It left Séverin with a cold sense of awareness. But not guilt. He did not regret what he had done to keep them safe, but he mourned the man Ruslan might have been had power not corrupted him.

“We did what had to be done,” Séverin said. “We’ll carry the weight of that always, but we didn’t have a choice. We need to get to the temple beneath Poveglia, and now we can. But … before we make any more plans, I owe all of you an apology.”

“And an ear,” snapped Enrique. He touched his bandages. “What gave you the right to do what you did? We trusted you, and you threw it all in our faces. You manipulated me. You might’ve killed Laila. You blackmailed Zofia into staying with you when her sister was sick—”

Séverin frowned. “I thought Hela was healed?”

“I don’t know,” said Zofia, her face bleak. “I lost the letter.”

Séverin frowned. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“Though it’s been days, you might as well have missed years,” snapped Enrique.

Séverin held himself still. He forced himself to look each of them in the eye.

“I had no right to act as I did,” he said. “I thought I was protecting you, but I went about it the wrong way. Forgive me. When I lost Tristan—”

“You weren’t the only one who lost him,” said Enrique coldly.

Laila lifted an eyebrow. “We all lost him.”

“And we all grieve differently,” said Hypnos, turning to Enrique and fixing him with a look. “Don’t we, mon cher?”

“I can make amends,” said Séverin quietly. “These past few months, I wasn’t myself. I saw something, and I lost sight of all else … but I have found clarity and—”

“Do you still want to be a god?” asked Enrique.

The question warped the atmosphere of the room. Séverin almost expected tendrils of frost to unfurl across the wooden parquet floor. How could he answer this in a way that proved he hadn’t lost his mind, but rather found a dream worthy of attaining? His fingers twitched to reach for the lyre, to feel the purr of its power against his skin.

Enrique threw up his hands, turning to the others. “You see? He’s not the same! Who—”

“Let me be clear … I do not expect that at the end of all this, puny mortals will erect a temple to us,” said Séverin.

Hypnos sighed. “Well, there goes my motivation.”

“I believe in the lyre’s power,” continued Séverin. “You don’t understand what it felt like to play the instrument. You saw what it could do at its worst … imagine what it can do at its best. Call it fate or destiny or whatever you have to, but I believe in it. I believe we can harness what it has to offer. I believe we can save Laila. I believe I was meant for this … Why else would I be able to play an instrument no one else can?”