“I lost mine,” said Enrique, thinking of the skeletal sirens.
“This won’t do much,” said Zofia, tapping her necklace.
“Mine is on the other side of the cave…” said Hypnos.
“I suppose we’ll have to rely on powers of observation instead,” said Séverin. “What do you see? Enrique? What caught your eye?”
Enrique pointed to the towering automatons.
“I thought they were… kings,” he said slowly. “But now I’m not so sure. I believe the art dates from the eleventh-century Pala period of South Asia. Note the serene, almost tantric expressions—heavy-lidded eyes, relaxed mouth—likely influenced by Buddhism.”
“Are they guards?” asked Séverin.
“I don’t think so… they hold no weapons,” said Enrique. “If they’re the automatons I think they are, then they should be in possession of… what’s it called again, Laila?”
“Bhuta vahana yanta,” said Laila, frowning as she pulled out a frayed length of rope. The gilded box that had once held the map to Poveglia caught the light. “Technically it means spirit movement machines, but it’s thought to be powered by Forging.”
“Exactly,” said Enrique. “But I don’t see any machines.”
“Could they be in… whatever that is?” asked Hypnos, gesturing at the silvery fog that shrouded the temple.
“Maybe?” said Enrique. He didn’t like the idea of something lurking in the mist. Watching them. “But the key isnotto trigger their appearance.”
“Fair enough, but how do we avoid them showing up?” asked Hypnos.
Séverin stared at the floor, frowning a little. “Did the room always look like this in the images the temple showed us?”
Enrique tried to think back to all the images that had flown through his head. He remembered sunlight haloing the ziggurat.
“The floor…” said Zofia. “It’s… it’s changing.”
Enrique’s eyes flew open. Sure enough, the glass floor before them slowly lightened. The stars faded. A tinge of blush seeped out from the base of the ziggurat. He turned to ask Séverin what he thought it might mean, when an unfamiliar sound tore through the air.
“What was that?” asked Hypnos, spinning around.
Behind them, the archway made by Hypnos’s fan still glowedbrightly. Something flickered in its distance. Light off the water, perhaps?
“Séverin,” said Laila sharply.
Enrique looked to her. Moments ago, she had been rifling through the contents of their sack. But now she was holding the gilded box in a white-knuckled grip.
“The box is Forged,” she said.
Séverin’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I think—”
Something boomed in the distance, shaking the ground. Enrique lost his balance, his arms pinwheeling. Another boom rattled through the temple. Past the archway, stalactites crashed into the lake.
A high-pitched moan swept through the temple, raising the hairs on Enrique’s arms. Smoke and fog bloomed through the void surrounding the ziggurat. Above them, the lush forest ceiling trembled. Vines and branches clattered to the brightening floor. Enrique’s wound throbbed suddenly, and he winced as he brought his hand to cover it.
“What’s happening—” Hypnos started, but his words were swallowed up as the archway went up in roaring flames.
A blast threw Enrique on his back. The world spun. Noise bled into silence and back. Smoke burned his lungs, and he fought for breath, waving at the air before his face.
Just as quickly… the smoke cleared.
And when Enrique could finally open his eyes, he saw that he was staring at the sharp point of a golden dagger right between his eyes. Beyond it, standing in the torn mouth of the archway…
