“You are out of your mind, Séverin.”

“I’ve seen and felt something you wouldn’t understand,” he said fiercely. “And I know there’s power at the end of it. Enough to extend your life. To fix the things I’ve ruined. Maybe even to bring back what was lost. But I will never leave you in the dark again. I want us to go into the light together.”

Laila stared at him. “How can you believe such things?”

His eyes seemed to take on an otherworldly sheen beneath the candlelight. “Laila, there has to be a reason for it all … a reason why I have this ability, why our lives crossed, even how we ended up here. How else do you explain it? How else do you explain how I would be on the other side of that curtain? How I would have known you anywhere even from something as small as your hand—”

“Stop,” she said loudly.

Séverin froze. Whatever light had shone in his eyes retreated, and when he spoke, there was a clipped mechanical quality to it: “You know as well as I do that our best chances to get to Poveglia lie with each other. I assume you will be at Carnevale tomorrow. Let us meet there, find the map, and leave for Poveglia together. Then … then I can show you that I am not some fool … that I am speaking the truth.”

Laila narrowed her gaze. “And Ruslan?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, as if he were chewing on something invisible. Laila had the bizarre urge to press a tin of cloves into his hands.

“At sunrise tomorrow, I will send word to the piazza with a plan,” he said.

Laila nodded. She was familiar with the famous piazza of Venice. “And tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there at midnight.”

“How will you find us?”

A sad smile touched his mouth. “I would find you anywhere.”

The words moved through Laila. He could be so caring when he wished to. Unbidden came the memory of the time she’d burned her hand on a hot pan, and he had been so panicked that she was in pain that it had taken her nearly twenty minutes to convince him that she did not need a physician. Laila moved away, but he caught her wrist.

“You know we can’t leave like this,” said Séverin, his voice low in her ear. “We’ve been here … in this spot for lovers’ trysts or fate’s machinations, whatever you wish to call it, for nearly half an hour. If we leave as we entered, surely that will draw suspicion.”

“How thoughtless of me,” she said.

Laila pressed her palm deeply against her lips. Then, rather ungently, she swiped her hand across his mouth. Rouge blurred at the edges of his lips and chin. She tugged at the opening of his shirt, relishing the sound of scattered buttons hitting the floor. Her ring had twisted toward her palm, and when she dragged her hand down his chest, she felt him wince at the jewel’s edge scraping down his skin, leaving a red mark.