* * *

THIS EARLY, THE SLEEPING Palace still slumbered.

The ice blossoms once open had closed. The gargoyles curled into tight crystals, horned heads tucked beneath their wings. From the windows, the blue light streaming into the glass atrium was the color of drowning and silence. Though the floor was mostly opaque, a handful of transparent squares revealed the lake’s depths far beneath him, and as he walked, Séverin caught the pale underbelly of a hunting lamprey.

In the eaves stood bent and broken statues of women with their hands either sliced off or tied behind their backs. With every step, the small hairs on the back of Séverin’s neck prickled. It was too cold, too bare, too still. Whoever made this place considered the Sleeping Palace holy … but it was holy in the way of saint’s bones and bundles of martyr’s teeth. An eerie rictus of a cathedral that called itself hallowed, and one needed to believe it just to bear the sight of it.

Séverin crossed the atrium, running through what he’d seen the day before in the ice grotto … the stairs leading to the sunken platform and the three iced-over shields, the pool of water and the ice menagerie turning their heads as one to watch them. Out of all the rooms and floors of the Sleeping Palace, that was the one that felt like its cold, beating heart.

He was on the verge of rounding the corner to the northern hall, when he heard footsteps chiming behind him. He frowned. The others couldn’t possibly be awake already. But when he turned, he didn’t see any members of his crew. Delphine approached him, carrying a mug of coffee in one hand. In the other, a plate with a piece of toast, the edges cut and sliced in diagonals. It was heavily slathered in butter, and she’d used raspberry-cherry jam. His favorite combination as a child.

“I guessed you would be up early,” she said. “This is the time where only ghosts rouse us from sleep.”

She glided forward, offering the food. Séverin didn’t move. What game was she playing? First, there was the tea, then she’d requested access to him during his convalescing, and now she was bringing him toast?

“Then why are you awake?” he asked coldly.

“I have ghosts myself,” she said. “Ghosts of decisions made. Ghosts of loves lost … of family departed.”

She hesitated at the last part, and memories of Tristan knifed into his thoughts. She had no right to conjure him.

“He was a good boy,” she said. “Kind, and, perhaps a little too fragile—”

“Stop,” said Séverin. Tristan wasn’t hers. She didn’t get to talk about him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Delphine stiffened under his gaze.

“It’s a little late to try your hand at motherhood, Madame.”

Pain flashed in her eyes. He hoped it hurt. After he’d built L’Eden, he’d researched what became of his favorite Tante FeeFee. He knew her husband had died, and that she’d named her nephew—a boy who had wanted to go into the priesthood—her heir, once it became clear that she could have no children of her own. He felt no pity. She’d had her chance to take care of a child, and she’d forsaken him. Meanwhile, he’d spent days waiting for her at windows; hours praying to be someone else, someone she would want to keep.

“Séverin—” she tried, but he raised his hand.

He swiped the toast off the plate and grabbed the coffee.

“Thank you for your generosity,” he said, turning on his heel.

“You should know they’re growing curious,” she called out after him.

He stopped and looked over his shoulder.

Delphine continued. “The Order,” she said. “The Winter Conclave is in six days, and they want to know why House Kore, House Nyx, and House Dazbog have yet to arrive. They want to know if we’ve found something worthy of their notice. I am oath bound to inform them of my whereabouts should I not arrive on time to the Winter Conclave. I cannot keep them away from here forever.”

Séverin clenched his jaw. The last thing he wanted was this place crawling with members of the Order … contaminating his hunting grounds.

“Then allow me to make haste, Madame.”

* * *

HE UNDERSTOOD THE ICE grotto now.

Alone, he’d flooded most of the room with light from Forged floating lanterns. About fifteen feet away from the entrance appeared the stairs leading to the sunken platform. At the right stood the menagerie of ice animals. On the left, the wall of ice. Against the northern wall, three iced-over shields that looked roughly waist-high gleamed beneath a row of unsettling statues. The ice would need to be removed to figure out if there was any writing on the shields, but for now, Séverin turned his attention to the pool on the left of the statues. There, the waters of Lake Baikal silently churned. The pool was the size of a small dining table, its edges jagged and glittering dully.

He’d tested the other aspects as well. Yesterday when he’d taken a step onto the staircase, something had shot out of the walls. Now, he could make out the sign of three bullet-shaped protrusions situated at the angles of the room … right where an intruder might cross. He had an inkling of how he might have triggered the alarms, but it was worth testing just to be sure.

Séverin took one of the floating lanterns, removing the Forged device that allowed it to hover so that it dropped to the floor. He kicked it, and it rolled to the staircase. The moment it crossed the boundary, the protrusions on the wall swiveled, facing the lantern. At the other end, where the ice menagerie stood, a creature—this time a crystalline moose—swung its head, loping into the room. Séverin didn’t move. Instead, he watched the lantern. From the wall, an ice bullet identical to the one that had caught him yesterday on his nose and mouth shot out, splintering the lantern and gutting the light.

Instantly, the moose stopped moving, It lowered its head for a beat, its hooves poised to paw the ground and charge. A few seconds later, it lifted its head, turned, and trotted back into the menagerie.

Séverin smiled.

He’d just confirmed what triggered the security system: heat.

Which meant he needed someone who could counteract it. Someone good with ice.

* * *

HOURS LATER, he was no longer alone. Laila stood wrapped in an extravagant coat just outside the entrance of the ice grotto. Hypnos, Zofia, and Enrique fanned out around her, as if she were their center. In the middle of the ice grotto stood Ruslan and Eva. Ruslan wore a hideous fur hat and kept stroking it as if it were a pet.

“Is it necessary that I am a trial rat in your inventions, cousin?” he asked Eva.

She nodded. “It is also entirely unnecessary for you to speak.”

Ruslan scowled. They all watched as he took one step toward the sunken platform … then another … until his boot crossed the boundary. Everyone held still. Séverin looked at the ice menagerie, but the animals neither moved nor blinked. Ruslan turned slowly on the spot. Eva triumphantly tossed her red hair over her shoulder:

“See? I told you, you needed me.”

Séverin nodded, not looking at her, but at the boots on Ruslan’s feet, Forged to conceal a person’s body temperature and allow them to walk down the staircase and access the sunken platform without triggering the creatures. He was dimly aware of the way her gaze fixed on him. She’d saved him, and he’d thanked her. If she mistook resuscitation for romance, it was hardly his problem, so long as she didn’t get in his way.