He smiled in understanding.
Arrogance might lead someone to pick the winged lion. It was the mark of Venice after all. But where did attributes such as wings come from? The present was a palimpsest, built upon the layers of that which had been sacred or profane from years past. The lion was meant to protect… but before the lion was an older version, an older symbol of protection.
This was House Janus’s test of humility.
They considered themselves the guardians of cartographical treasures after all, and perhaps knowing where one stood in the world was a treasure in and of itself.
Séverin walked to the lamassu, resting his hand on the roughstone of its body. They had nearly acquired such a piece from the kingdom of Prussia. Enrique had said the lamassus would have once been more than four meters tall, part of a pair flanking either side of the lapis-lazuli entrance to a palace.
“The king was considered semi-divine, and as such, he would be guarded like the location of heaven itself,” Enrique had said.
Séverin slid into the bench embedded in the back of the lamassu. Immediately, the wings lifted off the statue’s body. It rose unsteadily. Tiny rocks dislodged, hitting the ground. Where the wall had once been solid, now it thinned to translucence. Beyond it, Séverin could make out the distant glimmer of chandeliers, the blurry color of rich costumes. The lamassu lurched forward, preparing to take him through the wall.
Séverin felt his heartbeat rise steadily. With each step of the lamassu, the lyre rubbed against his skin. Its steady, uncanny hum wound through him, as if it had woven itself into his very heartbeat. He imagined Laila, Hypnos, Enrique, and Zofia standing before him, and hope glowed in his chest.
Behind him, the writing on the wall slowly vanished. Séverin kept his gaze forward, his senses alert. Even so, he felt a little smug.
It was natural that he would walk the path of the ancients.
He thought of his mother’s voice, the power in his veins.
He was meant for this.
17
ENRIQUE
Alone in the library, Enrique quietly breathed into his palm and sniffed.
It wasn’t bad.
Maybe there was a whiff of the coffee he’d drank from earlier, but nothing so repulsive that it explained why Zofia had yanked back in shock, clutching her heart as if he’d mortally wounded her with a kiss. When she’d pulled back, a wash of nerves fizzed through him.
“I’m so sorry,” he’d said, panicking. “Did I… did I misunderstand?”
“No,” she said, breathing fast.
“Are you upset?”
“Yes.”
But Zofia would not say more than that. The moment they had returned to the safe house, she’d fled to her laboratory to finish what inventions were needed before they left for Carnevale within the hour. Laila was not back yet. In the music room, Hypnos playedthe piano and sang a love song, pulling Enrique’s thoughts back into that kiss.
He’d thought it was rather suave of him, the whole “it could be so much better” line. He’d meant it too. The moment Zofia’s lips touched his, it was like answering a want he hadn’t been able to articulate. He’d wanted this. Wantedher.
When he kissed her again, a slim beam of light knifed through the swan wing enclosures of the boat. He’d glimpsed the bright blue shine of her eyes, the fey-like sharpness to her chin and the lit-candle gold of her hair. For whatever blunt words she spoke, Zofia’s lips were soft as snowfall, and the kiss blanketed his thoughts. For a while now, Zofia had unquieted something in him. They understood each other in a way he hadn’t experienced, in a way that made him feel safe and heard. But maybe it had always been a one-sided emotion.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Daydreaming?”
Hypnos leaned against the doorframe.
“You have been quite distracted since we returned,” said Hypnos. Something knowing gleamed in his eyes. Enrique’s face flamed.
“Well, yes, I mean, there’s the fact that we have no clues for what awaits us in Carnevale, and I’m still gathering my notes on Poveglia and—”
“And you kissed Zofia.”
