He looked at Eva’s green eyes, imagining a pair of cygnet-black eyes in their place. When her lips flattened, Séverin conjured a different image—a lush mouth shaped to drive poets to distraction. Eva tugged at her red hair, and Séverin pretended it was a fall of ink flecked with sugar.
He reached out, his knuckles brushing against her jawline. “Very beautiful indeed.”
BEFORE SÉVERIN ENTEREDthe formal dining hall, he nibbled on the edge of the skullcap bloom he had stolen from the poisongarden. After yesterday’s breakfast, Ruslan had avoided him completely. Séverin knew why. His own eagerness had betrayed him. Ruslan might be unhinged, but he was no fool, and perhaps he suspected that even now, Séverin was only acting in the interests of his friends. He must be careful. He needed to hide his intentions and change Ruslan’s ridiculous timeline to act in ten days… otherwise Laila would be dead.
Séverin took a deep breath, then walked through the Tezcat door camouflaged as a painting of an old god with a melting face. On the other side, the formal dining room looked like a vision of blood and honey. A long, black marble table rose like a solid block from the middle of the room. The walls were a lattice of interlocking golden stars against red velvet fabric. Candles shaped like long-stemmed, black roses burned and melted on the table. At the center, a carafe of red wine stood beside a plate of cut fruits and thin slices of marbled meat. Usually, the golden plates were already heaped with food, but this time they were empty. At the center of the table he noticed a slender, glass vial no taller than his pinky. Séverin picked it up. A smokey, clouded substance moved freely within the glass.
“An added sensory experience for our dining,” said Ruslan, stepping into the room. He wore a dark suit that only made the golden skin of his arm gleam brighter. “Dotry it.”
Séverin hesitated. It was obviously mind Forged, but to what purpose? Conjure nightmares to force out the truth or—
“Oh, come now!” Ruslan pouted. “We are friends. And friendship requires trust. Surely you trust me?”
Séverin forced a smile and then unstoppered the glass. Wisps of smoke emptied out of the bottle, dissolving into the air. Séverin braced himself, but even then, he was unprepared for what awaited him. It was an art form of mind Forging, the likes of which he had never known. He was familiar with exquisite illusions, butthis place wasreal. Andold. Séverin was dimly aware that he was standing in a dining room in Venice…
But his senses claimed otherwise.
Before him, he saw the lush foliage of an ancient jungle. The ground beneath his feet squelched. All around him, the jungle boasted exotic blooms the color of melted jewels. Moths the size of dinner plates with dappled wings flitted around him. That sharp smell of grass filled his lungs, and the lullabies of jewel-bright birds engulfed him. Séverin reached out to touch a flower. He could see the dew beading on the leaf. He could almost feel the satiny petal against his skin when the vision vanished—
When he blinked, it was not a petal he had nearly touched, but Ruslan’s face, now centimeters from his own.
“Boo.” He grinned.
Séverin stumbled backwards.
“Ah, my friend, the wonder transfixing your eyes!” said Ruslan, clapping his hands. “You looked like a hero from a poem. All dashing and mournful and whatnot…”
“What was that?” asked Séverin. His voice came out harsher than he’d planned.
“Mind Forging, as well you know,” said Ruslan, taking his seat.
“That is unlike any mind Forging I have ever come across,” said Séverin.
Even the most beautiful mind Forging illusions always had a tell… a flimsiness to their edges or a fragrance that did not fit. This, however, had been as seamless as knowledge. In fact, Séverin had the uncanny realization that if he were to cross the ocean by several hundred miles, he would know exactly where he would find such a paradise.
“It is a real place,” said Ruslan, taking a long sip of his wine. “And you have now witnessed its exquisite map.”
Séverin’s mind snagged on that word:Map. It was a hint, he was sure of it. Was it possible that the map to the temple beneath Poveglia could appear in such a form? Was it a sign that Ruslan was finally ready to tell him where to go? Or was it just another game?
Séverin sank into his dining chair, reaching for his wine, when Ruslan snatched his hand and turned it over.
“You know… when I impersonated the patriarch of House Dazbog, I cut off his arm and it worked perfectly,” said Ruslan, thoughtful. “Perhaps I could do the same with you, and then the divine lyre would answer to me? I only need your hand. I have no use for the rest of you.”
Séverin kept his hand still. Ruslan’s mind did not function like others. What did he want? Séverin’s mind turned back to all the times Ruslan had shown him a new Forging tool or tried to get his attention.He wants to play, he realized. Séverin grinned, then wiggled his fingers. “Shall we try it?”
Ruslan picked up his Midas Knife, tapping the point on Séverin’s palm. “We could.”
“It would be a boring indulgence, though,” said Séverin. He was careful not to betray a tremble in his fingers.
“Boring?” repeated Ruslan.
“You already remarked at the wonder in my face,” said Séverin. “Wouldn’t you like to see it again when I behold you in all your divine raiments and glory? Wouldn’t you ratherweconverse than the dull members of your House, who are far more like chattel than companions? If not, then you are not as interesting as I’d hoped. How disappointing. If so, take my arm, cut my throat, and spare me the boredom.”
“That was rude of you, Séverin,” complained Ruslan, withdrawing the knife. “My feelings are wounded.”
Séverin slowly withdrew his hand, watching the patriarch.Upon being called boring, Ruslan’s countenance had changed. He speared a piece of cheese and angrily shoved it in his mouth.
“Forgive my little joke,” said Séverin. “Your conversation is endlessly amusing, as always. I am, however, finding the days a bit tedious… would it not be—”
