The Gilded Wolves (The Gilded Wolves #1)(42)

Enrique laughed. “Probably.”

Séverin chewed on a clove. When Enrique left, he opened a concealed drawer in his study and took out the file he’d had stolen from the coroner’s office.

Enrique had guessed right. There was something he hadn’t told them: The House Kore courier was dead.

He had been found in a brothel with his throat cut, and all his personal effects removed, save for the catalogue coin. It had either been left on his person by accident or intention. Séverin remembered when he and Tristan had interrogated the man. How when he removed his catalogue coin, it was not on his body as they had imagined, but inside his mouth, hiding under his tongue like a golden drachma placed as payment to the ferrier of the dead. But when the coroner had looked in the man’s mouth, he found something else hiding behind his teeth:

A golden honeybee.



* * *



EVERYONE WAS ALREADY waiting in the stargazing room.

Tristan paced back and forth, spinning a daisy with golden petals in one hand. It was, Séverin remembered, a prototype for the hotel’s summer installation: the Midas Touch. Zofia sat with her legs crossed beneath her, a matchstick dangling from her lip, her black smock striped with ash. Enrique hunched over a book that he handled with kid gloves. Laila reclined on her chaise. Her hair was elegantly coiffed, and she wore a dove-gray gown with pearl beading at the neck. In her hand, she lazily twirled what looked like a piece of black string. Séverin looked at it closely. Not a string at all … a shoelace. Not that he’d paid remarkable attention to Hypnos’s choice of footwear, but he was fairly certain those belonged to him. Laila met Séverin’s gaze and flashed a conspiratorial grin. She was reading Hypnos’s objects. Séverin smiled back.

“Where’s Hypnos?” he asked, looking around the room.

“Who knows.” Tristan scowled. “Do we have to wait for him?”

“Given that he has our identifications and invitations—yes. It’s the last piece left to plan.”

At his name, the door swung open. In walked Hypnos wearing a dark green suit and shoes studded with emeralds.

“I come bearing gifts!” he announced.

Enrique didn’t look up from his book. “Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.”

The five of them fixed him with blank stares.

“What?” asked Zofia.

“It’s from the Aeneid,” said Enrique. “‘Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.’”

“I’m not Greek.”

“Same principle.”

But when Enrique said it, a smile twitched at his lips.

“Are those our invitations?” asked Laila, looking at the handful of golden cards in his hand.

Hypnos fanned them out on the coffee table. “One for each of you. Except Tristan, who has to be there anyway to landscape the gardens. For your invitations, I’ve arranged that you will arrive Friday in time for the midnight feast. You will depart Saturday at midnight, as Sunday is reserved strictly for Order members.”

“Perfect,” said Séverin. “In and out.”

“First invitation goes to our aging Oriental flower expert all the way from China, Monsieur Chang,” said Hypnos.

He held out the gold card to Enrique.

Enrique didn’t take it, but rather stared at the card like it was a disease. “Are you serious?”

“I’m Hypnos.”

“Well, I’m not Chinese. I’m Filipino and Spanish.” Enrique took the card. “That’s terribly offensive.”

Hypnos shrugged. “Terribly convenient too; the matriarch of House Kore is obsessed with all things Chinese. Next, a card for the nautch dancer who is joining the titillating entertainment troupe.”

Séverin shook his head. Laila might perform on the Palais stage as L’énigme, but he knew that for her, dance—the classical way in which she had been trained in India—was considered sacred. Laila took the invitation imperiously, disgust rippling across her features.

“However, the dancers are not technically arriving until the day after the festival starts, so you’ll first have to pose as a House Nyx servant.”

Laila nodded tightly. “Makes sense—”

“No! It doesn’t! Why does she have to pretend to be an Order servant?” demanded Tristan, rising to his feet. “She’s not part of the Order! None of us are!”

“Tristan, my love,” said Laila with dangerous calm. “If you get in the way of a woman’s battle, you’ll get in the way of her sword.”

Tristan sat back down, his face flushed.

“Oh, so sweet!” said Hypnos. “You don’t want her tainted by association with me, I assume. Fair enough. However, it would be unwise for you to smuggle all the tools you might require in one travel excursion. Far better, I believe, to separate the burden. What’s the saying? Don’t put all the baskets on your head?”

Enrique rolled his eyes. “It’s ‘don’t put all your eggs in one basket.’”

“I hate eggs. I like my version better,” said Hypnos. He pulled out the next golden card. “The next invitation goes to our government official, Claude Faucher. And, don’t worry, every guest is required to wear a mask, and as far as I know, I am the only member of the Order who cares to know what you look like.”