“Exceptional. I now have everything I need.”

This time, Séverin’s voice.

A beat passed. Laila could hear the soft knocking of the nearby gondola hitting the wooden pier. Inside, Enrique and Zofia waited on Eva’s signal.

“Everything?” repeated Ruslan.

“Almost everything.”

Another twinge of silence. Laila’s pulse was made of fire.

“Give me the lyre box.”

This was it.

The signal.

Laila heard the rustling of heavy cloaks, and then—

Slam.

Laila couldn’t see, but she could hear the plan unfolding. Ruslan’s hand flipped over, the metal talon slicing down his wrist and Eva’s blood Forging artistry taking root. Every day, the patriarch of the Fallen House took a tonic to ward off manipulation.

Today, his dose had been altered.

Ruslan’s voice turned high-pitched, panicked. “Séverin, what are you—”

“Apotheosis draws nearer, but I am afraid that heaven is crowded … and I am told there is only room for one god.”

The gondola went still. Ruslan was choked into silence.

“By the way, Eva hopes you rot and that even the lagoon water finds your soul so dirty it expels it straight to hell. Oh, and also? The real Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie sends his regards.”

Beside her, Laila heard a soft laugh. “An excellent flourish. Bon chance, Eva.”

Laila turned to her right. There, the real Séverin stretched out beside her, his eyes near-black in the moonlight. For Eva’s ruse, he had given her a drop of his blood to Forge so that she might wear his face and speak in his voice. She wore his outfit too, with added explosive protection from Zofia’s Forged robes, which left him wearing a thin, ivory-colored shirt that stretched across his shoulders and opened at the throat. He seemed unbothered by the cold.

The whole time they had waited together, Laila had done her best not to look at him.

I have no time to deal with this, she told herself.

But when she looked at him in that second, she felt an unwelcome tug of familiarity.

And then the world exploded.

The force of Zofia’s explosion knocked Laila’s gondola back against the pier. Something crashed into the side, wood splintering like cracking bones. The world felt too bright, too loud. Her ears rang.

“Laila!”

Laila felt her body being gathered, thrown down. What an odd feeling of déjà vu. They had done this before in the Palais des Rêves. She remembered the scorched note in Séverin’s voice, his body flung over hers. Séverin’s arms were caged around her. He was breathing fast.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

Laila heard the next explosion before she saw it. The rented boat she was hiding in slammed backwards. A jagged piece of wood flew out, catching Séverin in the stomach. He looked stunned for a moment and then slumped forward.

On the paved walkway lining the lagoon, Laila heard loud footsteps.

“We must go!” yelled Hypnos.

Laila’s mind was screaming. Faces flashed through her thoughts: Ruslan’s stretched grin, Eva’s sorrowful eyes. But all of it constricted to one image before her: Séverin. He lay prone on the gondola, a slow pool of blood gathering around him. Laila could hardly breathe. Her fingers shook as she reached for him.