PART V

31

LAILA

Laila’s heart had never beat so furiously. Moments ago, she had been savoring that very feeling. When they had entered the temple sanctum, Laila had felt as if her whole body had been rinsed in myths and honeyed light.

She had returned to her senses to find them sharp, honed as if by a jeweler’s lathe so that every sensation felt like a polished jewel. Even her blood moved sleekly in her veins. And perhaps the temple had changed something within her because the moment she touched the Forged box, she knew.

Ruslan had laid a trap for them.

But however the temple might have enhanced her abilities, it had not done so fast enough. Laila looked down to see a hovering, golden dagger pressed against her heart.

And she was not alone.

Enrique, Zofia, and Hypnos were similarly trapped. Séverin alone was untouched.

Not three meters away, Ruslan came into view. He held out his golden hand, and she realized he was somehow controlling the daggers. Behind Ruslan stood six members of the Fallen House, and something was wrong with them. Their volto masks looked scorched and dented. When they moved, their gestures were too stiff. Flies buzzed around their heads.

“My, my,” said Ruslan softly. “What a wonder to behold … I suppose I should thank you for doing all the difficult bits, but it was very rude of you to try and kill me like that, Séverin! I thought we truly were friends.”

“Ruslan, I—” Séverin started to say.

“Shhh. Let me bask, first, in the threshold of my godhood. I want to remember this moment.”

As the smoke cleared, Ruslan’s face came into focus and Laila froze.

Now, half of his face shone unearthly and strange and … gold. Part of his skull was smashed in, and light glinted off the golden dent.

“Do you like my new look?” asked Ruslan, smiling.

His teeth were either chipped or missing. What remained appeared to be smeared red with blood.

“It is, admittedly, a touch gaudy,” he said, sniffing. “But it was hard to reconstruct myself after you tried to blow me up.”

“You should be dead,” growled Enrique.

“I should, shouldn’t I?” said Ruslan. “But you see … that’s the thing about my inheritance. The ‘Fallen House’ is such an ugly name. Its true one is so much better. We are and have always been House Attis.”

At the name, the gold knife in Ruslan’s hand shone. Behind Ruslan, the volto masks on the members slipped sideways revealing something sunken. Something stinking. Something far from alive. Laila’s stomach turned.

“You see, we alone had a hint of the power in the temple. We could not create new life, but we could always revive it … in some fashion.” Ruslan grinned as he gestured at the dead Fallen House members behind.

Ruslan dragged his knife across his own throat, laughing as the line bled gold instead of red. “So you see, my friends, you cannot kill me. In many ways, I’m practically dead already and it hasn’t stopped me yet.”

A shiver ran down Laila’s spine. She glanced to her right and saw Séverin staring at her, the lines around his mouth tight with worry. The moment she looked at him, the golden dagger at her breast dragged up slowly, with all the languor of a lover’s touch. It tapped beneath her chin, forcing her head up.

“Now, now, don’t be so distracted, Séverin!” Ruslan laughed.

Laila swallowed hard. The dagger did not move from its new position at her throat.

“Gold and alchemy, transformation and ichor,” said Ruslan, gesturing with a flourish of his wrist. “The use of such treasures always comes at a cost, you know.” He paused, tapping the side of his golden skull. “But I was willing to pay anything to save myself. I’m afraid the same could not be said for my men however.”

Ruslan snapped his fingers. As one, the six members of the Fallen House lifted their volto masks. A sweet, rotten stench filled the air. Beneath their masks was a ruined mass of flesh, mouths pulled into rictus grins and covered in a thin layer of gold.

“Not quite enough to call them living, but certainly enough to be useful,” said Ruslan, shrugging. “And perhaps when I am a god, I will use my infinite mercy and ability to restore them to full life … maybe. That is what you want too, is it not, lovely Laila?”

The dagger pushed a little harder at her throat. Laila forced her eyes to the ground. Now, the glassy floor looked like rose-colored clouds. She imagined the sun rising slowly, warming her back. She met Ruslan’s gaze, lifting her chin. Acid flashed through her chest, and Laila welcomed her own fear.

“You will never be a god,” she spat.

Ruslan laughed. He turned to Enrique. “How’s your ear, little historian?”

“Gone,” said Enrique furiously. “Along with my delusions.”

“And the mute, little engineer…” said Ruslan, turning to Zofia. “Hello.”

Laila glared at the cruel jab, but Zofia remained indifferent. She stood with her back ramrod straight, her blue eyes furious and burning.

“I see you’ve kept around the abandoned puppy,” said Ruslan, lifting an eyebrow at Hypnos. “Strange … you were supposed to be dead. That will change, though. I’d hate to make liars out of the Order.”

Hypnos scowled.

“How nice to see you all reunited,” said Ruslan, clapping his hands. “You lived together … now you may die together! What a gift. Now, Séverin … enough of this. I’ll make you a deal, yes? Get me to the top of the temple, I’ll kill you simultaneously, and thus spare you the agony of watching one another die. In return, you take me to the top of that temple and play the lyre. Now.”

Laila watched as Séverin held up his hands slowly. She could see a plan frantically churning behind his eyes. His eyes darted to the changing color of the floor. Even though Laila could not turn around to see it, she still felt the presence of the giant automatons flanking the ziggurat.

“Ruslan, surely we—”

“Ugh,” said Ruslan.

He jerked his chin to the right, and Hypnos yelped, doubling over. Laila sucked in her breath. The dagger at her throat pressed a little deeper against her skin, keeping her still.

“Hypnos!” Séverin called out. He spun around to help, but Ruslan called out: “No, no, Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie … you will stay right where you are.”

Hypnos moaned, lifting his head. There was a long cut down his cheek. The golden dagger now rotated around his head.

“If you defy me again, the next cut will be along his throat,” said Ruslan. “Now go.”

Laila wished she could wrench this dagger away from her and plunge it straight into the patriarch of the Fallen House.

“No!” called out Enrique. “It’s rigged with a trap. I’m sure of it!”

Ruslan raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Laila held her breath. It was a dangerous thing to get Ruslan’s attention, and yet if he did not listen, all of the lyre’s power would be wasted.

“Look at the floor, Ruslan,” said Séverin evenly. “It is changing even now to reflect different times of the day. Trespass upon a temple too early, and it is a sign of disrespect to the gods. We should go at noon, at the zenith of the day to mark the occasion. And that’s not to mention the statues themselves—”