But that was only one view, as Enrique would say. And it was a dominant view simply because it belonged to those who had dominated.
Ruslan turned the knife in his hand. “I thought I could change myself, you know… I thought I could make myself fit in the world, or make the world fit me.” He started to laugh. “Now I am walking alchemy! I am the transmutation of flesh to gold! I am… sohungry. Truth, godhood… they will fill me up and I shall never be hungry again. That is all I want, my friend. An end to emptiness.”
Séverin held himself still. Usually, Ruslan would pose a question, would try to play. But there was nothing in the other man’s face but a naked hope. An unwelcome pity streaked through him. Ambition had made Ruslan toy with an object that gave him power, but thatpower came with madness. In some ways, it was not Ruslan’s fault. But that was not Séverin’s responsibility.
“We shall have it soon,” Séverin made himself say.
“Promise?” asked Ruslan. He was staring into his lap, running his thumb along the golden blade. He whispered under his breath: “I’d do anything.”
Séverin felt as though he were looking at a corrupted mirror. He knew that pose, that focus, that endless repetition of touching an object that had brought both hope and sorrow. His mother’s voice moved through him:
In your hands lie the gates of godhood…
He was different. He was not giving chase to something, he was already chosen. His hope was merely unrealized, not impossible.
He was not Ruslan.
Séverin reached up for his hood, pulling the mask over his face as the gondola came to a stop at a silent archway attached to a drab gray building.
“If you want godhood so badly, then why not give me more than a hint to the map that will take us to the temple?” asked Séverin.
Ruslan pouted. “Because I want you to beworthyof it, my friend. And I want to be worthy of it by having chosen you as my co-deity, you see?”
Séverin set his jaw. “You realize that by testing me, you might be denying yourself.”
Ruslan bowed his head. “In that case, I will consider myself judged by the universe to be undeserving of such a gift.” Then he looked up and laughed. “Everything in life requiresfaith, Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie. I have faith in you! Besides, you’ve already had a whiff of such a map, my friend, as you so cleverly surmised.” He gestured to a Fallen House member who brought a small box, nolarger than a jewelry case. “Store it in this to preserve its knowledge.”
Eva moved closer to Séverin. Hercolombinamask of silver and sapphire winked in the light.
“Oh, and Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie,” said Ruslan, leaning forward. “Watch out for dragons.”
THROUGH THE ARCHWAY,they stepped onto a short landing. From there, a dimly lit staircase spiraled into the dark. Séverin had taken a couple of steps when he realized Eva had not moved.
“Are you not coming?”
“And be killed on sight by the others?” said Eva. “No, thank you. I’ll wait for you here. But… will you tell them that I… I—”
“I will tell them,” said Séverin.
Eva swallowed hard, then nodded. “Go.”
The long staircase led to a courtyard roughly the size of a dining room. On the stone walls, watery light waved and spangled. Above, a Forged ceiling of glass revealed that he was underwater. The shadows in the water looked like plumes of ink. Just then, the long, dark belly of a gondola slid across the ceiling and vanished out of sight.
Set into the wall niches were statues of angels with their hands pressed together, their heads bent in prayer. Three statues of animals, all three meters in height, adorned the middle of the room. Their backs were stretched and hollowed out, forming something of a bench within each. One was a great wolf, its jaws cracked, tongue lolling, carved fur standing on end. Another was a winged lion mid-roar. Séverin recognized it as the emblem of Venice, the sigil of St. Mark, patron saint of the city. The third was a creature Séverin only recognized from Enrique’s lectures in the past: a lamassu.
An Assyrian protective deity with the head of a man, body of a lion and bird wings folded around its rib cage.
Séverin studied the room, a familiar prickle of awareness sweeping through him. This used to be his favorite part of acquisitions, the quiet way in which a room revealed its secrets. There was no obvious door, and thus the statues must operate as both exit and entrance. He turned, as if to tell someone beside him.
But Enrique, Zofia, Hypnos, Tristan, and Laila were not here.
There was no one to feed him history, summon more light in the room, jest about the smell, conjure strange flora, or tease out the secrets of an object.
There was only him. But he would find them. He would make amends.
Séverin looked up. There, shimmering as if suspended in the water, glowing writing appeared:
TO ENTER ANY UNKNOWN, WE WALK THE PATH OF THOSE WHO CAME HERE FIRST.
