Zofia sat up a little straighter. “The hollow angel held a sound barrier of cork and wool when we were retrieving the box.”
Séverin lifted the Tezcat spectacles and lens, turning them in his hand before raising them eye level. He knew it hid the location of the Sleeping Palace. But what about the instrument itself? Herein lay the secret to unlocking riddles and finding treasure… What was the context, what did the makerwantandsee? Why all the silent measures taken to protect it?
“This was locked in the Chamber of Goddesses. Part of it hung around someone’s neck with the utmost care, and the frame is full of a twisting universe. When lifted to the eye, it was meant to behold the whole world in one glimpse,” said Séverin, talking more or less to himself. He ran his thumb along the metal, imagining he was the person who’d first held the object. “No one but a god can create a universe, and the world can be remade through the eyes of God. Whatever key triggers the positioning of the frame, it will relate to movement and planets…sound. Or, more likely, music, which to some might be considered prayer. In which case, there’s only one theory that would fit with unlocking this.Musica universalis, or the Music of the Spheres.That’sthe key to opening this.”
When he stopped talking and looked up, the others were watching him.
“How did you do that?” demanded Hypnos.
“How else do you think he hunts treasures?” asked Enrique, glancing smugly at Séverin.
Séverin’s stomach turned, and he quickly put down the glasses. Each acquisition used to be a symphony of Zofia’s engineerings, Enrique’s knowledge, and Laila’s readings. And then there was his role, a quiet way of slipping behind the eyes of kings and priests, monsters and monks—anyone who had something worth hiding. Whenever his role came into play, those small gestures—Zofia’s approving nod, Laila’s slow smile, Tristan’s trust, and Enrique’s pride—used to anchor him. But now it felt thieved. He had no right to find peace in it.
“What, exactly, is the Music of the Spheres?” asked Hypnos. “It sounds like a terribly boring play.”
“It’s an ancient philosophy that gained a lot of popularity in the fifteenth century,” said Enrique, looking bemused as he turned from Séverin. “Theoretically, there’s a governing rhythm and movement to celestial bodies, like the sun, moon, and stars.”
“Can any kind of music unlock it?”
Hypnos started playing, but the glow around the lens of the spectacles only dimly flickered.
“It would have to be music or rhythm with a universal property,” said Zofia. “Try the golden ratio.”
“What isthat?” asked Hypnos, shaking his head. “What Idoknow is that when it comes to tuning a piano, there’s an agreed-upon method. One tunes pianos by way of fifths. That’s universal enough, I believe. Here. I shall demonstrate with C Major.”
Hypnos flexed his fingers and played the scale. At once, the circumference of the lens lit up and so did the frame. The small, silver planets on the outside hummed and spun. Séverin fitted the lens into the empty frame, pressing hard. When Hypnos stopped, the lens had sealed into place. Across the glass, a liquid-silver script appeared:
55.55°N, 108.16°E
Hypnos turned around on his seat. “That’s how—” His gaze fell to the Tezcat spectacles and lens, and he fell quiet. Everyone’s gaze snapped from Hypnos perched on the piano seat to the Tezcat spectacles in Séverin’s hands.
“Those are longitude and latitude coordinates,” said Zofia.
Enrique leaned forward, his jaw slack. “An exact map to the Sleeping Palace.”
“Am I… am I a genius?” asked Hypnos. Without waiting for anyone to answer, he leapt from his seat and bowed.
Enrique clapped indulgently, and Hypnos beamed at him.
“Alert the matriarch,” said Séverin. “Let her know we leave at dawn to follow these coordinates.”
When he looked at the group, their faces shone with victory, and he wanted to let himself feel it too. But that faint stench of smoke clung to their clothes from thetroikafire. Beneath it all, he caught a whiff of Tristan’s roses left to rot. He nearly gagged.
“Yearsof practice have led to this,” said Hypnos proudly, “… putting together broken glasses.Voila!”
“Years?” repeated Laila. “I can’t imagine you working at anything for years.”
The light in Hypnos’s eyes dimmed a little. He busily straightened his sleeves and lapel.
“Well, one had little choice in these matters,” he said brusquely. “I had to entertain myself quite a lot as a child… Music helped take away the silence.” He cleared his throat. “But enough of that. Let’s celebrate before certain doom, shall we?”
Hypnos looped his arm around Enrique’s waist, pulling him a little closer. Out the corner of his eye, Séverin caught Hypnos’s questioning glance, but he didn’t meet it. Let them go, he thought. For the sake of what he needed to do, he had to be apart, not a part. Séverin busied himself with the Tezcat spectacles, ignoring the chatter until the others left the room and he heard the door shut.
But when he looked up, a part of him jolted. Laila hadn’t left with the others. She leaned against the doorframe, and he noticed she’d changed out of her golden dress from the opera and now wore a cotton dress and dark blue robe.
“I need something to call you,” she said, crossing her arms.
He blinked. “What?”
