The Gilded Wolves (The Gilded Wolves #1)(66)

The door swung open.

Warm air gusted over them, and his skin shivered. Once in the dark, and now on the threshold of light, his eyes adjusted.

Across the room, a second door swung open, and two shadows stretched across the floor.





19





SéVERIN


Séverin’s fifth father was a man he called Pride.

Pride had married into the Order of Babel. His late wife had been the second-born daughter of a patriarch. Though born wealthy, an investment in far-off salt mines had left them penniless, forcing them to sell their possessions. Bitterness grew like a crust over Pride’s home. Pride showed them the collection catalogues of the Order, whispering which items had once belonged to him and his wife. He showed Séverin and Tristan how to take back what belonged to you. How to make a harness that let one slip down roofs and into windows, how to pay off the right guards, how to step with a light foot.

He never used the word “steal.”

“Take what the world owes you by any means necessary,” Pride had said. “The world has a shit memory. It will never pay its debts unless you force its hand.”



* * *



SéVERIN THOUGHT OF Pride now as he met Hypnos at the entrance to the subterranean library. Hypnos slipped the copied key into the amber door. The door swung open, revealing a long trail of steps that descended into the dark. Séverin took a moment to bow his head, the closest he would come to prayer. He whispered the words Pride spoke every time he went to repossess an object: “I’ve come to collect my dues.”

Before him, the whole of the subterranean library sprawled. The room was the size of an amphitheater, and though the floor and ceiling was packed earth, a luminous underwater shine danced across the top. A small moat surrounded the library. It looked to be a built-in coolant system to regulate the temperature of the treasure room. Forged lanterns and thuribles floated down the neat aisles that sprang out of the ground. Objects loomed into sight: caryatids and drinking horns, broken crowns and canopic jars, mirrors that floated in midair, and an azure jug that poured a continuous stream of wine.

“Oh no, shiny things,” moaned Hypnos, clapping his hands to his heart. “My weakness.”

Though the library could bring kings to their knees, it wasn’t the sight Séverin craved. He walked down the aisle, toward the back end of the wall where an amber door identical to the one they had walked through now swung open. Three figures stepped into the room. Enrique, with a stunned expression on his face. Zofia, bewildered and clutching her necklace. And then Laila … streaked with what looked like ash. Laila in that same dancing costume he hadn’t been able to shake from his thoughts ever since she’d thrown him the key.

Hypnos waved hello, and then he leaned down to whisper in Séverin’s ear, “You’re staring.”

Séverin looked abruptly away. He reached into his jacket for the silver tin of cloves and popped one into his mouth.

“Any trouble?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Zofia, matter-of-fact. “There was a fireball and the ground broke, and we thought Tristan and Enrique were dead.”

“What?”

“Tristan is fine,” soothed Laila. “He’s upstairs now, standing guard.”

“Did you say fur ball?” asked Hypnos. “Like a puppy? How endearing.”

“She said fireball.”

“Oh. That is decidedly less endearing.”

Séverin clapped his hands together, and everyone fell silent.

“The convoy for the next guard shift comes in an hour. We’ve got five empty seats on that convoy to get us out of here, so let’s get moving. We know the Horus Eye is in the west quadrant and eighth hall, but there could always be unexpected surprises. Zofia?”

Zofia tore the second layer of her dress. At her touch, it broke into five strips that fell to the ground. She wrapped one strip around her hands, and it molded instantly to their shape, turning into a pair of translucent gloves.

“Forged rubber,” she said, raising her palms. “That way no object can detect a human touch.”

Laila shuddered. “Yes, let’s not get stuck to anything just by touching it.”

“And let’s not leave prints either,” added Enrique.

“Or blood,” said Séverin, glaring at Hypnos. He wasn’t going to get trapped into that letter scheme again. “Enrique?”

Enrique pointed at the shelves. “Collections are tricky things. Sometimes there’re even decoys of objects. The Horus Eye should be about palm-sized, with a glass or crystal piece in the pupil to see through, although age might have clouded it so it looks stained.”

Hypnos looked around at the group, as if he were just seeing them for the first time.

“You know, in this lighting, you lot are rather fearsome.”

“All lighting,” corrected Enrique.

The moment everyone had slipped on their gloves, Séverin led the way to the eighth hall.

“Once we have the Horus Eye, we’ll walk out—”

“That’s it?” asked Enrique, his voice rising. “But it’s House-marked—”

“Shhhh, beautiful,” said Hypnos. He held out his hand, where his Ring—a bright crescent moon—gleamed. “This Ring is welded to my skin. If it’s taken off and not delivered to a blood heir within a fortnight, the House mark fades. And I know for certain the matriarch had no time to pass it on to her abominable nephew.”