Beside him, Laila trembled with rage. “You’ll never find the Babel Fragment—”
“Findit?” Roux-Joubert laughed. “Oh, my dear. I already know where it is.” He paused to cough into his blood-flecked handkerchief. “Three days, Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie. Three days to give me the Ring. Or I will burn down your world and everything that you love with it.”
Roux-Joubert checked his watch.
“You made a very detailed schedule, Monsieur. Best to be on that guard convoy now. I wouldn’t want you to miss your ride home,” he said, waving the stolen Horus Eye in his hand. “Not when you have so much to do.”
“I—”
“—will find me?” guessed Roux-Joubert, laughing softly. “No, you won’t. We have been hiding for ages, and none have found us yet. When the time comes, we’ll make ourselves known. After all, this is the start of a revolution.”
PART IV
From the archival records of the Order of BabelThe Origins of Empire
Mistress Marie Ludwig Victor, House Frigg of the Order’s Prussian faction 1828, reign of Frederick Wilhelm IV
In olden times, there was some debate as to whether the Babel Fragments were separate and distinct artifacts, or whether they were once part of something greater… something that was then hewn apart and flung across the soils of different kingdoms.
It is my belief that if they fell from the heavens separately, they were never meant to be joined.
God always has His reasons.
20
LAILA
Laila stood in the Seven Sins Garden.
Tristan’s workshop deep within Envy looked as it always had. There was his old trowel, the wood gone dark and sculpted by the pressure of his fingers. An unfinished terrarium holding a single golden flower. The ruler Zofia had made him because he didn’t like uneven spaces between his plants. The packet of seeds from the Philippines, a gift from Enrique that Tristan was planning to plant in summer. A plate from the kitchens where a thin film of mold grew over a cookie. He must have stolen it when she wasn’t looking, gotten distracted, and forgotten all about it.
The tips of Laila’s fingers buzzed numb. Cold touched their edges blue. It was too much, her body protested. But Laila couldn’t stop. Roux-Joubert’s words about Tristan haunted her.
His love and his fear and his own cracked mind made it easy to convince him that betraying you was saving you…
Cracked mind. It was true that some were more susceptible to the effects of mind affinity Forging than others, but Tristan…
Tristan hated Hypnos.
Tristan washed blood from his palms every time he dug his nails into his skin.
Tristan ached.
Guilt grabbed her by the throat.
All of yesterday had passed in a blur. The convoy. The switch. The guards in Tristan and Enrique’s disguise placed onto an infirmary bus, their clothes exchanged, and none the wiser. Then came the carriage ride home. Empty-handed and raw.
In the carriage, Séverin looked each of them in the eye as he spoke:
“This acquisition is not done. We’re going to get the Horus Eye back, and we’re going to do it before those three days are up. And when we do, we’ll rescue Tristan from this mess,” he said. “Our number one priority is finding out who Roux-Joubert is and where he’s hiding. We can’t save Tristan if we don’t know who has him.”
Laila had come here to look for clues of Roux-Joubert’s location or identity. But she had ended up trying to answer the question of Tristan. She read everything in his workshop, but found nothing. Nothing but what she had known the whole time. His laughter. His shyness. His curiosity. Hislove. For all of them. Séverin, especially.
Behind her, Laila heard the soft crunch of branches. She turned around sharply. Séverin had changed out of the guard uniform and into a dark suit. His hair was mussed, dark waves falling across his forehead. With the dawn rising around them, he looked like a stubborn vestige of night, and her breath caught.
“Well?”
He leaned against the threshold. But he did not enter.
