“The flower asked for sunshine, and the king declared that he had something better than sunlight—he offered the flower golden coins rinsed in milk and honey. The flower cried out, for the hard, gold coins bruised its petals. The flower then asked for water, and the king declared that he had something better than water, and he poured upon the flower all the rarest wines from the corners of his kingdom,” said Kahina. “The flower cried out, for the wine was sour and its roots shriveled at its touch. Slowly, it began to die. The king was furious, and he demanded an explanation. ‘I have given you all the best things in the world,’ he said. ‘You must flourish!’ But the flower declared, ‘That was never what I needed,’ and then defied the king by dying.”

Séverin did not like the story. Couldn’t the silly king see that all the flower wanted was water and sun?

“Why didn’t he listen?” Séverin had asked.

Kahina was quiet. Her hands stilled on his forehead. “Sometimes those with too much power think they know best … they forget how to listen. But you will not be like that will you, habibi?”

Séverin shook his head.

“Good,” said his mother. She lifted his hands and kissed his knuckles one by one. “Because you are far more powerful than any king.”

Now, Séverin watched the white petals float past him.

Look at what you’ve done. You hurt them. You did not listen. And now you are alone.

He was a fool. All his powers, all his wealth … it meant nothing.

Séverin sat back in the gondola, something crystallizing in his thoughts.

Laila, Enrique, Hypnos, and Zofia didn’t need him to get to Poveglia, but they would need him to play the lyre. If he got to them fast enough, then maybe he could apologize. He could beg them for another chance …

All this time, he had been stepping daintily around Ruslan’s whims. But there was nothing left the patriarch of the Fallen House could take from him. He had lost all that mattered, and in that way, he was finally as powerful as he could be. Only by having nothing to lose could he finally force the patriarch’s hand. They would not be waiting ten days to reach Poveglia. They would be leaving immediately.

SÉVERIN THREW OPEN the doors of Casa d’Oro, walking past the dozen members of the Fallen House.

The moment he entered, their Mnemo honeybees whirred loudly.

“Where is my lyre?” he asked quietly.

A guard stepped out of his room, holding the ice and glass box. In the shadows of the hallway, Séverin caught sight of Eva’s red hair. She must have been waiting for him, expecting confirmation that the others were alive. But he had no proof, which meant she was no help to him any longer. Séverin pressed his thumb to the thorn, taking out the lyre.

“Bring your master,” he said to the guards. “Now.”

“Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie—” started Eva, moving toward him.