“Who did you think I’d be?”

“Someone important.” Eva lifted her chin. “I had put out an inquiry to find out more about Moshe Horowitz. I thought you might be someone bringing me useful information.”

Laila ignored the insult, caught off guard by the familiarity of that name, though she couldn’t place it.

“It was a name we found in the well,” added Eva.

Laila’s hands twitched and turned cold, as if she’d touched a slab of ice and a crown of frosted petals. In her head, she heard the last memories of the dead girl: My father, Moshe Horowitz, is a moneylender. He can pay for whatever ransom you name, I swear it, please—

Laila gripped the platter harder, her heart aching. “I don’t have any information, but I brought this. May I come in?”

Eva narrowed her eyes, but eventually nodded. As Laila drew closer, Eva’s hand went to her throat, nervously tugging at the pendant she always wore. This close, Laila could finally see that it was a silver ballerina spinning on a thin chain. Eva caught her looking and quickly tucked it away.

“If you think you can bribe my friendship—” she started, then her stomach growled. Eva blushed furiously.

“I wouldn’t dream of bribing you,” said Laila. “Your stomach, however, is a different creature.”

She pushed the platter forward. Still, Eva did not take it. Laila sighed.

“It doesn’t have to be an overture of friendship,” she said. “Call it gratitude. Without the ice bridge you made, Enrique would be dead, and my heart would be broken. So whether you want my friendship or not, you have my thanks.”

When Eva still said nothing, Laila stood and made her way to the door.

“You don’t like me,” called out Eva. “And I don’t like you.”

Laila’s hand paused at the door. When she looked at Eva, there was such hardness on her face that something softened within Laila.

“Then perhaps we can just agree on mutual respect.”

Without waiting for an answer, Laila left her. She only made it a couple paces down the hallway before she felt a tightening sensation around her neck. It never tightened to a choke, but her breath caught anyway. Séverin was summoning her.

Laila made her way through the winding crystalline halls. It was almost entirely silent. The light cast off from the Forged luminescent threads set into the walls looked eerie, like glowing roots for unearthly halls. Cracked-open doors revealed rooms empty of furniture, but not of wonder. In one, intricate snowflakes sifted down from the ceiling. In another, sharp carvings of impossible plants and creatures opened their eyes and bared their crystal teeth as she passed. When Laila emerged into the atrium, she was greeted with another inhuman sight. Séverin stood wrapped in his long, sable coat, the lights catching in his dark curls, shadowing the cruel set of his mouth. If the frosted lights of the Sleeping Palace reminded her of stars crowding the night, then Séverin appeared amongst them like an eclipse. Everything about him was the opposite of radiance, and he drew her eye like a blight on the horizon. Unwanted, and yet, impossible to look away from.

Behind him shuffled artisans hired by House Dazbog, their hands raised as they led out the menagerie of ice animals. It was like something from a child’s tale. Laila half expected Snegurochka to walk amongst them, cold hands pressed to her colder heart lest she fall in love and melt. Huge stags with glittering antlers stepped lightly onto the ice. Giant bears dragged their translucent bellies over the floor. Jaguars whose carved paws clinked like champagne flutes on the crystal floor padded after the ice artisans, who led them into the atrium. They looked like the ghosts of dead animals trapped in frost.

“Ruslan had the idea to reconfigure their Forging mechanisms,” said Séverin, his voice low as he walked toward her. “Makes them safer to be around if they can’t attack.”

He closed the distance between them, his hand sliding around her waist. Laila wondered how cold she must be if a boy made of ice still shivered at her touch. She knew this was a show put on for the benefit of the attendants, but her pulse betrayed her anyway and Séverin knew it. A faint smirk touched his mouth, and Laila bit back her fury. She brushed her thumb over his lip and was rewarded with the faintest tremble in his fingers.

“You’re overplaying your part,” he said coldly. “Again.”

“You summoned me, my love,” she said, her voice a touch louder than it needed to be. “In full view of everyone. Are we to have an audience?”

Séverin’s gaze snapped to hers. The ice in him hadn’t reached his eyes. They were still that vespertine shade of violet. Still unsettling.

“I summoned you to know what you saw when you read those girls,” he said, lowering his voice. “Does it corroborate with what Enrique, Zofia, and Eva saw in that courtyard?”

Laila nodded, even as her soul recoiled. “Those girls were failed sacrifices meant to act as ‘instruments of the divine,’ whatever that means. The patriarch was insane, Séverin. What he did to them—” Her voice broke for a moment and she struggled to continue. “What Enrique said was right. They didn’t have the bloodline needed to read the book, and the patriarch of the Fallen House hoped his son would have more luck. That’s why he left clues across their faces. And the way he chose them … he specifically said he went after them because he thought no one would look. Eva is tracking down the families now.”

Séverin nodded, then regarded her curiously.

“You have been searching for that book a long time,” he said lightly. “How will you read it?”

Laila raised her eyes to him. “Who said I needed to read it?”

“Could you?”

When he asked, his eyes looked molten. Desperate, even, and it threw off her thoughts. All this time, Laila thought he wanted the book to avenge Tristan. After all, robbing the Fallen House of their most precious treasure would be a killing blow. But she saw no hunger for vengeance in Séverin’s face. It was something else … something she couldn’t put a finger on, but it unnerved her all the same.

“I don’t know,” she said finally.

The jaadugar had merely told her to open the book. That was all. It was flimsy ground for faith, and yet her hope balanced upon it anyway.

Séverin touched her throat, fingertips resting on the diamond jewels there.

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

Laila grabbed his wrist, squeezing the oath bracelet.

“Don’t make demands you haven’t earned,” she said.

“Earned?” asked Séverin, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I’ve earned my demands. I’ve kept my promises. I promised to share all I knew with you and to take you with me. I promised to make you my mistress.”

Behind him, an attendant strode across the atrium, leading a crystal tiger behind it.

Séverin leaned in. “I made no promise to treat you as one. Is that the issue?” he asked mockingly. “Do you want me in your bed, Laila?”

Laila dug her nails into his wrist until he winced.

“I just want you to remember your promises.”

* * *

IN THE LIBRARY, the statues of the nine muses glimmered like nacre. A Mnemo projection hovering midair showed two sets of symbols. Laila recognized one of them as the images carved across the girls’ jaws.