Two years ago, he had heard rumors of a brilliant Jewish student, expelled and imprisoned for arson and abusing her Forging affinity. The story hadn’t sat right with him, so he’d taken his carriage to the women’s prison. Zofia was skittish as a colt, her striking blue eyes more creature than girl. He couldn’t bring himself to leave her there, so he took her to L’Eden. Days later, his staff reported that every night she slept on the floor with blankets rather than in the swansdown bed.

When he heard that, something in him warmed.

He’d done the same thing at every foster father’s home. He and Tristan never stayed with one father for long, and so it was too dangerous to get attached to anything. Even to a bed. Séverin removed every object from Zofia’s room, gave her a catalogue, and told her to select what she wanted, informing her that each item she picked would be deducted from her salary, but at least every item would be hers.

“I understand,” he’d said quietly.

That was the first time Zofia smiled at him.

* * *

THE FIRST THING he heard when he approached the stargazing room was piano music. Soaring notes rich with hope sank through him, freezing him into place. The music overwhelmed his senses, and for one bright moment of wonder, it seemed as if the sounds drifted down from the stars themselves, like the mythical Music of the Spheres that moved the planets in a solemn rhythm. When the music stopped, he let out his breath, his lungs aching from holding it too long.

“Again, Hypnos!” said Laila.

Séverin knew her well enough to hear the smile in her voice. The sound of his pulse drowned out the memory of music. How easy it was for her to smile. After all, she’d lost nothing. She might have been disappointed they could not find The Divine Lyrics, but she merely wanted the book to satisfy a curiosity of her own past.

“Since when do you play the piano so well?” asked Laila.

“He’s not that good,” grumbled Enrique.

Two years ago, Enrique had tried—much to everyone’s chagrin—to learn the piano. Soon, his “playing” infected the hallways. Tristan declared his music was killing the plants, and afterwards Zofia had “accidentally” spilled a wood-decaying solvent on the instrument, thus ending his lessons for good.

Once more, the music swelled and with it, his memories. Séverin dug his nails into his palms. Leave me, he begged of his ghosts. The recollections faded. But in their wake, he caught the scent of Tristan’s roses.

The phantom perfume made him stumble. Séverin flung out a hand to steady himself, only to catch the heavy doorframe. Abruptly, the music stopped.

When he looked up, Hypnos was crouched over the piano, hands hovering above the keys. Laila sat stiff-backed on her favorite green couch. Zofia perched on her stool, an unopened matchbox in her lap. Enrique halted in his pacing, right in front of his research on The Divine Lyrics that hung against the bookshelves.

Two images superimposed onto his vision.

Before. After.

Before, there would have been tea and sugar cookies. Laughter.

Slowly, Séverin righted himself. He released his grip on the doorframe and straightened his cuffs, daring all of them to meet his gaze.

None of them did except Hypnos.

Hypnos lowered his hands from the piano.

“I hear you have good news for us, mon cher.”

Séverin forced himself to nod, and then he gestured to the research hanging against the bookshelves.

“Before I begin, let’s review what we know—”

Hypnos sighed. “Must we?”

“It’s been some time,” said Séverin.

“Two months, I believe,” said Laila sharply.

Séverin didn’t look at her. Instead, he gestured to Enrique. For a moment, Enrique stared blankly at him, and then he seemed to remember himself. Enrique cleared his throat, then pointed to the sketch behind him showing the hexagram symbol of the Fallen House, a golden honeybee, and the Biblical Tower of Babel.

“These past few months, we’ve been trying to locate The Divine Lyrics, the ancient book that holds the secret of Forging, the knowledge of how to rejoin the Babel Fragments and—in the eyes of the Fallen House—how to access the power of God,” said Enrique. His eyes darted to Séverin, as if checking to see if that was correct. Séverin raised his eyebrows.

“Um, there’s very little information existing on the book itself,” said Enrique hurriedly. “Most of it is legend. Our only known record of the book is a faded inscription from one of the original Knights Templar, written on a piece of vellum where the letters have been cut off—”

Enrique held up an illustration of the vellum:

T H E D I V I N E L Y R

“As far as the lore of the book is concerned, it dates back to the fall of the Babel Tower,” he said. A familiar excited shine crept into Enrique’s eyes. “Supposedly, there was a group of women near the original site who had touched the topmost bricks of the Tower, and thus absorbed some of the divine language. They wrote down their knowledge in a book. From there, they tasked the women of their lineage to guard the book’s secrets so that no one could use the language to rebuild the Babel Tower. Isn’t that amazing?”

Grinning, Enrique flailed a hand to a different sketch, this one showing an illustration of nine women.

“They were called the Lost Muses, which, presumably, is a nod to the Greek goddesses of divine arts and inspiration. Seems fitting since Forging itself is considered a divine art. There used to be sites all over the ancient world dedicated to them,” said Enrique, staring wistfully at the images. “It was said that The Divine Lyrics was not just a book anyone could pick up and read, but required a skill inherited through the bloodline of the original Lost Muses.”

“What a silly myth,” scoffed Hypnos, plinking one of the piano keys. “The ability to read a book based on a bloodline? Forging doesn’t work that way. It’s not passed down through the blood, or I would possess Forging affinity of the mind.”

“I wouldn’t dismiss myths,” said Enrique quietly. “Most myths are just truths covered in cobwebs.”

Hypnos’s face softened. “Ah, but of course, mon cher. I did not mean to insult your craft.”

He blew him a kiss, and Enrique … blushed? Séverin scowled, looking between the two of them. Hypnos caught his eye, and a corner of his mouth lifted.

When did this happen?

But Séverin’s attention quickly returned to Enrique, who had pulled down a yellowing map showing the southern tip of the Indian subcontinent. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Laila lean forward as if in longing, and Séverin tasted bitterness on his tongue.

“The last known location of The Divine Lyrics was Pondicherry, India,” said Enrique. “According to the Order of Babel documents, the Order went to retrieve it, but by the time they arrived, they discovered that someone had already taken the artifact in their name—”

“—and then kept quiet about the theft for nearly twenty years, claiming it was lost,” added Hypnos.

Enrique nodded. “Thanks to Roux-Joubert, our best lead for finding The Divine Lyrics is inside the Sleeping Palace … which is where our search ended.” He looked up at Séverin. “Unless … unless you really do know how to find the Palace?”