“And a pleasure to meet you,” said Delphine, extending her hand. “I met your father only the one time, but I am glad to make your acquaintance in person.”
She gestured to Ruslan and the red-haired girl. “Zofia, Hypnos, and Enrique… may I present to you Eva Yefremovna, a blood Forging artist of impeccable skill and cousin to Ruslan Goryunov, patriarch of House Dazbog.”
14
ZOFIA
Dear Zofia,
I am feeling much better. Now, the only ache left is in my heart because you are no longer here. You work so hard, little sister. I confess it frightens me. Our uncle told me all the funds you allotted to my care, and I feel such shame. You’re not yet twenty. You need someone to look after you, Zosia. When I am better, I shall do so.
Hela
ZOFIA STUDIED THE LETTER.True to his word, Séverin had made sure she would hear from Hela. Normally, it would have been impossible to receive mail so quickly, but the Order’s portal inroads throughout Russia were numerous, and Poland was not so far. Zofia kept returning to one sentence:You need someone to look after you.It bristled in her thoughts. Perhaps at one point, she had needed her parents to guide her through Glowno, to explain the gaps of meaning between what people did and what people said. And yes, she had needed Hela to guide her after their death. But Paris had changed her. She had the structure of her work, the routine of her laboratory, and everything worked until Tristan had died and Hela had gotten sick. And then, once more, her whole world turned dark and unfamiliar, and sometimes when she was forced to navigate it alone, panicdidfill her… but that did not mean she needed such monitoring. Did she?
“Zofia?”
Zofia looked up from the letter. Laila stood before her, bundled up in a fluffy white coat. A diamond necklace that Zofia did not recognize circled her throat.
“Are you well?” asked Laila, eyeing the letter.
Zofia folded it and shoved it into her pocket. She did not want her friend to see what Hela had written and grow worried for her. Laila was the one fighting to live. Zofia would not add to her burden.
“Are you cold?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so.” Laila made atsksound and pulled off her scarf. “You should’ve told me. Better now?”
Zofia nodded, savoring the scarf’s warmth before looking again to the portal entrance at the far end of the deserted train depot. The train depot had been shut down two years ago after riots. There were seven shattered windows which let in broken light. The tiles were uniformly square, but cracked. There were ten benches, but only four could bear the weight of a person. The silence of the place was broken only by the occasional scritching of rats in the walls, and pigeons—exactly fourteen—roosting in the balustrades.
After the attack from the Fallen House, the patriarch of House Dazbog demanded they make separate trips through the portal roads of Russia. They had left Moscow nearly an hour ago and had been waiting for the past hour for House Kore, House Nyx, and House Dazbog to bring the rest of the supplies that could be salvaged from thetroikafire and whatever else was needed for the expedition—tools, seal-skin gloves, Forging lights, and incendiary strips.
“They didn’t forget us, did they?” asked Enrique, pacing. “It’s not like they could continue the expedition without us, although if they have the Tezcat spectacles—”
“They don’t,” said Séverin.
Enrique frowned. “But I saw Ruslan take the box?”
“The patriarch of House Dazbog tookabox.”
Enrique was quiet for a moment. “What do you all think of him?”
Laila sighed. “I think he’ssweet. Maybe a bit lonely.”
“And a bit mad,” said Séverin.
“A biteccentric, perhaps,” said Laila, frowning. “Zofia, what do you think?”
“He’s soft,” said Zofia.
And she meant it. After introductions, Ruslan had exclaimed over her blond hair, then patted the top of her head like a dog or a child—which one might consider rude—but then he offered hisownhead, so perhaps this was his normal interaction. Not wanting to be rude, Zofia patted it.
It was soft.
“I think the secret is not to use too much wax,” Ruslan had said to her. “If one must look like an egg, then one must aspire to be an erudite egg.”
From his pocket, Séverin drew out the Tezcat spectacles, thelongitude and latitude coordinates of the Sleeping Palace still gleaming on the glass lenses.
