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. “Mustwe?”
“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 locateThe 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 thatThe Divine Lyricswas 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, orIwould 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 ofThe Divine Lyricswas 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 findingThe Divine Lyricsis 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?”
Séverin used to love this moment—the moment where he could reveal something new and watch wonder transfix their expressions. He used to love hiding hints about their future acquisitions… like asking Laila to bake a cake full of golden roses for the time they went after the Midas’s Hand in Greece. This time, he didn’t look at their faces.
“Yes,” he said, not moving from the doorway. “The coordinates to the Sleeping Palace are concealed by a pair of Tezcat spectacles, and I know where they can be found.”
Zofia leaned forward, interested. “Spectacles?”
Laila’s voice cut through the air: “How do you know this?” she asked, her voice cold.
