“Yes,” she said.

“After what she did?” said Enrique.

“You cannot corner a wild animal and scold it for snapping at you,” said Laila. Her voice was even and unwavering. Zofia could not tell if she was angry. “I know what I read in Eva’s objects.”

Eva’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly. That meant she was shocked by Laila’s response. Zofia was not shocked. Laila was the kindest person she knew.

“All I want is a new start,” said Eva. “I want … I want to be free.” Eva raised her chin, looking them each in the eye. “I can make sure Ruslan is temporarily paralyzed and cannot leave the boat.”

“And in return,” said Séverin, his gaze sweeping over them, “I have promised Eva living quarters in L’Eden, future protection both for herself and her father from the Order of Babel—”

Hypnos grumbled. “Yes, fine.”

“And potential employment,” said Séverin.

Laila stiffened a little. Zofia noticed that it was Laila he looked to last. It was a familiar pattern. In L’Eden, whenever Séverin made plans, he always looked at Laila. To see him do it again made Zofia think of all their former patterns. It was like physics, the study of working mechanisms and the interplay of light. Laila was a fulcrum, the point around which all things in their group seemed to pivot. Séverin was mass, the weight that changed their direction. Enrique gave them depth. Zofia hoped she offered light. She was not sure what Hypnos contributed to the group, but she could not imagine it without him. Perhaps that made him perspective.

“Then it’s settled,” said Séverin.

Zofia looked up. She had not been listening.

“We must work quickly,” said Eva, looking at the lagoon. “He’s coming.”

* * *

ZOFIA AND ENRIQUE huddled together in one of the two gondolas Eva had rented and carefully positioned in the lagoon. Hypnos was waiting for them on the shore, to buy time for them before anyone came to investigate the inevitable explosion. The boat rocked slowly in the water. A small telescopic device that had once been part of Laila’s bodice now poked out from the top of the gondola. Through it, Zofia could see Ruslan’s gondola about six meters away. Séverin stood on a paddleboat, slowly pushing his way toward the patriarch of the Fallen House. Once Eva made the signal, she would detonate the explosives.

“And now we wait,” said Enrique.

The crystal detonator lay on the bottom of the boat in front of Zofia. At Eva’s signal, she would trigger it, the gondola would explode, and they would be free to sail to Poveglia by morning. Perhaps by this time tomorrow … Laila would be safe. The thought warmed Zofia.

“Zofia … I’m sorry about, um, earlier,” said Enrique.

Zofia startled from her thoughts. She turned to look at him and frowned. What was he talking about?

“I feel like I wasn’t a good friend to you.”

That did not seem true to Zofia, but before she could say anything, Enrique spoke faster.

“Good friends put aside their ego and ask about each other,” he said. “And I didn’t ask how you were after our kiss because I thought it had bothered you. Now I think it’s something else. But if it is about the kiss, I’m sorry about that too.”

“I’m not sorry that we kissed,” said Zofia.

“You’re not?”

“It was without compare—”

Enrique beamed.

“I’ve never kissed anyone, so I have nothing to compare it to.”

Now he frowned.

After a moment, Zofia added: “I liked it.”

It was the truth, but it made Zofia ache a little. She knew he had kissed her so that the swan wings would fold up and hide them from Ruslan. Whereas she would have kissed him without the motive of camouflage. She had wanted to kiss him. If she were not waiting on Séverin’s signal … if there were less unknowns in the world … she would have liked to kiss him again.

Enrique’s expression changed. “Zofia, I—”

Out the corner of her eye, Zofia caught sight of Eva’s signal, which meant her rented gondola was in line with Ruslan’s. Through her viewpoint, Zofia could see that Ruslan was frozen, his arms caught mid-movement, his jaw dropped. His eyes looked wide and furious.

Now.

Zofia slammed her palm onto the detonator, and light exploded around them.

20

LAILA

Five minutes before the explosion, Laila held her breath, her hands splayed against the bottom of the gondola. She could feel the boat’s memories brushing lightly against her thoughts. It wanted to tell her about the toddler who had tried to dip his hand in the dirty water, to the horror of his parents. It wanted to tell her about the smell of early spring, the violets garlanding the bridges to ward off the sewage stench. Laila pushed the boat’s secrets away from her and kept her gaze on the dark floor. The water carried the sound of conversation, and in every beat of silence, she felt as if her fate was being woven before her.

“How was your last human fête, Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie?”

Ruslan.

Laila could hear the smile in his voice. Warm and generous, soft and curious. That was the same voice he had used before he raised his golden hand and slapped her so hard her teeth ached. A shudder ran down her spine.

“Exceptional. I now have everything I need.”

This time, Séverin’s voice.

A beat passed. Laila could hear the soft knocking of the nearby gondola hitting the wooden pier. Inside, Enrique and Zofia waited on Eva’s signal.

“Everything?” repeated Ruslan.

“Almost everything.”

Another twinge of silence. Laila’s pulse was made of fire.

“Give me the lyre box.”

This was it.

The signal.

Laila heard the rustling of heavy cloaks, and then—

Slam.

Laila couldn’t see, but she could hear the plan unfolding. Ruslan’s hand flipped over, the metal talon slicing down his wrist and Eva’s blood Forging artistry taking root. Every day, the patriarch of the Fallen House took a tonic to ward off manipulation.

Today, his dose had been altered.

Ruslan’s voice turned high-pitched, panicked. “Séverin, what are you—”

“Apotheosis draws nearer, but I am afraid that heaven is crowded … and I am told there is only room for one god.”

The gondola went still. Ruslan was choked into silence.

“By the way, Eva hopes you rot and that even the lagoon water finds your soul so dirty it expels it straight to hell. Oh, and also? The real Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie sends his regards.”

Beside her, Laila heard a soft laugh. “An excellent flourish. Bon chance, Eva.”

Laila turned to her right. There, the real Séverin stretched out beside her, his eyes near-black in the moonlight. For Eva’s ruse, he had given her a drop of his blood to Forge so that she might wear his face and speak in his voice. She wore his outfit too, with added explosive protection from Zofia’s Forged robes, which left him wearing a thin, ivory-colored shirt that stretched across his shoulders and opened at the throat. He seemed unbothered by the cold.