“So you’ve said.” He turned away from her, his hand on the wall, his head bowed as if he wished to rest his forehead on the rock. “Did I at least make you feel alive, Laila?”

Laila nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes.”

But he made her feel other things too, and the sensation on her heart felt like air blown across a new wound. The only thing that would heal it was time, a commodity she barely had left.

“Then for that I’m glad,” he said.

He took a deep breath, sighing. The moment he pushed himself off the rock, amber light flared over the stone. The sudden light was like a window abruptly revealed by the parting of drapes.

Laila gasped, and Séverin raised his head just in time to see the flash of sudden radiance. It bloomed right where his hand touched the wall, expanding to the size of a large dinner platter.

A second later, Séverin’s hand melted through the rock. Jeweled light limned his submerged wrist just long enough for Laila to glimpse a corner of what lay inside—

Carved walls, hundreds of stone steps disappearing out of sight, massive bronze hands. A floor that looked like the vaulted skies of heaven, and a ceiling rich and green as Eden.

But no sooner had she glimpsed it than the image faded.

Translucence there and gone.

Not far off, Laila heard the others call out, racing back as the amber light dwindled and began to fall in on itself. Séverin snatched his hand away just in time for the rough obsidian wall to close up, fast as a blink.

Enrique, Hypnos, and Zofia arrived, breathless, at their side.

“How did you do that?” asked Enrique.

Séverin’s eyes found Laila’s in the gloaming. “I have no idea.”

28

SÉVERIN

Séverin touched the obsidian wall, dragging his hands over the jutting hanks of glossy rock.

Where had the light gone?

The radiance had been a sudden thing. Almost violent. Against his skin, Séverin had felt the lyre’s pulse turn frantic, the strings burning hot. A moment later, all of it had crumpled to darkness. Even the lyre’s heartbeat slowed.

When he blinked, he saw the ghostly imprint of light. It was like Laila’s kiss all over again. One moment, she was in his arms, burning hot like a star, and then, just as quickly, out of his embrace. The jolt from one state to another was what forced him to turn to the rock wall.

He was powerless. He was losing her—not her love, not her attraction to him—but her. If Laila needed to kiss him until his heart broke to feel alive, he would offer it up on the spot; if she needed his hope for kindling to feel warmth, he would watch himself go up in flames.

But he couldn’t fix her.

He couldn’t open the damned wall.

And then—

Light.

There and gone, leaving him not with despair, but with anger. Heaven would not dare to shut him out, not now. Séverin would have what he’d fought so hard for … one way or another, he would sink his teeth into that amber light and grab power by its soft, furred throat until he owned it.

“I don’t get it,” said Enrique. “The writing on the wall was clear: to dóro ton theón, ‘the gift of the gods.’ This was the spot where the translucence appeared, wasn’t it?”

Séverin nodded.

“Did your lantern touch this spot?” asked Zofia, tapping the rock with her match.

“No,” said Séverin.

“But that would mean it isn’t fire, even though everything points to that element and Zofia has already said that it’s fireproof!” said Enrique. “We already tried earth. Was it something about the waves? Not that I think we should go anywhere near that lake—”

Séverin ignored him. Before anyone could stop him, he took a couple of steps toward the lake, scooped water into his palm, and flung it onto the wall.

The water slid down the rock.

“You just!” Enrique spluttered. “Why!”

Séverin dried his hands on his jacket. “Now we know it’s not the water.”

“Not light, not water,” grumbled Enrique. “What else would have been a gift from the gods? Free will?”

Hypnos cleared his throat. “I will you to open up!”

The rock wall remained indifferent.

Séverin canted his head to one side, thinking of past acquisitions. Don’t follow the clues, follow the room. The story of the room was a treasure of its own. Séverin imagined that he was the maker of this place, the master of a shining cavern full of terrors torn out of myths.

“I could try the explosives,” said Zofia thoughtfully.

Enrique crossed his arms. “I realize fire is your element, but—”

At Enrique’s words, something nudged at Séverin’s thoughts.

“What did you just say?”

Enrique lifted an eyebrow. “I was telling Zofia that explosives are hardly the answer.”

“What did you tell her exactly?”

“… I realize fire is your element?”

“Yes,” said Séverin slowly. “We have the wrong element.”

“How?” asked Laila. “Fire and earth don’t work. Water had no effect, and air is all around us.”

Séverin took a step toward the wall. His shoes slipped and squished. The earth did not feel as it had on the other side of the lake. And it was not simply because of the damp.

“What is this?” he asked, lifting his leg and examining the bottom of his shoe.

Zofia knelt, touching the ground, reading the elements within. “Clay.”

“Clay?” echoed Enrique. “Was the other shore made of clay?”

Zofia shook her head.

A slow smile curved Séverin’s lips. “I see it now.”

He took a handful of clay, squeezing it, the lantern forgotten by his feet and casting an unearthly illumination on his hands. “What was god’s gift to man after we were molded from something as base as clay?”

“Life?” said Hypnos.

“No,” said Laila, smiling. “Breath. That’s the name for Forging in India … the chota sans.”

Séverin recognized that phrase: the little breath. The rest of the world had a hundred names and explanations for the art the Western world called “Forging.” But its artistry worked the same no matter what name it carried.

Séverin placed his hand against the rock wall.

Before, he had turned from Laila, sighing—exhaling—and hating how powerless he was. Now, when he breathed out, it was full of hope. It was cold in the cave, and his breath plumed before him, holding shape in the air for an instant before unraveling on the rock—

Light bloomed.

The light was no larger than the span of his hand, but it was a window nonetheless … an aperture through which a corner of the temple was revealed. Through the shining pane of amber, Séverin glimpsed jagged steps. His mother’s voice rang clear as a bell in his head:

In your hands lie the gates of godhood.

A weightless sense of giddiness swept through him. The pulse of the divine lyre, like a heartbeat laid atop his own, paused … then synced. As if they were one. Even when the light faded, Séverin felt as though it had moved inside him as he turned to the others.