But compared to the divine lyre clutched in Séverin’s hand, the Midas Knife was nothing.

“What do you think, Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie?” asked Ruslan. “Don’t you agree this man should feel nothing but flattered? Awed, even?”

Beside the lined-up members of the Fallen House, Eva Yefremovna, the blood and ice Forging artist, stiffened noticeably. Her wide, green eyes had not lost their feverish sheen in the twelve hours since they had left behind the Sleeping Palace on the frozen waters of Lake Baikal.

You must tread carefully.

Séverin’s last conversation with Delphine, the matriarch of House Kore, reared up in his thoughts. They had been crouched in the metal belly of a mechanical leviathan. On the hidden Mnemo panel, Séverin had watched as Ruslan advanced on his friends, slapping Laila across the face, cutting off Enrique’s ear. Ruslan was after something only Séverin could give: control over the lyre. Played outside of its sacred temple, the lyre only brought ruin. Played within the sacred grounds … the lyre could tap into the powers of godhood.

By then, Séverin knew exactly where he needed to go to play the lyre: Poveglia. Plague Island.

He had heard of the island near Venice years ago. In the fifteenth century, the island had built a hospital for those who fell ill during the plague epidemics, and it was said the ground was more skeleton than soil. Years ago, Séverin had nearly accepted an acquisition project on the island before Enrique had objected.

“The temple’s entrance is well hidden beneath Poveglia,” the matriarch had said to him the last, and final, time they had been together in the belly of the metal leviathan. “There are other entrances to the temple scattered throughout the world, but their maps have been destroyed. Only this one remains, and Ruslan will know where to look for it.”

“My friends—” said Séverin, unable to tear his eyes from the screen.

“I will send them after you,” said the matriarch, grabbing his shoulders. “I have been planning for this ever since your mother begged me to protect you. They will have everything they need to come find you.”

It had taken Séverin a moment to understand.

“You know,” he’d said angrily. “You know where the map is to reach the temple beneath Poveglia, and you won’t tell me—”

“I can’t. It is too dangerous to speak aloud, and I have camouflaged it even from the safe house,” said the matriarch. “If the others fail, you must find the answer from Ruslan. And once you do, you must find a way to be rid of him. He will do everything in his power to keep track of you.”

“I—”

The matriarch had grabbed his chin, directing his gaze to the screen. Laila had crumpled to her knees, her hair falling across her face. Enrique lay sprawled out, bleeding on the ice. Zofia’s hands clutched at her dress, her grip white-knuckled. Even Hypnos, lying unconscious behind Séverin, would be destroyed if Ruslan succeeded. Something cold and inhuman coiled in Séverin’s stomach.