“And now we wait,” said Enrique.

The crystal detonator lay on the bottom of the boat in front of Zofia. At Eva’s signal, she would trigger it, the gondola would explode, and they would be free to sail to Poveglia by morning. Perhaps by this time tomorrow … Laila would be safe. The thought warmed Zofia.

“Zofia … I’m sorry about, um, earlier,” said Enrique.

Zofia startled from her thoughts. She turned to look at him and frowned. What was he talking about?

“I feel like I wasn’t a good friend to you.”

That did not seem true to Zofia, but before she could say anything, Enrique spoke faster.

“Good friends put aside their ego and ask about each other,” he said. “And I didn’t ask how you were after our kiss because I thought it had bothered you. Now I think it’s something else. But if it is about the kiss, I’m sorry about that too.”

“I’m not sorry that we kissed,” said Zofia.

“You’re not?”

“It was without compare—”

Enrique beamed.

“I’ve never kissed anyone, so I have nothing to compare it to.”

Now he frowned.

After a moment, Zofia added: “I liked it.”

It was the truth, but it made Zofia ache a little. She knew he had kissed her so that the swan wings would fold up and hide them from Ruslan. Whereas she would have kissed him without the motive of camouflage. She had wanted to kiss him. If she were not waiting on Séverin’s signal … if there were less unknowns in the world … she would have liked to kiss him again.

Enrique’s expression changed. “Zofia, I—”

Out the corner of her eye, Zofia caught sight of Eva’s signal, which meant her rented gondola was in line with Ruslan’s. Through her viewpoint, Zofia could see that Ruslan was frozen, his arms caught mid-movement, his jaw dropped. His eyes looked wide and furious.

Now.

Zofia slammed her palm onto the detonator, and light exploded around them.

20

LAILA

Five minutes before the explosion, Laila held her breath, her hands splayed against the bottom of the gondola. She could feel the boat’s memories brushing lightly against her thoughts. It wanted to tell her about the toddler who had tried to dip his hand in the dirty water, to the horror of his parents. It wanted to tell her about the smell of early spring, the violets garlanding the bridges to ward off the sewage stench. Laila pushed the boat’s secrets away from her and kept her gaze on the dark floor. The water carried the sound of conversation, and in every beat of silence, she felt as if her fate was being woven before her.

“How was your last human fête, Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie?”

Ruslan.

Laila could hear the smile in his voice. Warm and generous, soft and curious. That was the same voice he had used before he raised his golden hand and slapped her so hard her teeth ached. A shudder ran down her spine.