“It’s a deal,” he said.

The matriarch nodded, then signaled to the server who set down a crystal goblet of mint tea and a small crimson vial that looked like blood.

“Wild evening plans?” asked Hypnos, eyeing the vial.

“I don’t partake in blood Forging activities,” said the matriarch, tossing back the vial. “And I don’t trust it.”

“Then what was that?”

“My own blood, mixed with a connection that repels Forging,” she said. “A mithradatic measure, if you will.”

“Afraid someone might lure you into a night of debauchery?” asked Hypnos.

The matriarch dabbed at her mouth. “Why not? Skill and experience are always in demand. And I have quite enough of both.”

Hypnos spluttered, and before the conversation could take a dismal turn, the server brought out wine and, for Séverin, mazagran served in a tall glass. He stared at it. The scent of coffee syrup and ice jolted him to his childhood where Kahina used to drink this every morning in a pale, green glass. When he was little, he remembered Tante—the matriarch—teasing him that if he drank the concoction, he wouldn’t get tall. His throat tightened.

“Not thirsty?” asked the matriarch.

His throat felt scorched with smoke, but he shoved aside the glass.

“No,” he said, pushing himself from the table and gesturing to Hypnos. “We have work to do.”

* * *

SÉVERIN HESITATED OUTSIDE the mahogany doors of the music room in the tea salon. Laila, Enrique, and Zofia waited for him inside. Hypnos had gone before Séverin to tell them of the matriarch’s demands, but Séverin hesitated. How would he show his face to them after all his choices had nearly killed them?

Inside, the music room was small and well-lit. In one corner stood a harp. In the other, a piano, where Hypnos sat and plunked at the keys. A handful of couches and satin settees dotted the room, but Zofia and Enrique sat at a table near the entrance. Their heads were bent in conversation. In front of them, the Tezcat spectacles shone brightly beneath the chandelier. Beside the frame, on a square of velvet, sat the lens taken from Vasiliev’s chain. Laila walked in from a separate entryway, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. There was even a cup for him. He didn’t know what to make of that.

Enrique saw him first and immediately pointed at Zofia. “Zofia just tried to set fire to the Tezcat spectacles.”

Zofia scowled at him. “I tried to see if the lens and the spectacles might be welded together.”

“And?” asked Laila, setting down the tray.

“And it was unsuccessful.”

“House Kore couldn’t manage it either,” said Laila soothingly.

“The symbology around the instrument is fairly strange too,” said Enrique. “A mix of cosmic iconography … including, I believe … planets.”

“Those aren’t planets, mon cher, those are silver balls,” called Hypnos from the piano.

“They’re artistic renderings of planets.”

Séverin bent to examine the Tezcat spectacles. They looked like a strange pair of goggles. The frames were thick and decorated with bulging silver spheres that were indeed planets, judging by the Latin script on each shape. The screws, temples, and hinges each bore decorations of clouds and constellations.

“They’re ugly,” said Hypnos. “And I’m not usually one to judge when—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” said Laila.

Hypnos looked over his shoulder, flashing a wicked grin as he played a quick, ominous tune on the piano.

“Wait,” said Séverin. “Did you see that?”

On the Tezcat spectacles, he could have sworn he saw the faintest glow around the lens and the empty frame of the spectacles.

“See what?”

“As if … as if there was a reaction from the spectacles. From the music.”

“Does this make me irresistible to animate and inanimate things?” asked Hypnos. “Because that pleases me.”

Laila flexed her fingers and mused, “Interesting that it reacts to music when it seems as though whoever removed the lens did so in utter silence.”

Hypnos made a pah! sound. “How would you figure that, ma chère?”

Laila shrugged. “Let’s say I have a knack for it, shall we?”

Zofia sat up a little straighter. “The hollow angel held a sound barrier of cork and wool when we were retrieving the box.”

Séverin lifted the Tezcat spectacles and lens, turning them in his hand before raising them eye level. He knew it hid the location of the Sleeping Palace. But what about the instrument itself? Herein lay the secret to unlocking riddles and finding treasure … What was the context, what did the maker want and see? Why all the silent measures taken to protect it?

“This was locked in the Chamber of Goddesses. Part of it hung around someone’s neck with the utmost care, and the frame is full of a twisting universe. When lifted to the eye, it was meant to behold the whole world in one glimpse,” said Séverin, talking more or less to himself. He ran his thumb along the metal, imagining he was the person who’d first held the object. “No one but a god can create a universe, and the world can be remade through the eyes of God. Whatever key triggers the positioning of the frame, it will relate to movement and planets … sound. Or, more likely, music, which to some might be considered prayer. In which case, there’s only one theory that would fit with unlocking this. Musica universalis, or the Music of the Spheres. That’s the key to opening this.”

When he stopped talking and looked up, the others were watching him.

“How did you do that?” demanded Hypnos.

“How else do you think he hunts treasures?” asked Enrique, glancing smugly at Séverin.

Séverin’s stomach turned, and he quickly put down the glasses. Each acquisition used to be a symphony of Zofia’s engineerings, Enrique’s knowledge, and Laila’s readings. And then there was his role, a quiet way of slipping behind the eyes of kings and priests, monsters and monks—anyone who had something worth hiding. Whenever his role came into play, those small gestures—Zofia’s approving nod, Laila’s slow smile, Tristan’s trust, and Enrique’s pride—used to anchor him. But now it felt thieved. He had no right to find peace in it.

“What, exactly, is the Music of the Spheres?” asked Hypnos. “It sounds like a terribly boring play.”

“It’s an ancient philosophy that gained a lot of popularity in the fifteenth century,” said Enrique, looking bemused as he turned from Séverin. “Theoretically, there’s a governing rhythm and movement to celestial bodies, like the sun, moon, and stars.”

“Can any kind of music unlock it?”

Hypnos started playing, but the glow around the lens of the spectacles only dimly flickered.

“It would have to be music or rhythm with a universal property,” said Zofia. “Try the golden ratio.”

“What is that?” asked Hypnos, shaking his head. “What I do know is that when it comes to tuning a piano, there’s an agreed-upon method. One tunes pianos by way of fifths. That’s universal enough, I believe. Here. I shall demonstrate with C Major.”