“They’re spectacles,” she said loudly.

Séverin glanced up at her, and his mouth curved up. He raised the Tezcat spectacles to his face and held still.

“What is it?” asked Eva. “What do you see?”

Séverin took a few steps to the left, and then he bent toward the ice, reaching for midair while his hand curved as if around a door handle only he could see. Then he pulled. When he did, the light started to waver right in front of him and the air shimmered.

Ruslan laughed and clapped his hands, drawing away Zofia’s attention.

“Zofia,” gasped Laila beside her.

She looked back to the place where the air had started to shimmer, only now the glittering effect stretched to a distance that seemed to equal the entire length of L’Eden. The Ural Mountains behind the lake blurred away as solid ice appeared midair. With every passing second, the shape of a grand building emerged on the frozen Lake Baikal—frozen cupolas and translucent balconies, crystal spires and thick, ice walls. There was no mistaking what was before them.

The Sleeping Palace of the Fallen House.

15

LAILA

The Sleeping Palace reminded Laila of L’Eden, if it had been dreamed up by winter.

When the door opened, slender icicles shattered on the ground. Her stomach swooped at her first step. Snowflakes dusted the translucent floor, and through the striations of ice, Laila could see the movement of sapphire water … as if she might tumble through at any moment. The wide vestibule opened into an expansive, silvery atrium. Forged thuribles of moonstone glided along a vaulted ceiling full of etched crystal and ice. Two snow-bright stairways spiraled up to a balcony that encircled the atrium. The moment they entered the atrium, the Sleeping Palace began to wake. Crystalline sculptures of gargoyles untucked their heads from their wings. Designs of closed blossoms and coiled ivy unfurled slowly, snow falling from their shapes like pollen as they opened and arched toward the ceiling. The sounds echoing through the vast halls reminded Laila of crisp snow broken underfoot.

Her breath feathered before her, and not for the first time, she wondered whether she was supposed to be feeling more … She looked at her hands, flexing her fingers, trying to search her body for some sign that they were closer to The Divine Lyrics. But all she felt was the relentless cold, and all she saw was her garnet ring, wet as a heart, with the number 17 leering at her from inside the jewel.

Delphine stayed at the entrance, turning her attention to the guards and the transport, calling for a retinue to examine the rooms, determine their safety, and get them ready for sleeping. Eva had made her way, of course, to Séverin. Laila ignored the sharp twinge in her heart. Perhaps she was being unfair. Eva had not made the most favorable impression, but Laila could let that go.

She forced her eyes to Ruslan, who stared up at the icy vaulted ceiling. Lightly, he cradled his injured hand in its sling. For a moment, something flickered across his face that looked, to Laila, like sorrow.

“Remarkable,” he said excitedly, hopping a little on the spot. “This feels like the start of making history, does it not? Can’t you feel the pulse of the universe speeding up at this discovery? It makes me feel—”

His stomach growled loudly. Ruslan scowled, and whispered hush! to his belly. He opened his mouth to speak again, but then Delphine appeared beside him, and Ruslan fell quiet. She surveyed them through narrowed eyes. When she spoke, Laila saw that she only looked at Séverin. “Well, treasure hunters, we have exactly one week before the Winter Conclave and even less time before we have no choice but to reveal this discovery to the Order,” she said stonily. “Start hunting.”

With that, she and Ruslan left the atrium. Ruslan paused only to glance at Eva with an encouraging smile. Laila thought it was a summons, but Eva did not follow after him. Instead, she walked forward. For the first time, Laila noticed a slight drag to her left leg.

“I wish to stay and help you,” announced Eva, crossing her arms. “For one thing, I’m a gifted blood Forging and ice artist. As Ruslan’s cousin, I’ve grown up hearing the stories about the Sleeping Palace and the Fallen House. You could use me. Finally, I have just as much to offer as anyone else on the team.” She shot a scathing glance at Laila. “Perhaps more than some.

“Well?” prompted Eva, when Séverin said nothing.

He looked to Laila. No one joined them without a thorough reading, and what Laila had found of Eva wasn’t enough to deem her safe. While the matriarch had called for a morning meeting yesterday, Séverin had summoned her to the luggage room where they had opened the patriarch’s and Eva’s possessions, and she had read all that she could. There was nothing out of the ordinary in Ruslan’s belongings. No memories of import. No emotion except the pressure to discover, which she’d felt like a hand pushed on her heart. Eva’s objects, however, were sparse. Nothing but a pair of shoes worn through from work at the blood Forging den in Moscow. That was all.

“I’m sorry,” said Laila, truly meaning it. “But no.”

Eva looked stricken for only a moment, before she glowered and crossed the room to Laila. Hypnos hurriedly scuttled elsewhere.

“Is this because I didn’t know who you were?” asked Eva, annoyed.

Laila felt weary.

“I don’t particularly care whether you know me or not, Eva. It doesn’t change that we follow certain protocols, which you are not familiar with, and so we must decline your well-intentioned offer to provide services.”

Eva smirked, tugging at a silver pendant around her neck. “Are you jealous, is that it? I don’t blame you.” Eva leaned close, lowering her voice. “What artistry do you have to offer other than your body?”

Laila schooled her features blank. She understood how the world cultivated malice between girls, teaching them to bare their teeth when they might have bared their souls. Her own friendships at the Palais des Rêves had started out with cruelty—one girl adding a dye to her face cream and another cutting the heels from her shoes in the hopes that she’d snap her ankle on the stage. C’est la vie. It was Paris. It was show business. And they were scared of losing their livelihood. But the difference was that at least the cabaret girls had treated her as a formidable opponent on the same battlefield.

When Eva deigned to speak to her, it was as if she didn’t see her at all.

“I see nothing that inspires jealousy,” said Laila.

And she meant it. Eva was beautiful, but bodies were just bodies. Easily broken, and unfortunately, not so easily made. Laila had never had control over her physical features, and she never felt it right to hold another’s against them.

But at her words, Eva’s face turned bloodless.

“You say that because you think you have a protector in Mr. Montagnet-Alarie,” she said. “But don’t think it will stay that way. Even I noticed he didn’t bother defending your honor.”

With that, she stalked off.

Laila sank her nails into her palm. Eva was right, but wrong. If Séverin had wanted to show that she was something he could speak for or speak over, then he would have. But Laila had watched him consider speaking before choosing to step back. She wished she’d never seen that.