And that was how the world felt as Séverin regained consciousness—newly refocused.
Dimly, he felt a hard, satin couch beneath him, a pillow propped under his head. As his eyes adjusted to the light he saw that someone had left him a glass of water. There was a musky odor here, a closeness to the Grand Canal that seeped through the floorboards of wherever he was. A dull ache hit his ribs. He drew back his jacket and then stopped, the cold weight of panic slamming through his body.
The divine lyre.
It was gone.
He patted his chest again, then jerked to a stand, frantically feeling around the surfaces of the settee—
“It’s in another room,” said a familiar voice. “Guarded by Hypnos and Zofia. They have the Poveglia map with them too. We were just waiting on you to wake up.”
He heard the flare of a match, and then the room slowly brightened as dozens of interlocked Forged lanterns blazed to life. Séverin held his breath as Laila came into view. If this were a fantasy, he wanted to remain utterly still, to keep this phantasm of her in place.
“You were bleeding earlier,” said Laila haltingly.
Séverin looked down at his torso, only now realizing that he wasn’t wearing anything besides his formal coat and trousers, and that he was swaddled in linen from his bare chest to his navel. Laila averted her eyes.
“Given what happened last time your blood hit the instrument, we thought it was best to keep it away from you,” she said.
The rational corner of his mind agreed with that, but the other half—the animal half that recognized only danger in the dark—froze over. Anything could have happened to him after Ruslan’s gondola attack. But he was safe. They were furious with him, but they had taken him back to their hideout, cleaned his wounds, bandaged him up, left him in the dark to rest, and guarded over him as he slept.
“What is it?” asked Laila.
Séverin winced as he pushed himself up and flashed a weak smile.
“I haven’t felt like this in a long time.”
“I hardly believe that,” said Laila tightly. “How many near-death traps have you escaped? You should be accustomed to the feeling by now.”
“That’s not what I’m feeling.”
“Then what?”
She had not moved from her spot by the door, and though ithurt that she was instantly prepared to bolt, he knew he deserved it. He touched the bandage at his side, breathing deeply.
“Taken care of,” he said.
“No one’s ever cared for you?” she asked mockingly. “Are you saying that all the times I’ve tried to pull you back from grief, or Hypnos tried to be there for you, or Enrique and Zofia—”
“This is different,” said Séverin.
As the room brightened, he recognized the furious color in her cheeks and the hard set to her mouth. Séverin felt something unhinge inside him, a door swinging open that he’d long kept shut. The things he had no desire to say spun out of him.
“All those things you have done for me, which I so ungratefully cast aside, shame me. And yes, those were acts of compassion. But this is different. I was bleeding in the dark, and you brought me somewhere safe. When I could not think for myself or act for myself”—he looked into her swan-dark eyes—“you protected me.”
The fury abated in her eyes, but the hard set to her mouth remained.
“I didn’t come here to fight,” she said. “We’ve been taking turns checking your bandages. I thought you would be unconscious. If you’d prefer someone else—”
“Why would I prefer someone else’s touch to yours?”
Her eyes widened. Color flooded her cheeks, and his panic ebbed away. Something else seeped in.
Laila had changed out of her costume from the Carnevale, and into a blue dressing gown embroidered with a hundred sequins at the hem so that it looked like she was a woman of the waters, crafted from moonlight hitting the sea. Belatedly, he realized he was staring.
Laila scowled, looked down at her dress and sighed. “We trustedHypnos with procuring garments and food. I told him to buy something ‘subtle.’”
“You look beautiful,” said Séverin.
