A poison garden.

Tristan had kept a miniature version of one years ago, and had only stopped because of edicts from French officials that they could not cultivate fatal flora on the hotel premises. Séverin remembered how furious Tristan had been when he was told he needed to uproot the plants.

“But they’re not deadly,” Tristan had pouted. “Some of these have wonderful medicinal properties! Everyone uses castor oil, and no one seems to mind that it comes from ricinus communis, which is highly toxic! You have used skullcap and were completely fine.”

“At the time, you didn’t tell me you’d given me a poisonous flower,” Séverin had said.

Tristan had only flashed a sheepish grin.

Séverin looked at the skullcap blooms. Years ago, he had needed to conceal himself in a small cabinet, and to avoid detection from any Forged heartbeat-seeking creature, Tristan had given him a tincture of skullcap.

Be sure you know how to play.

On impulse, Séverin ripped off one of the skullcap blooms and tucked it into his pocket. Ruslan might be insane, but he was still clever, and if he had placed poison outside the room where they would meet, Séverin couldn’t fathom what venom waited for him inside.

Just then, the door swung open. Ruslan stepped into the garden. He was dressed in a plain black suit, the sleeves rolled up so as not to hide the molten skin of his left arm.

“Come in, my friend, come in,” he said, smiling. “How hungry you must be.”

Séverin joined him. Inside, Séverin understood the source of the rustling wings he’d heard the night before. The dining room was filled with Forged animal creations. Glass ravens roosted on the chandelier. Stained-crystal hummingbirds zipped across his line of sight. A marvelous peacock trailed its plumage of garnets and emeralds, the sound of its translucent feathers like chiming bells. The table was smoked glass, and laid out with steaming dishes: eggs baked in roasted tomatoes, frittata flecked with chili, fette biscottate, and golden cups filled with dark coffee.

“This was my father’s favorite interrogation room,” said Ruslan, warmly patting his glass chair. “In here, no one could hide a thing.”

“Intriguing,” said Séverin, careful to keep his tone bored. “How so?”

He reached for his chair when he felt it … a faint electrical current coursing through the glass. When he touched the table, the same feeling followed. The furniture was reading him … but for what?

“The room has its ways,” said Ruslan, grinning at him.

Séverin remembered the skullcap in his pocket. He had no idea whether the Forged table worked anything like the heartbeat-seeking creatures from his acquisition years ago, but it was all he had. While Ruslan helped himself to coffee and food, Séverin ripped off two petals, feigned a cough, and swallowed them whole.

“I saw you feed a little street urchin today,” said Ruslan. “Do you like the boy? We can keep him for you, if you’d like. I’ve never had a pet, but I imagine it’s quite the same … He’s perhaps a little too stubborn, but we could fix that.”