Laila stepped out of the wedding carriage and looked up at the yawning dark of the shopfront nestled on a sleepy corner of St. Petersburg. The snow fell like sugar—softly and sweetly, gently brushing the wooden eaves of the storefront. But while the city looked sugared with snow, the cold of Russia tasted of bitterness. It snuck behind coat collars, stained fingers blue, and scorched the inside of her nose simply because she dared to breathe.
“Come along!” said Hypnos, practically skipping ahead of them. “And you—”
He paused to look at the person who had stepped out of the carriage behind them. Laila bit back a shudder. She still hadn’t grown accustomed to the sight of a Sphinx, the guard members of the Order of Babel who wore grotesque crocodile masks and who always faintly reeked of blood.
“You know how and where to meet us. Get the carriage ready.”
The Sphinx did not speak. Perhaps they couldn’t, thought Lailawith a pang of pity. Behind the Sphinx stood four other guards of House Nyx, men who still wore the uniform of Vasiliev’s men. Though they had the pendant with the missing Tezcat lens, the job in the Mariinsky Theatre disturbed her. She couldn’t stop thinking about Vasiliev’s last words before he slipped into unconsciousness.She’ll find you.Who was she? Séverin had no idea and dismissed it as the words of a man on the brink of nervous exhaustion. But Laila felt the echo of those words shadowing her thoughts.
Inside the shop, strange objects lined the walls. Glossy gourd-shaped dolls no taller than the span of her hand covered shelves like a small army. Delicate blue ceramic pitchers and teacups, sterling silver samovars and boxes of imported tea and tobacco lay half unpacked from wooden crates packed with straw. Along one of the walls hung pelts of expensive furs—spotted lynx and velveteen sable, frost-colored mink and fox fur the rich orange and scarlet of a sunset ripped off the sky. And at the far end of the room, Laila could just make out a pair of glass doors against a wall. Frost spidered against the glass, but through the door on the left, Laila could just make out the silhouette of a city… and it wasn’t St. Petersburg.
Hypnos followed her gaze, grinning.
“One of the Order of Babel’s better secrets,” he said. “Those are ancient Tezcat portals that use technology from the Fallen House to cross huge distances. That door on the left leads straight to Moscow.”
“And the one on the right?” asked Zofia.
Hypnos frowned. “I never opened it after that one time I saw a puddle of blood seeping through from the other side.”
“Excuse me, what?” demanded Enrique. “Also why do you have so many portals in Russia?”
“It’s the capital of the Order of Babel’s learning,mon cher,” said Hypnos, as he walked to the back of the room. “There’s only one House in Russia, House Dazbog. Imagine that!OneHouse to throw all your parties? It boggles the mind. Anyway, Russia does not have nearly as many colonies beyond some fur-trapping whatnots. Maybe it’s too distracted from its constant skirmishes with China and the like, so House Dazbog specialized in its own currency:knowledge. As for the portals, there needed to be secure ways for each House to get information or meet in secret, so Russia has the highest concentration.”
Laila half listened as she made her way to one of the shelves lined with the painted dolls. A lump stuck in her throat. Growing up, she’d only ever owned one doll. And she didn’t like to remember what had become of it.
“Those arematryoshkadolls,” said Hypnos, taking one down from the shelf.
He twisted the doll’s top and bottom torso and it broke apart, revealing a smaller set. Then he did the same thing to that set… on and on, until there was a perfect, descending order of miniatures.
“Beautiful,” said Laila.
“They’re the latest design from Vasily Zvyozdochkin,” said Hypnos.
Laila traced the doll’s design—the ice-blue coat and shell-colored skin, the painted snowflake over the doll’s heart.
“Who is she?” asked Laila.
Hypnos shrugged. By then, Enrique had made his way to them and peered over her shoulder.
“Snegurochka,” he said.
“Bless you,” said Hypnos solemnly.
Enrique rolled his eyes, even as a small smile touched his mouth.
“The snow maiden from Russian fairy tales,” explained Enrique. “Legend goes that she was made of snow, and though she was warned all her life not to fall in love, she couldn’t help herself. The moment she did, she melted.”
Laila’s palms felt prickly with annoyance. She wanted to shake this Snegurochka for breaking so easily. After all, they were hardly different from each other. Laila was salvaged bones, and the snow maiden was only gathered snow. Love didn’t deserve to thaw their wits and turn their hearts to dust.
“Is everything in order?” asked a familiar dark voice.
A flash of heat wound through Laila’s traitorous body, and she turned sharply from the snow maiden dolls.
“Yes, yes, everything is ready,” said Hypnos, looping his arm through Enrique’s and walking to a wooden crate heaped in hay.
Beyond him, Séverin caught her eye and his gaze moved slowly to the dolls behind her. Laila stalked off toward Zofia, who was sitting at a low table and playing with her box of matches.
“Shots?” asked Hypnos, pulling out a bottle of vodka netted in ice.
