Ruslan snapped his fingers. As one, the six members of the Fallen House lifted their volto masks. A sweet, rotten stench filled the air. Beneath their masks was a ruined mass of flesh, mouths pulled into rictus grins and covered in a thin layer of gold.

“Not quite enough to call them living, but certainly enough to be useful,” said Ruslan, shrugging. “And perhaps when I am a god, I will use my infinite mercy and ability to restore them to full life … maybe. That is what you want too, is it not, lovely Laila?”

The dagger pushed a little harder at her throat. Laila forced her eyes to the ground. Now, the glassy floor looked like rose-colored clouds. She imagined the sun rising slowly, warming her back. She met Ruslan’s gaze, lifting her chin. Acid flashed through her chest, and Laila welcomed her own fear.

“You will never be a god,” she spat.

Ruslan laughed. He turned to Enrique. “How’s your ear, little historian?”

“Gone,” said Enrique furiously. “Along with my delusions.”

“And the mute, little engineer…” said Ruslan, turning to Zofia. “Hello.”

Laila glared at the cruel jab, but Zofia remained indifferent. She stood with her back ramrod straight, her blue eyes furious and burning.

“I see you’ve kept around the abandoned puppy,” said Ruslan, lifting an eyebrow at Hypnos. “Strange … you were supposed to be dead. That will change, though. I’d hate to make liars out of the Order.”

Hypnos scowled.

“How nice to see you all reunited,” said Ruslan, clapping his hands. “You lived together … now you may die together! What a gift. Now, Séverin … enough of this. I’ll make you a deal, yes? Get me to the top of the temple, I’ll kill you simultaneously, and thus spare you the agony of watching one another die. In return, you take me to the top of that temple and play the lyre. Now.”

Laila watched as Séverin held up his hands slowly. She could see a plan frantically churning behind his eyes. His eyes darted to the changing color of the floor. Even though Laila could not turn around to see it, she still felt the presence of the giant automatons flanking the ziggurat.

“Ruslan, surely we—”

“Ugh,” said Ruslan.

He jerked his chin to the right, and Hypnos yelped, doubling over. Laila sucked in her breath. The dagger at her throat pressed a little deeper against her skin, keeping her still.

“Hypnos!” Séverin called out. He spun around to help, but Ruslan called out: “No, no, Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie … you will stay right where you are.”

Hypnos moaned, lifting his head. There was a long cut down his cheek. The golden dagger now rotated around his head.

“If you defy me again, the next cut will be along his throat,” said Ruslan. “Now go.”

Laila wished she could wrench this dagger away from her and plunge it straight into the patriarch of the Fallen House.

“No!” called out Enrique. “It’s rigged with a trap. I’m sure of it!”