In your hands lie the gates of godhood …

He was different. He was not giving chase to something, he was already chosen. His hope was merely unrealized, not impossible.

He was not Ruslan.

Séverin reached up for his hood, pulling the mask over his face as the gondola came to a stop at a silent archway attached to a drab gray building.

“If you want godhood so badly, then why not give me more than a hint to the map that will take us to the temple?” asked Séverin.

Ruslan pouted. “Because I want you to be worthy of it, my friend. And I want to be worthy of it by having chosen you as my co-deity, you see?”

Séverin set his jaw. “You realize that by testing me, you might be denying yourself.”

Ruslan bowed his head. “In that case, I will consider myself judged by the universe to be undeserving of such a gift.” Then he looked up and laughed. “Everything in life requires faith, Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie. I have faith in you! Besides, you’ve already had a whiff of such a map, my friend, as you so cleverly surmised.” He gestured to a Fallen House member who brought a small box, no larger than a jewelry case. “Store it in this to preserve its knowledge.”

Eva moved closer to Séverin. Her colombina mask of silver and sapphire winked in the light.

“Oh, and Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie,” said Ruslan, leaning forward. “Watch out for dragons.”

THROUGH THE ARCHWAY, they stepped onto a short landing. From there, a dimly lit staircase spiraled into the dark. Séverin had taken a couple of steps when he realized Eva had not moved.

“Are you not coming?”

“And be killed on sight by the others?” said Eva. “No, thank you. I’ll wait for you here. But … will you tell them that I … I—”

“I will tell them,” said Séverin.

Eva swallowed hard, then nodded. “Go.”

The long staircase led to a courtyard roughly the size of a dining room. On the stone walls, watery light waved and spangled. Above, a Forged ceiling of glass revealed that he was underwater. The shadows in the water looked like plumes of ink. Just then, the long, dark belly of a gondola slid across the ceiling and vanished out of sight.

Set into the wall niches were statues of angels with their hands pressed together, their heads bent in prayer. Three statues of animals, all three meters in height, adorned the middle of the room. Their backs were stretched and hollowed out, forming something of a bench within each. One was a great wolf, its jaws cracked, tongue lolling, carved fur standing on end. Another was a winged lion mid-roar. Séverin recognized it as the emblem of Venice, the sigil of St. Mark, patron saint of the city. The third was a creature Séverin only recognized from Enrique’s lectures in the past: a lamassu.

An Assyrian protective deity with the head of a man, body of a lion and bird wings folded around its rib cage.