“The Fallen House patriarch targeted her because she was Jewish,” said Laila angrily. “He thought no one would think to look for her. That no one would miss her. All those girls … he—” She swallowed hard, and Zofia knew that meant she was near tears. “He thought he could get away with it.”

“How do you know that?” asked Hypnos.

Zofia noticed that Eva leaned forward curiously. Laila blinked back tears, then waved her hand.

“I found some writing near the bodies,” she said.

Eva’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not possible—”

Séverin cut her off. “Why would they carve the Horowitz name inside a well?”

When no one answered, he said it again.

“Why a well?” he repeated. “That’s not a normal place to memorialize the dead. There has to be a reason. Explore it again.”

Enrique made a choked sound. “After we nearly got destroyed by automaton goddesses, you want us to open all those doors again?”

“Who said they would open?” asked Eva. “All but one of those Tezcats were completely boarded up.”

It was true, thought Zofia. The old man in Istanbul could have blocked their way back inside entirely.

“I want you to look at them, study them. Don’t go through them,” said Séverin.

Zofia noticed he was only looking at her as he said this. She quickly looked somewhere else.

“Let me be clear, I am not volunteering my blood to open up those doors again,” said Hypnos, crossing his arms.

“Am I alone in thinking this is a terrible idea?” said Enrique. “Killer. Automaton. Goddesses. We are not opening that door.”

“The Istanbul Tezcat is closed,” said Séverin. “I merely want to know if there’s anything written on the other side, the way the bricked-up well has writing.”

“How do you know it’s closed?” asked Eva.

Séverin tapped a small Mnemo beetle on his lapel. “Because I’m watching it.”

Enrique blinked. “How?”

“Before the door closed, I threw a bug at the opening to keep track. That old man in Istanbul has a giant statue positioned at the entrance. He doesn’t want you to cross over, and neither do I. We have all the eyes we need on the place,” he said. “Zofia, Enrique … go examine the doors—”

“And me,” cut in Eva sharply. “I saved their lives. I have just as much to offer. And, besides, you have no representative from House Dazbog on this search.”

Séverin looked from Enrique to Zofia. Eva was telling the truth, so Zofia did not correct her.

“She can come,” said Enrique.

Eva smiled with all her teeth and lifted her chin in Laila’s direction.

“We need to know what else might be there before Hypnos and I go into the leviathan tomorrow,” said Séverin. “In the meantime, I’ll be arranging what needs to be done with Ruslan and the matriarch.”

Laila rose from her seat, making her way to Zofia.

“Please be safe,” she said. “I can’t have anything happen to you.”

A sharp pain erupted behind Zofia’s chest as she studied Laila’s face. There was something about its arrangement that made her feel as if she were looking at Hela. It was not something physical. Their eyes were different shades. Hela’s a smoky gray to Laila’s dark chocolate. Their skin color was different too. Hela’s the color of marble and Laila’s the color of tree bark after a rainstorm. Maybe it was the effect they had on the world around them. The way they somehow made it safe.

“I’ll be safe,” said Zofia.

And then, she turned and followed Enrique and Eva out of the library. As she made her way to the ice grotto, Zofia watched the light play over the icy, vaulted ceiling and crystalline carvings of leaping rabbits and foxes beneath the balconies. Her parents had always told her to be a light, but the light she found brightest belonged in others. Some people were so bright that they shut out the dark of fear. After they lost their parents, Hela’s presence drowned out the shadows. In Paris, Laila and Tristan, Séverin and Enrique—even Hypnos—had done the same. But losing Tristan let the shadows back in, and as the three of them passed beneath a darkened arch, Zofia feared that if she lost Laila and Hela, she might never find her way out of the dark.

* * *

IN THE ATRIUM, Zofia noticed how the ice menagerie had been emptied. Now, motionless crystal figurines of bears and swans, sleek leopards, and huge hawks covered the translucent floor of the Sleeping Palace, scattered throughout its rooms and halls. It was discomfiting merely to stare at the still statues, but Zofia had no choice. Enrique had forgotten his notebook in the library, and made them promise to wait.

“And don’t just say ‘promise,’ Zofia.”

Zofia crossed her arms.

“They’re repurposing the ice animals,” explained Eva. “They can’t attack if their Forging mechanism changes.”

Zofia watched as one of the artisans hauled out an ice stag with a snapped foreleg. One of them drew out an unlit torch, then raised a match toward it. She knew it was an ice stag, but for some reason, all she could see was the slain and forgotten girls on the slabs of ice, Hela’s persistent coughing despite all the medicine procured, Laila’s garnet ring and the ever-diminishing numbers within the jewel. All of it converged into some nameless fear that made her shout out, “Stop!”

The artisan looked up, first at her and then at Eva.

“Don’t … don’t destroy it.”

“It’s a broken machine, miss,” said the artisan.

“I know, but—”

But it was hardly the machine’s fault that it could not function in this world. That something about it was less desirable. That things had happened to it that it could not control. It did not have to be destroyed.

Eva stepped in front of her. “Have it put in the jail cell, then. Out of the way.”

The artisan shot her a look of disbelief, but Eva narrowed her eyes.

“Do it.”

The artisan nodded, hauling the stag elsewhere. Zofia’s pulse slowly eased to its normal rate.

“Thank you,” said Zofia.

Eva nodded brusquely, her hand going to the silver pendant around her neck. The other girl’s face wore a pattern of hesitation—pressed brows, shifting pupils. Finally, she looked up at Zofia and smiled wide.

“We don’t really know each other very well, do we?” asked Eva, shaking her head. She did not wait for Zofia to respond. “For instance, do you like the ballet?”

“I don’t know,” said Zofia. “I’ve never been.”

“Probably for the best,” said Eva. She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. “I stopped going years ago too. It’s no good to be tempted by something one can’t be.”

“You wanted to be a ballerina?”

Eva’s mouth tightened to a flat line. “Once.”

To Zofia, Eva already looked like a ballerina. She was tall and slender, and though her gait dragged, she was no less graceful.

“I’m sorry,” said Zofia.

She had no reason to be. It wasn’t as though she had done something, but she figured it was the kind of response Laila would use.