Zofia held her breath as she ripped the envelope open. Inside, was a little square of cream paper.
Did you receive my letter about our elopement? I have not heard from you. We are coming to visit in a month.
All my love,
Hela
Zofia exhaled loudly, her shoulders slumping forward. Behind her, she heard the sharp slap of footsteps.
“What happened?” asked Enrique, rushing toward her. He stopped only to kiss her cheek, a practice which Zofia had very much come to look forward to. “Is it bad news?”
“No,” said Zofia, smiling and looking up at him. Laila’s words from her dream flitted through her thoughts. “It’s… unexpected joy.”
40
ENRIQUE
Two months later
Enrique walked the long gallery halls of L’Eden, taking stock of the artifacts they had acquired: a bronzekinnaristatue from the Kingdom of Siam, three canopic jars filled with the internal organs of an unnamed pharoah, and one jade carving of a horse from the Yuan dynasty. There were far more treasures in the halls, but these were the only objects that still needed to be packed off. The rest lay quietly in wooden crates filled with straw, waiting for the day when they would be sent back to the countries to which they belonged.
In a way, Enrique was right back where he had started.
Once more, they were stealing artifacts from the Order of Babel. Again, he was cataloguing make, material, history. Again, he was interviewing and corresponding with prospective native collectors who considered themselves cultural custodians and guardians of both history and heritage. They were different from the membersof the Order who would have kept these treasures for themselves. Instead, these were people who promised to take care of the artifacts until the time of political and civic unrest passed, and they could once more be put on proud display for the benefit of all.
And yet for all the familiarity of his current tasks, it was the new quiet that made these halls feel alien to Enrique.
Once, these Forged objects would have been—in their own way—alive.
Now, they were perfectly still.
All over the world, the phenomenon of ancient, Forged objects losing their animation was now known as the Great Silence. Some people blamed God. Others, industrial pollutants. But no matter where the blame was placed, the consequence was the same: Forging would soon be a flourish of the past.
Even popular Forging artistry—floating chandeliers and illusions that muddled the senses—had become suspect. For the first time in all the years Enrique had worked at L’Eden, the lamp fixtures had been bolted into the walls instead of serenely floating through the foyers. It made the whole place feel oddly hollow.
“What are you doing? I’m not used to seeing you standing alone in the dark.”
Enrique turned to see Séverin at the entrance of the hallway. He waved, and Séverin made his way over to him.
“I’m trying out new hobbies,” said Enrique. “Pensive brooding, dramatic walking… I might even take up long, aggrieved exhales.”
“Sounds like an excellent use of time,” said Séverin. “I happen to excel in pensive brooding if you ever wish for instruction.”
“How generous of you.”
“Generosity is my new habit of late,” said Séverin, eyeing the collected boxes. “Though I doubt the Order sees it that way. Ibelieve they still think I’m after my old inheritance. They even offered it to me once more, which was… odd.”
“Whatareyou after?” asked Enrique.
Séverin’s gaze turned distant, and he fell quiet. He had changed considerably in the past two months. Every day, he insisted that they all ate together. In the evenings, he would ask questions about their lives and sometimes he even laughed. True to his word, Séverin had not disappeared inside himself, and yet there were moments when it seemed that in his new lapses of quiet, he was somewhere else entirely.
“I think I’m after peace… whatever that might look like,” he said, before gesturing at the assembled boxes. “My purpose feels clear enough.”
There was a soft clarity to Séverin’s voice. A sort of wistfulness that made him seem older. Séverin reached into his jacket, popping open his tin of cloves. Enrique wrinkled his nose.
“Must you?”
“I’m afraid I must,” said Séverin. As he returned the tin of cloves, he tugged out an envelope. “Also, I thought you’d want to see this. I believe this would be, what, yoursixthletter from them?”
