Without waiting for them to answer, the matriarch and her guard took to the stairs. The mirror door seamed shut behind Séverin, and the last of the downstairs salon laughter vanished … replaced with the rich music of a zither. Hypnos closed his eyes, humming appreciatively. He’d forgotten how much the other boy loved music. When they were young, he remembered that Hypnos possessed a beautiful singing voice. That last year his parents had lived, they’d even put on a Christmas performance, with Séverin controlling the stage and watching as the audience’s faces glowed with wonder.

Séverin dug his nails into his palm, willing those recollections to dust. He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to see Hypnos as a grinning child, breathless from song. He didn’t want to see the matriarch as she had once been to him … Tante FeeFee … whose love, for a moment, had felt unconditional.

At the landing of the stairs, the hallway opened into a wide room. The ceiling was Forged stained glass and appeared like a drop of blood unfurling infinitely into a crystal bowl of water. Private booths of carmine lay behind ivory screens. Red poppy petals carpeted the floor, and the room smelled of musk and smoldering incense.

Masked servers dressed in black moved discreetly through the room, balancing onyx trays holding small, pewter cups while patrons wearing gruesome rabbit masks reached languidly for the cups. It was only when Séverin saw that each of the patrons had a metal claw attached to their pinky finger that he realized what this place was.

“A blood Forging den?” he asked.

“We must have our pleasures one way or the other,” said the matriarch.

Séverin had never entered a blood Forging den before … but he knew of their reputations. Such a place kept a handful of resident artists who could not only manipulate the presence of iron within one’s blood, but also heighten aspects of mind and mood. A drop of blood in the hands of a talented artist could bring dizzying pleasure, erase inhibitions with a single sip, and—it was rumored—even allow someone to wear another’s face for an evening, which lasted far longer than the effects of mirror powder.

“Perhaps you imagine that I was behind the attack in the alley,” said the matriarch as she slid into a booth.

Thanks to Laila, he didn’t, actually, but that didn’t explain how she knew where they would be. Vasiliev’s last words rang in his head: She’ll find you.

Was it her?

When neither Hypnos nor he said anything, the matriarch continued.

“As you know, the Houses of the Order of Babel are readying themselves for the Winter Conclave in two weeks at a palace in Volgograd,” she said, waving a hand. “It’s the usual itinerary of posturing and partying before the annual Midnight Auction.”

“Then you’re in Russia early.”

“I had business here,” she said, rapping the table with her knuckles.

Hypnos’s jaw opened. “Do you own this blood Forging den?”

She didn’t answer.

“My Sphinx was alerted to the use of one of the Order’s inroads when you crossed into Moscow. I grew curious about who else from the Order would be here, and we followed you to the alley in time to save your lives … and also with enough time to find this.”

She slid something onto the table.

“My men went after someone seen running away from your alley fire, and though they couldn’t catch the culprit, they were able to pick this off their clothing.”

She removed her hand, revealing a golden honeybee.

“The Fallen House,” breathed Hypnos, panic edging into his voice. “We haven’t found any traces of their activity since the catacombs attack.”

“Well, they’re active now,” said the matriarch. “I haven’t forgotten your last report with the stark mad ravings of Roux-Joubert. He said the Fallen House could not access its own treasures because they could not find the Sleeping Palace. It would seem as though they think you have something worth finding … something that might change their situation…”

The matriarch examined her fingernails. “I thought the Tezcat spectacles and the lens were mere rumor before I found them on your person. When were you going to tell the Order that you had a lead on the Sleeping Palace? To my knowledge, you’re working for us.”

Séverin pointed to Hypnos.

“As a member of the Order, the patriarch of House Nyx was present the whole—”

“The patriarch of House Nyx is a puppy within the Order,” said the matriarch dismissively.

“I resent that,” said Hypnos, muttering, “I am, at least, full-grown.”

“You should know the rules better, Hypnos,” scolded the matriarch. “Any Order activity in Russia must be supervised by two Heads of Houses in addition to representatives from House Dazbog, otherwise you face immediate expulsion from the country. But who knows with the new patriarch? I’ve never met him, but I’ve heard he’s as reclusive as his father. And he could be five times crueler. Then again, the Order would always help you should you prove that you can find the Sleeping Palace.” She raised her eyebrow. “You need us.”

Séverin tilted his head, catching a slip in her words.

“Prove?” he repeated. And then he smiled. “You already tried to put the Tezcat spectacles and lens together, didn’t you? I wondered why you chose to travel in a separate carriage. I imagine your efforts did not work. And now you try this ploy of benevolence to make sure we don’t leave the Order in the dust, scrambling about for their wits.”

For a moment, the matriarch looked stunned. Séverin studied her face. She was so much older now. Gray touched her once-blond hair, and hard brackets framed her mouth. In all these years, she hadn’t lost that alertness in her blue eyes. It was hard to meet them without thinking about the last time they’d met … when he had rejected the inheritance she’d first stolen from him, and relief had filled her whole being. Séverin dropped his gaze, his pulse thudding painfully. How much must she hate him to feel relief that he would never know what should’ve belonged to him?

“No,” she said finally. “It did not work.”

“So to amend your statement, it is you who needs us.”

Her eyes hardened. “You are still vulnerable, Monsieur. If you can determine the coordinates, I will grant you the protection of my House, and make the necessary arrangements with House Dazbog. In return, I want you to find something specifically for me.”

Séverin tensed, a part of him knowing what she would say even before she uttered it.

“The Divine Lyrics,” she said.

“That book was lost,” said Hypnos, a touch too quickly.

“Perhaps,” said Delphine. “But if it was not, and if it is there hidden in the Fallen House’s treasure hoard, I want it handed over to me directly.”

Séverin only smiled. So that was why she wanted it. The Order was still furious with the Houses of France for jeopardizing their secrets. For Hypnos, revealing the location of the Sleeping Palace was enough to win back trust, but the matriarch clearly hungered for the elite status she once held … and only a coup like The Divine Lyrics would restore it.

Séverin flexed his hand. This arrangement could work quite nicely. More ease of access, more security for the others. And then he could let the matriarch watch as he stole the book right out from underneath her.