“A little unsettled?” teased Laila, a soft smile curving her mouth. “I remember you screamed so loud when Tristan’s Forged vines wrapped around your ankles that half the guests in L’Eden thought someone had been murdered in the drawing room.”

“It was terrifying!” said Enrique, shuddering.

Laila grinned despite herself. She thought the memory of that day would leave a bitter tang, but instead, it brought unexpected sweetness. Thinking of Tristan had begun to feel like an old bruise rather than a fresh wound. With every passing day, his memory became less tender to touch.

“I remember,” said Laila softly.

“Burial grounds disturb me,” said Enrique, making a quick sign of the cross. “In fact…”

He broke off suddenly, his eyes widening. At that moment, Hypnos and Zofia stepped through the Tezcat portal. Behind them, Laila could see a long stone hallway that opened up into a marketplace. There was a white bridge in the distance. Seagulls swooping around the stands of fishmongers.

“Enrique?” prompted Laila. “What is it?”

“I … I think I know where we need to look for the safe house key,” said Enrique. “The island of the dead … it must be a reference to Isola di San Michele. Almost a hundred years ago, Napoleon decreed that the island would become a cemetery because of unsanitary burial conditions on the mainland. I remember I’d studied about it in university. You know, there happens to be a particularly unique Renaissance church and monastery on the island that—”

Hypnos clapped his hands. “It’s settled! Let us away to the cemetery!”

Enrique scowled.

“What about the rest of the riddle?” asked Zofia.

Laila turned over the words once more: On the island of the dead … lies the god with not one head … show the sum of what you see, and this will lead you straight to me …

“I … I don’t know,” admitted Enrique. “Certainly, there are many deities with multiple heads, particularly in the religions of Asia, but ‘show the sum of what you see’ sounds like we won’t know any more until we get there.”

Hypnos’s smile deflated. “So you aren’t certain what it is we’re looking for inside the cemetery?”

“Well, no, not exactly,” said Enrique.

“Are you certain about Isola di San Michele?”

“… No.”

A quiet fell over them. There used to be a rhythm to determining where to travel. Zofia’s calculations, Enrique’s knowledge of history, Laila’s readings of objects, and then—Séverin. The one who put their findings into context like a lens drawing everything into focus.

We don’t need him, Enrique had said.

Did he believe it?

Laila studied her friend: the high color on his cheeks, the wideness of his eyes, the slope of his posture. He’d drawn his shoulders in, as if he suddenly wished to make himself inconspicuous.

“I think it’s as good an idea as any.”

Enrique looked startled. He smiled at her, but his smile fell the moment his gaze went to her hand and the garnet ring that stared accusingly at them all. Laila knew what it said without looking.