Strange words that cast shadows in her heart.
Enrique reached for her hand. “Have you ever considered thatwhyyou can do this has nothing to do with, um, the circumstances of your birth…,” he said delicately, and then, all in one breath, “… and more like, perhaps, a secret-lineage-in-which-you-are-descended-of-guardian-women-tasked-to-protect-a-powerful-book?”
“Enrique.”
Enrique tugged at a piece of his black hair. “The more research I’ve conducted, the more this sacred order of the Lost Muses comes into play. Granted, they have different titles depending on which culture you look at, but they are prevalent! And then there’syouwith your goddess abilities, and need to findThe Divine Lyrics, and the fact that all of those statues in the grotto and the dead girls didn’t have hands. Their hands were a sacrifice, Laila, like giving up the power within them.” He poked at her palm. “Just think about the power in yourownhands.”
Laila curled her fingers.
“Enrique,” she said, this time more wearily.
He stopped, and the tops of his cheeks reddened. “We must be careful, is all, once they bring out the book. Especially you. There’s far too much that’s unknown and I… I worry.”
He said this last part like a child, and Laila was reminded of the glimpses of boyhood she’d seen in the objects he handed her. The little boy who read by his mother’s knee and wrote “books” from the scraps of merchant ledgers for his father. A boy who was brilliant and eager.
Overlooked.
She brought her hand to his cheek. “I hear you, Enrique.”
He looked crestfallen. “But you don’t believe me.”
“I don’t know what to believe,” she said. “If I really were descended of the Lost Muses, I imagine my mother would have told me.”
“Maybe she didn’t have the time,” said Enrique gently. “And it doesn’t even have to be your mother. The man we saw in Istanbul had the bloodline and preemptively blinded himself because of it.”
Laila bit her lip. Enrique had a point… but it felt too huge to wrap her mind around.
He squeezed her shoulder. “Will you come in and wait with us, at least?”
“In a minute.”
“It’sfreezing.Why are you even out here, Laila?”
Laila smiled and exhaled, watching as her breath clouded.
“See that?” she said, nodding at the fading plume of air. “Sometimes I need to see that I can still do that.”
Enrique looked stricken as he released her shoulder, tucking his arms around himself and huddling against the wind. He didn’tmeet her eyes. “Of course you can… and you will for a long,longtime.”
“I know, I know,” she said, not wanting to worry him.
“No, but you reallymust,” said Enrique, looking exceptionally wounded. “I can’t feed myself, Laila. I’ll perish left to my own devices. Life is cruel, and often without cake.”
She swatted his arm. “There will always be cake.”
He smiled, and then his expression changed to something pleading.
“Speaking of cake… or rather, the opposite of cake.” He paused, frowning in thought. “Whatisthe opposite of cake?”
“Despair,” said Laila.
“Right, well, speaking of despair, I think you should tell him.”
Enrique didn’t have to definehim. Laila already knew, and the thought twisted inside her. Séverin had no claim to her secrets, much less her death.
“I know he’s been the opposite of cake, but he’s still our Séverin,” said Enrique. “I know these past months have been hard, and he’s… different. But what if telling him changes how he’s been acting? Iknowhe’s in there somewhere… I know he still cares…”
His face fell a little. Out of all of them, Enrique had always trusted Séverin the most. How could he not? Séverin had earned his loyalty through and through, but that was the past and now Laila felt as though someone had set fire to her veins.
