“Technically, he cannot have remorse in his heart,” said Zofia.

“I second that,” said Enrique.

“He has blood, ventricles—”

Enrique sighed. Hypnos shook his head and seemed about to speak when a low laugh threaded through it all. Séverin. Laughing. Laila had forgotten the sound of it, deep and full-bellied.

“I’ve missed you all terribly,” he said. “In fact, I—”

“How much more of my time do you wish to waste?” asked Laila coldly, facing them. She raised her hand, the number three plain in her garnet ring. “I expected better of my friends.”

Hypnos reeled back as if slapped. Enrique’s eyes went wide with hurt, and Zofia’s gaze dropped to the ground. Laila didn’t want to look at Séverin, but when he spoke, his voice was urgent.

“That will change, Laila,” he said. “I swear it.”

He drew back the sleeve of his robes, revealing the divine lyre strapped to his arm. Laila stared at the instrument. She hadn’t forgotten how it had felt when his bloodied fingers touched a single string. As if her soul threatened to unhinge and slip past the loose cage of her bones. A shiver ran down her spine.

Séverin yanked down his sleeve, a determined expression on his face.

“I believe the map to Poveglia will be a mind Forged object,” said Séverin. “A vial, perhaps. Not a traditional map at all. Ruslan gave me one hint before I left.”

“Which was?” asked Enrique, crossing his arms.

Séverin’s smile was mirthless. “Watch out for dragons.”

ON THE OTHER side of the Tezcat tapestry, Laila discovered they had emerged in the railed-off upper galleries of House Janus’s headquarters, looking down over the revelries. Along the curved walls hung dozens of ancient maps, each of them stretched, pinned, and framed by shining curlicues of gilt brass. A domed skylight above let in the moonlight, and when Laila peered over the edge of the railings, the nautilus of staircases revealed the revelers like a sea of undulating gold far beneath them. She dragged her fingers along the frames, the walls, the joints of paintings … but the objects were silent.

At first, Séverin walked ahead of the group, and it was as if a spell from the past fell over their feet. It was natural to fall into step behind Séverin. Easy, even. Too easy. Laila hung back, feeling a touch spiteful. Enrique, on the other hand, shook himself and practically stomped ahead.

At the end of the hall, Séverin paused in front of the final map, a circular silk screen printing of a clay tablet about a meter in diameter. Laila didn’t recognize the script. It looked like a collection of sharp angles.

“Well, Enrique?” she asked.

Séverin, who had opened his mouth, quickly closed it. Enrique looked rather smug as he turned to face them. Was it her imagination or did Séverin step to the side, as if moving out of someone else’s spotlight?

“This is Imago Mundi,” said Enrique. “Otherwise known as the Babylonian Map of the World. It’s a replica of the original clay tablet, of course—the original dates back to the early Achaemenid period. Babylonians certainly had dragon-like deities, such as Tiamat, a primordial goddess of the sea, so this could be part of the hint—”