“It still leaves a spectrum of depictions!” said Enrique. “For example, there’s the Chinese deity Xingtian who kept fighting even though he’d been decapitated. And then the Hindu celestial beings Rahu and Ketu—also decapitated—and then there are the deities who have more than one head, so which is it? It seems unlikely that we would find gods of eastern religions on a tombstone in Venice, so there must be something else … something hidden, even…”

Hypnos cleared his throat. “Let our handsome historian work, Phoenix,” he said. “I’m sure he will dazzle us soon with his findings.”

The patriarch of House Nyx grinned. For a moment, Enrique was tempted to return it. There was something intoxicating and dreamlike about Hypnos’s beauty and verve, the way it lulled one to imagine impossibilities within reach. Only now, Enrique felt the force of it like a dream that had slipped past his fingers.

“Thank you,” said Enrique stiffly, turning from them both.

He tried to focus on the riddle, but Hypnos’s smile had thrown him off. A mere handful of days had passed since Enrique had confronted him about the imbalance between their affections and the other boy had confessed: I think, with enough time, I could learn to love you. The memory was still fresh enough to sting.

Enrique didn’t want a forced love. He wanted love like a light, a presence that drove out the shadows and recast the world into something warm. A secret part of him had always suspected he would not find such love with the dazzling patriarch, and maybe that was what hurt him most in the end. Not the loss of love, but the lack of surprise.

Of course, Hypnos wouldn’t feel the same way about him. The fact that he was still surprised was either a sign of his optimism or foolishness, and Enrique highly suspected the latter was to blame.

FOR THE NEXT half hour, they paced the cemetery again, until they had once more arrived at the entrance. Some three meters away stood an unfinished grave plot. Of the few tombstones there, only one looked to be completed, though the stone mason had left it carved into irregular ridges. It was the only place they hadn’t explored, for it seemed irrelevant. The matriarch’s safe house must have existed for years, and as such, there was no reason for it to be on a fresh plot.

“Mon cher,” said Hypnos, touching his shoulder. “I realize how hard you must be working, but … I have to ask … are you quite certain we are in the right place?”

Enrique felt his face turning hot. “Well, everything in history is conjecture, but this seems to be the only place that would make sense, no?”

Hypnos stared at him blankly, and Enrique almost wished Séverin were there. Séverin had a way of banishing doubt. He connected Enrique’s rambling, historical threads into grand narratives of finding treasure that made everyone feel confident.

“I mean, there are lots of ‘islands of the dead,’ really—Tartarus, Naraka, Nav, etcetera—but they’re mythological, whereas this is the only place close to Poveglia and—”