Séverin removed the lyre gently. The plan he had been turning over in his head all night slowly took shape. He met Eva’s eyes. “You look very beautiful today.”

Eva startled. Behind her, the Mnemo honeybees on the masks whirred louder. Good. He had caught Ruslan’s attention. Eva’s face was shrouded from view, but Séverin was fully visible.

He looked at Eva’s green eyes, imagining a pair of cygnet-black eyes in their place. When her lips flattened, Séverin conjured a different image—a lush mouth shaped to drive poets to distraction. Eva tugged at her red hair, and Séverin pretended it was a fall of ink flecked with sugar.

He reached out, his knuckles brushing against her jawline. “Very beautiful indeed.”

BEFORE SÉVERIN ENTERED the formal dining hall, he nibbled on the edge of the skullcap bloom he had stolen from the poison garden. After yesterday’s breakfast, Ruslan had avoided him completely. Séverin knew why. His own eagerness had betrayed him. Ruslan might be unhinged, but he was no fool, and perhaps he suspected that even now, Séverin was only acting in the interests of his friends. He must be careful. He needed to hide his intentions and change Ruslan’s ridiculous timeline to act in ten days … otherwise Laila would be dead.

Séverin took a deep breath, then walked through the Tezcat door camouflaged as a painting of an old god with a melting face. On the other side, the formal dining room looked like a vision of blood and honey. A long, black marble table rose like a solid block from the middle of the room. The walls were a lattice of interlocking golden stars against red velvet fabric. Candles shaped like long-stemmed, black roses burned and melted on the table. At the center, a carafe of red wine stood beside a plate of cut fruits and thin slices of marbled meat. Usually, the golden plates were already heaped with food, but this time they were empty. At the center of the table he noticed a slender, glass vial no taller than his pinky. Séverin picked it up. A smokey, clouded substance moved freely within the glass.

“An added sensory experience for our dining,” said Ruslan, stepping into the room. He wore a dark suit that only made the golden skin of his arm gleam brighter. “Do try it.”

Séverin hesitated. It was obviously mind Forged, but to what purpose? Conjure nightmares to force out the truth or—

“Oh, come now!” Ruslan pouted. “We are friends. And friendship requires trust. Surely you trust me?”

Séverin forced a smile and then unstoppered the glass. Wisps of smoke emptied out of the bottle, dissolving into the air. Séverin braced himself, but even then, he was unprepared for what awaited him. It was an art form of mind Forging, the likes of which he had never known. He was familiar with exquisite illusions, but this place was real. And old. Séverin was dimly aware that he was standing in a dining room in Venice …