…we feel as though this position is outside the realm of your skills, Kuya Enrique. Age gives us wisdom, and we have the wisdom to push against sovereignty, to know where to look. You are only recently a man of twenty. How do you know what you want? Perhaps when a time of peace comes, we will turn to you and your interests. But for now, support us from where you stand. Enjoy your youth. Write your inspiring articles on history. It is what you do best…
Enrique felt oddly light. He pulled out one of the seats fromthe dining table and slumped into it. He’d spent half his savings renting the library’s reading room, arranging the food and drink, scheduling for the transportation of several artifacts on loan from the Louvre… and for what?
The door slammed open. Enrique looked up, wondering what else the courier had to deliver, but it wasn’t the courier at all but Hypnos striding toward him. His pulse kicked up at the sight of the other boy, with his mouth made for grinning and frosted eyes the color of fairy pools.
“Hello,mon cher,” he said, swooping to kiss his cheeks.
Warmth shivered through Enrique. Perhaps not all his daydreams were foolish after all. For once, he wanted to be sought after, picked first. Wanted. And now here was Hypnos.
“If you thought to attend the presentation to surprise me, I appreciate it… but you seem to be the only one.”
Hypnos blinked. “Attend?Non.It’s before noon. I hardly exist before noon. I’m only here to fetch you.”
Cold crept through Enrique, and he folded away his daydreams and shoved them in the dark.
“Didn’t you get the letter?” asked Hypnos.
“I got several letters,” said Enrique sullenly.
Hypnos opened the one from Séverin and held it out to Enrique.
A FEW MOMENTS LATER,Enrique joined Laila in Hypnos’s carriage. Laila smiled warmly, and he immediately curled against her. Hypnos held his hand lightly and caressed his thumb against Enrique’s knuckles.
“How did it go?” she asked. “Did you get my flowers?”
He nodded, his stomach still tight with shame. The Ilustradoshad told him plainly enough that what he had to say was not worth hearing. But this, finding the treasures of the Fallen House, returningThe Divine Lyricsto the Order of Babel… this could change everything. Besides, one last acquisition felt right somehow. Like he was not only honoring Tristan’s legacy, but also laying rest to this chapter of his life as the historian of L’Eden… as a part of Séverin’s team.
“No one came,” he said, but his words were drowned out by the sound of the carriage lurching onto the gravelly streets.
In the end, no one heard him.
4
ZOFIA
Over the past months, Zofia Boguska had learned how to lie.
In December, she told the others she was celebrating Chanukah in Glowno, Poland, where her sister, Hela, worked as a governess to their uncle’s family. But that was not the truth. The truth was that Hela was dying.
Zofia stood outside Séverin’s study in Hotel L’Eden. She still had her travel bag at her side, and she had not removed her outer coat or the violet hat that Laila said “brought out her eyes”—a statement that horrified Zofia and made her anxiously touch her eyelids. She had not meant to return so soon. There was no point when Séverin had not accepted any acquisition assignments, and her skill set had gotten them no closer to findingThe Divine Lyrics. But two days ago, she had received an urgent letter from Séverin, instructing her to return to L’Eden, though he did not say why.
“Go, Zosia, I will be well,” Hela had insisted, pressing her lipsto Zofia’s hand. “And what about your studies? Won’t you be in trouble for taking off so much time from university?”
Zofia had lost count of how many lies she’d told. In the end, she had no choice but to return. She was out of money. And Hela was right about one thing—shedidseem better. Just days ago, Hela’s fever raged through her body. Once she slipped into unconsciousness, her uncle had sent word to a rabbi for burial rituals. But then a new doctor visited her uncle’s home. The man insisted Zofia had paid for his services, and though she did not remember doing so, she admitted him anyway. Hope provided flimsy statistics, but it was better than nothing. That night, he injected Hela with a pharmaceutical compound he claimed was available nowhere else, and promised she would live.
And so she had.
The next morning, Séverin’s letter arrived. Even though Hela might be recovering, Zofia had decided not to stay in Paris. She would return to Poland, to take care of her sister… but she needed more money. Her savings had gone to Hela’s care and her uncle’s charges—compensation he demanded for the time Hela had not been able to instruct his children. Though if she died, of course, he would “generously” forgive the debt.
After all, they were family.
Zofia needed to go back to Paris. She needed to say goodbye. And she needed to sell her laboratory for parts. What money she received would go to Hela’s care.
In L’Eden, Zofia rapped on the door to Séverin’s study. Behind her, she could hear the hurried footsteps of Séverin’s butler. He hissed under his breath, “Mademoiselle Boguska, are you sure this cannot wait? Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie has been very—”
The door swung open, and Séverin stood in the doorway. Heglanced wordlessly at his butler, and the man quickly fled down the hall. Distantly, Zofia wondered how Séverin could do such things, command without articulating. She would never have that kind of power. But at least, she thought, holding her resignation letter tightly… at least she might save someone she loved.
“How was your journey?” asked Séverin, stepping aside to admit her.
