“I’ll wait to break the rest of my fast with Patriarch Ruslan, but in the meantime, I’d like to watch the sunrise,” he said. “If you have no objections, you’re welcome to join.”

Once more, the man said nothing. Séverin walked to the front door. As he did, four more members of the Fallen House seemed to melt from out of the shadows, falling into step behind him.

“A morning entourage,” he said. “I am flattered by the company.”

“Stop!” called someone loudly.

Séverin turned to see Eva striding toward him. She wore a yellow-silk morning robe that trailed over the red tiles. Around her neck lay that familiar silver pendant in the shape of a ballerina. Eva was the daughter of Mikhail Vasiliev, a St. Petersburg aristocrat, and a dead prima ballerina. Séverin remembered Laila pleading with her about her father …

“We can protect you,” she had said. “You don’t have to do this … we can bring you back to your father and we promise Ruslan will never be able to hurt him.”

He remembered Eva’s hesitation, the way her gaze dropped to the ice as Laila pleaded.

“I know you love him,” Laila had said. “I saw it in your necklace. I know you regret that you left his home … we can bring you back to him.”

So that was Ruslan’s hold on her. If she didn’t follow his commands, her father would pay. Séverin tucked that information aside for later.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Eva demanded.

“Going out to appreciate the sunrise,” he said. “Would you like to join me?”

Eva’s gaze narrowed, before her eyes fell to the divine lyre strapped to his side. “You cannot leave with that.”

Séverin shrugged. Biting down on the apple again, he removed the lyre from his person and handed it to Eva. Her eyes widened as she took it gingerly in her arms.

“You may keep it safe, then,” he said. He grinned. “Though I expect something more protective than just your arms. I’ve had them around me before, and I can’t say I felt very safe.”

Eva glared. Wisps of red hair curled around her face. She looked as if she was going to say something, but then her eyes darted to the five Fallen House members mutely surrounding them.

“I intend to make some excursions, so you will have to construct a box for me. Something that opens with a drop of my blood that can be kept with Ruslan,” said Séverin. “I assume that should pose no difficulties for an artist of your prowess.”

Without waiting for Eva to answer, Séverin walked to the door. After a moment’s hesitation, a Fallen House member jerked forward and opened it for him, and Séverin walked out onto the dock.

VENICE WORE THE dawn carelessly. To the floating city, riches were nothing. Gold slipped off the sky and splashed across the lagoon. Across from him, on the other side of the canal, elaborate homes carved of pale stone and affixed with the grinning faces of satyrs and unworshipped gods stared at him. Séverin loudly bit into the apple. He knew he was being watched in secret, and not just from the guards. He waited a couple of moments before the shy rasp of slippers confirmed his suspicions.