The Gilded Wolves (The Gilded Wolves #1)(51)

This was it.

Hypnos had invoked Order rule, and now the matriarch would have to safeguard the object by entering the vault. While the guests streamed out of the dining room, Séverin lingered by the door, pretending he had just seen someone he knew. The matriarch walked out the door, Hypnos on her heels. The left corner of Hypnos’s mouth turned up as he passed him. A signal to join. Séverin waited, giving them a head start. Then, as he was about to follow, the man in the mustard suit blocked him.

He wheezed as he spoke, sweat shining on his forehead. “A pleasure talking with you, Monsieur…”

“Faucher,” said Séverin, pushing down his annoyance. “I did not catch your name?”

The man smiled. “Roux-Joubert.”

Outside the dining room, the large staircase blocked off the light. The hall broke off into three separate vestibules. Séverin had memorized the layout earlier, including the entrance to the library where the Forged treasures were kept. He kept to the shadows. From the blueprints, he knew where House Kore kept their mnemo bugs and moved against their patterns of surveillance. At the entrance of a hall full of twisting mirrors, Séverin paused. He reached into the sleeves of his jacket, slicing the silk seams that hid a Forged bell designed by Zofia. He rang it twice, and his steps turned silent.

Between the hall of mirrors and the library was a rotunda full of astrological tools, and a wide skylight. The matriarch, Hypnos, and manservants all had their backs to him. Séverin touched the tip of his shoe to one side of the wall, then quietly ducked into one of the recessed niches on the opposite side. A slender, nearly invisible Forged glass thread stretched across the hall, connected to Séverin’s shoe. Outside the niche, he heard the others talking:

“—a moment for me to place the box within my vaults.”

“Of course,” said Hypnos. “I appreciate it, truly. Though, is it not tradition for us to hold our Rings together as proof of agreement? You know me, I am ironclad to tradition. Right down to my blood.”

Séverin smirked at Hypnos’s self-jab.

“I don’t believe that’s necessary,” she said, her voice slightly higher pitched. “We are old friends, are we not? Old dynasties and all that is left of the Houses of France … Surely, as I am doing you a favor at great cost to myself, we might excuse the formality?”

Hypnos’s comment was a test. The matriarch must not have disclosed to the Order that the Ring had been stolen. Her words were proof that she too thought the theft had been an inside job.

“Of course,” said Hypnos brightly.

“May I speak frankly with you?” asked the matriarch.

Séverin could sense the hesitation in his voice. But Hypnos answered, “Of course. What are old friends for?”

The matriarch took a deep breath. “I know you are aware my Ring has been stolen.”

Hypnos feigned a gasp, but the matriarch must have cut him off.

“Don’t humiliate me,” she snapped. “Every member of my House that I trust has been searching for it … I am not asking for you to set your own guards to finding it, but I ask that you keep your wits about you. I know we’ve had our differences, but this … this damage that might be wrought would affect far more than just us.”

“I know,” said Hypnos solemnly.

“Very well,” said the matriarch. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Séverin listened for the sound of something clicking open. The massive doors of the library unlocking. Moments turned into minutes. Hypnos started tapping his foot. After exactly nine minutes and forty-five seconds, the door to the library opened once more.

“Shall we?” asked Hypnos.

The matriarch said nothing. Perhaps she had taken his arm. Séverin heard their footsteps quickly approaching.

He opened his watch, taking out some mirror powder. He smeared it onto his fingers, dragged them down the wall behind him, and touched his clothes. Instantly, his clothing shimmered, turning the same brocade pattern as the wall. The disguise would last for little over a minute—all he needed. Séverin propped up his foot, ready. But the matriarch stopped just outside the thread, as if to catch her breath.

This was not part of the plan.

“It’s beautiful, is it not?” asked the matriarch.

“Yes, yes, it is—”

Irritation flickered in Hypnos’s voice. Séverin’s fingers twitched. He glanced at his watch. He hadn’t been able to get another order of mirror powder in time, and that was all that was left. His clothing shimmered. Less than thirty seconds, and it would vanish. They would see him.

Ten seconds left.

The servants walked past.

Four seconds.

Hypnos escorted the matriarch. Séverin willed himself to breathe, not to let his hands get damp and soak up what remained of the mirror powder.

Three seconds.

The matriarch was about to cross the glass thread. Séverin lifted his shoe. Right on time, she tripped. Hypnos caught her before she fell, but her dress had billowed, lifting high enough to reveal her shoes. Séverin looked intently for the one sign that would have proved his theory, and found it: mud.

“Are you quite all right?” asked Hypnos.

Hypnos crushed the glass thread, spinning the matriarch so her back faced Séverin just as the last traces of powder vanished from his fingertips.