnotic warning.

Laila touched the covering on her nose and mouth. Through the Forged silk filter, she caught a whiff of something else. Something scorched and fetid.

“No one wants their treasures out in the open,” said Séverin. “We have to engage all our senses. Enrique, is there anything worth noticing here? Any pattern of historical significance?”

Enrique startled at the sound of his name. He eyed the room and then Séverin, who was staring hopefully at him. Enrique cleared his throat.

“The bottles look like Murano glass, and perfume was a powerful tool to the ancients, which strengthens the conclusion that these might be maps to temples.”

Séverin grinned. “I knew you’d see something.” Enrique ignored him.

Hypnos shuffled, tugging at the neckline of his robes. “Does anyone else find the room far too hot?”

Now that he mentioned it, the room did feel uncomfortably warm, but perhaps that was due to insulation. Laila pushed her damp, curling hair away from her forehead as Séverin eyed the room warily.

“Something about the room prefers this temperature,” he said.

“You make it sound like the room is alive,” said Hypnos, uncomfortable.

“Perhaps it is,” said Séverin. He eyed the staircase, then the panel of glass coils before stepping onto the first landing. “I’m going down.”

“Very well,” said Laila, following after him.

Séverin blocked her way. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet, let me—”

“Let you what?” demanded Laila. “Martyr yourself? Again? If you die, this whole thing fails anyway because we can’t use the lyre. So either you stay back and watch us go, or suffer the fact that we’re going in with you.”

Behind her, Enrique, Zofia, and Hypnos looked a little shocked. Hypnos raised his hand.

“I … don’t have to go?” he said.

Laila glared at him.

Séverin sighed, then moved back. “You are right. I am yours to command.”

“If only,” muttered Laila, walking down the staircase.

The moment she stepped onto the top step, she reached inside her sleeves, touching the corsetry around her waist that Zofia had outfitted with her Forged creations. Laila drew out one of the portable lights, flashing it onto the perfume bottle on the first pedestal. Something flashed inside.

“Keep an eye on the back wall,” said Séverin.

Zofia nodded, positioning herself at the front of the room.

Inside the first perfume bottle was a small, golden key. Here, the smell of rotting meat was even stronger.

“It’s definitely holding a key,” she said, covering her nose.

“May I?” asked Séverin.

Laila tossed him a portable light. He shone it across the bottles.

“They all have keys,” he said.

“How do we know what they unlock?” asked Enrique. “It could be any of these.”

“There’s only one way to find out where the maps lead,” said Séverin, eyeing the bottles. “Split up. Unstopper them as little as possible … mind Forged maps are intense and very powerful, so be prepared.”

“We’re looking for signs of the temple beneath Poveglia … think craggy land, caves, that kind of setting,” added Enrique.

Laila braced herself as she reached for the cold, smooth glass of the bottle. She glanced at the back wall, alight with coiling glass. It looked unchanged.