“A filter,” Zofia explained, throwing the last piece to Enrique who, up until a few moments ago, was staring at the floor as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. “It was intended for smoke, but it will work for scents too.”

Laila knotted the silk around her nose and mouth, and the others did the same. Enrique, she noticed, dithered a little, his face bright red.

“Oh, mon cher, must you be so innocent,” said Hypnos, grabbing his piece of cloth and knotting it around Enrique’s face.

Any sound of protest was quickly muffled.

Six meters from them, the treasure room glowed dimly. Laila felt her pulse ratcheting higher. Her body felt almost feverish. They were so close. They had the lyre. They had the location for the temple where it could be played.

All that was missing was the map to reach it.

Some distance away, they arrived at the landing of a short, glass staircase that descended into a rather spacious chamber the size of L’Eden’s grand lobby. The marble floor had been Forged with phosphorescent threads, casting a warm glow throughout the room. A domed skylight stretched about eighteen meters above them, shedding moonlight on the treasures below.

Only, they didn’t seem like treasures at all.

There were twelve chest-high black pedestals, six on each side of the room. At the base of each pedestal was a little metal sphere, no larger than her palm. Atop each pedestal stood an exquisite glass perfume bottle. Each one looked fluted, the glass teased into shapes of unfurling violets or tight-budded roses, the warm glow cast from the floor tangled in the glossy crystal.

“Where are the maps?” asked Hypnos.

“Those are the maps,” said Séverin. “A rare, mind Forged substance that will drop knowledge of a place inside one’s head.”

Across the back wall stretched a large, square panel roughly the size of two large dining tables and filled with thick coils of blown glass. The pigment within them swirled with vibrant shades—mint green and persimmon orange, dusky rose and garnet red, a teeming riot of color. It undulated until the colors wavered like a hypnotic warning.

Laila touched the covering on her nose and mouth. Through the Forged silk filter, she caught a whiff of something else. Something scorched and fetid.

“No one wants their treasures out in the open,” said Séverin. “We have to engage all our senses. Enrique, is there anything worth noticing here? Any pattern of historical significance?”

Enrique startled at the sound of his name. He eyed the room and then Séverin, who was staring hopefully at him. Enrique cleared his throat.

“The bottles look like Murano glass, and perfume was a powerful tool to the ancients, which strengthens the conclusion that these might be maps to temples.”

Séverin grinned. “I knew you’d see something.” Enrique ignored him.

Hypnos shuffled, tugging at the neckline of his robes. “Does anyone else find the room far too hot?”

Now that he mentioned it, the room did feel uncomfortably warm, but perhaps that was due to insulation. Laila pushed her damp, curling hair away from her forehead as Séverin eyed the room warily.