But his senses claimed otherwise.

Before him, he saw the lush foliage of an ancient jungle. The ground beneath his feet squelched. All around him, the jungle boasted exotic blooms the color of melted jewels. Moths the size of dinner plates with dappled wings flitted around him. That sharp smell of grass filled his lungs, and the lullabies of jewel-bright birds engulfed him. Séverin reached out to touch a flower. He could see the dew beading on the leaf. He could almost feel the satiny petal against his skin when the vision vanished—

When he blinked, it was not a petal he had nearly touched, but Ruslan’s face, now centimeters from his own.

“Boo.” He grinned.

Séverin stumbled backwards.

“Ah, my friend, the wonder transfixing your eyes!” said Ruslan, clapping his hands. “You looked like a hero from a poem. All dashing and mournful and whatnot…”

“What was that?” asked Séverin. His voice came out harsher than he’d planned.

“Mind Forging, as well you know,” said Ruslan, taking his seat.

“That is unlike any mind Forging I have ever come across,” said Séverin.

Even the most beautiful mind Forging illusions always had a tell … a flimsiness to their edges or a fragrance that did not fit. This, however, had been as seamless as knowledge. In fact, Séverin had the uncanny realization that if he were to cross the ocean by several hundred miles, he would know exactly where he would find such a paradise.

“It is a real place,” said Ruslan, taking a long sip of his wine. “And you have now witnessed its exquisite map.”

Séverin’s mind snagged on that word: Map. It was a hint, he was sure of it. Was it possible that the map to the temple beneath Poveglia could appear in such a form? Was it a sign that Ruslan was finally ready to tell him where to go? Or was it just another game?

Séverin sank into his dining chair, reaching for his wine, when Ruslan snatched his hand and turned it over.

“You know … when I impersonated the patriarch of House Dazbog, I cut off his arm and it worked perfectly,” said Ruslan, thoughtful. “Perhaps I could do the same with you, and then the divine lyre would answer to me? I only need your hand. I have no use for the rest of you.”

Séverin kept his hand still. Ruslan’s mind did not function like others. What did he want? Séverin’s mind turned back to all the times Ruslan had shown him a new Forging tool or tried to get his attention. He wants to play, he realized. Séverin grinned, then wiggled his fingers. “Shall we try it?”

Ruslan picked up his Midas Knife, tapping the point on Séverin’s palm. “We could.”

“It would be a boring indulgence, though,” said Séverin. He was careful not to betray a tremble in his fingers.

“Boring?” repeated Ruslan.

“You already remarked at the wonder in my face,” said Séverin. “Wouldn’t you like to see it again when I behold you in all your divine raiments and glory? Wouldn’t you rather we converse than the dull members of your House, who are far more like chattel than companions? If not, then you are not as interesting as I’d hoped. How disappointing. If so, take my arm, cut my throat, and spare me the boredom.”