Liberty, equality, brotherhood.
Those words sang to him as they sang to other students like him. Students who had begun to question the tight grip Spain had kept on the Philippines for nearly three hundred years. In Paris, Enrique had found others like him, but it was Séverin who changed his life, who took a chance on his abilities as a historian when no one else had. Séverin listened to his dreams of changing the world and showed him what needed changing. With one older brother primed to take over the family’s lucrative merchant business and the other older brother promised to the church, Enrique had been allowed to pursue whatever he wanted. He knew what he wanted… he just had to make the Ilustrados want him too.
Maybe threatening the Order with the Horus Eye’s secret was the answer. Enrique let himself daydream what might happen next: Maybe he and Séverin could tell the Order that civilization hung in the balance… maybe they could confront them on a stage. Lighting was critical for any dramatic showdown. And there had to bechampagne. Obviously. Then Séverin would become patriarch—Enrique could make some speech about lineage resurrected, that would sound nice, perhaps with confetti raining down—House Vanth would be restored, and,naturally,the House would need a historian.Him. Then, the Ilustrados would clamor for his attention because they’d finally have an insider who could report on the Order of Babel’s workings. It was the only blindspot in their intelligence. After that, he and Séverin and their whole crew could change the world! Maybe they could get swords… Enrique had no clue what to do with one, but just holding one sounded rather epic. What if someone made a statue of him—
“Let’s go.”
Enrique startled, and his champagne flute fell.
“My drink!” he cried as it smashed on the ground.
“You weren’t even drinking. You were daydreaming.”
“But I liked holding it—”
“Come on.”
Séverin didn’t wait for him as he jogged up the short staircase. Scowling, Enrique muttered something in Tagalog that would have made his grandmother smack him with her slipper. It wasn’t like Séverin to be that brusque. His shoulders were up to his ears as they walked past the grand lobby and the entrance to the Seven Sins Garden.
Near the stables, a carriage discreetly pulled up to the road. Unlike the usual fleet of L’Eden’s carriages, this one bore neither name nor insignia. Enrique clambered in after Séverin. The driver closed the door, and dark curtains unraveled to block the windows.
Enrique fidgeted with his sleeves. “So…nowdo I get to know what’s happening?”
From his pocket, Séverin withdrew an envelope. The bloodredseal had been split down the middle, but the wax-stamped letter was clear enough.H.
Enrique stilled. A beat passed. “Hypnos?”
He knew the moment he spoke the name that it was true. The very air seemed to affirm his suspicions. Wind crept through a tear in the curtain, chilling his skin.
Séverin clenched his jaw. “He knows we stole from him. He’s asked for a meeting.”
“What?”
He thought the plan had been foolproof. No prints. No recording devices. Nothing to give away their presence in the auction’s holding room.
As an Order patriarch, Hypnos could have had them arrested. Or worse. That he wanted a meeting spoke of something else… a game of give and take and blackmail. Enrique wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that Séverin had chosen only him to come along. Was he expendable or invaluable?
Enrique didn’t know much about the patriarch of House Nyx, but Tristan had once slipped that Hypnos and Séverin had been playmates, back when both boys were raised as heirs to their Houses. One quick glance at Séverin confirmed they hadn’t been in contact since then. Séverin’s expression was stony, his eyes drawn. His thumb dragged up and down the silvery scar on his palm.
“What if he…” Enrique couldn’t bring himself to say the words “kills us.”
Séverin seemed to guess his meaning anyway. “Hypnos was always clever,” he said slowly. “But if he tries anything, I have dirt on him that could destroy his standing with the Order the moment he lays a hand on us.”
“True, but one can’t exactly savor vengeance when one is dead.”
Séverin pulled down the brim of his hat. “I have no intention of dying.”
When the carriage stopped, Séverin leaned forward to unlock the door. As he did so, Enrique caught a glimpse of the letter held in his bandaged hand. He frowned.
It was blank.
HYPNOS HAD NAMEDhis residence Erebus, after a place in Greek myth where nightmares bloomed next to red poppies. Ridiculous. Enrique found his nickname, Hypnos, just as pretentious. No one would have named an infant after the god of sleep. At least, for the sake of that poor child, Enrique hoped not.
While most of the Houses of the Western world used and collected Forging objects made from both affinities, House Nyx collected treasures of a particular strain: those that showcased an affinity of the mind. House Nyx had objects that spliced memory, soaked dreams, gathered someone’s will in a tight fist, and brought forth vivid illusions. Mind was the most regulated form of artistry, used as much in pleasure houses and entertainment venues as it was for prison camps. It was the only affinity that universally required registration, whether or not a person chose to hone that talent. Some mind affinity techniques were even banned. And for good reason. Until about twenty years ago, mind-manipulation objects had been especially popular in the Southern states of the Americas where wealthy landowners kept slaves.
Up ahead loomed the entrance to Erebus. At either side stood two lions carved of diorite, and above the threshold shone a milky jade strip of verit stone. Like the verit entrance at the Palais Garnier, the stone could detect any weapon or harmful Forged object. The onlyway to neutralize its effect was to carry verit stone on one’s person, like two magnets repelling one another. Supposedly, there was nothing in the world like verit, although Enrique had recently come across a treatise on a North African artifact that made him wonder otherwise.
“He’s known for his illusions,” said Séverin, interrupting his thoughts. “Focus on one thing, and don’t lose yourself in his tricks.”
