The Gilded Wolves (The Gilded Wolves #1)(73)

“What happened the last time someone succeeded in disturbing a country’s Fragment?” asked Laila.

“Ever heard of Atlantis?”

“No,” said Zofia.

“Exactly.”

“It’s a mythical city,” said Enrique.

“Well, now it is.”

“But we still don’t understand what Roux-Joubert wants with the West’s Fragment,” said Séverin. “The last group that tried to disturb the Fragment was the Fallen House, and they sought to join all the Fragments together. Maybe Roux-Joubert wants to emulate them, but we don’t even know why the Fallen House tried what they did in the first place. Do you?”

“I do,” sighed Hypnos, looking around the room. “But first, where’s the wine? I can’t discuss the end of civilization without wine.”

“You can have it after,” said Séverin.

Hypnos grumbled. “The Fallen House believed that Forging was a subset of alchemy. You know, transforming matter and turning things to gold and such. But that was only one part of mastering their secrets. The most important aspect was theurgy.”

“Which is?” asked Zofia.

Enrique pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Theurgy means ‘the working of the gods.’”

Zofia frowned. “So, the Fallen House wanted to understand how gods work?”

“No,” said Séverin. A terrible smile bent his mouth. “They wanted to become gods.”

Laila shuddered. Silence fell over them, broken only by the metallic chime of Séverin opening his tin of cloves.

“We’re not going to find Tristan without figuring out who Roux-Joubert is,” he said. “We know he’s not with either House Nyx or House Kore. When he was at the dinner, the matriarch didn’t acknowledge him, and he didn’t sit with the other House members. So, we presume that he’s functioning outside the Order, or that someone in the Order is acting through him. We also know he has access to the Exposition Universelle because that’s where he first laid a trap for Enrique and Zofia, and it’s where he’s demanded that we do an exchange.”

“In three days,” said Enrique. “Perfectly timed for the opening of the Exposition Universelle.”

“So?” asked Zofia.

“So, it means he’s waiting for a built-in audience,” said Séverin. “There’s something he’s planning on that date. You heard him. All his talk of ‘revolution’? What better stage to launch one than the world fair?”

Hypnos deflated. “That tells us nothing.”

“We also know that Roux-Joubert wears a honeybee pin,” said Enrique.

“So? Today I’m wearing underwear. It’s hardly monumental.”

Zofia frowned. “Why did you specify today—”

Enrique jumped in, “The man who accosted us at the Forging exhibition also wore a honeybee pendant on a chain.”

The chain in question currently dangled from Laila’s hands. Zofia had brought it to her earlier while they were waiting for Hypnos to arrive. The chain itself was not Forged, exactly. Something about it called to Laila’s senses. But images that should have been sharp in her mind now felt blurred, as if swiped with oil. Someone had tampered with the item. The only thing she knew for certain was that wherever Roux-Joubert was … it was underground. She could feel it. The lightless cold of it. Damp on the walls. Nails with crescents of dirt. And a symbol scrawled in light … pointed. Like a star.

“Roux-Joubert also has a strong Forging affinity,” added Zofia begrudgingly. “He managed to tamper with a Streak of Sia formulation. Usually, the formula copies handprints, but theoretically, there are ways for the Sia formulation to act like a homing mechanism. He must have figured out the way, and that’s what led him directly to us.”

“Who said it was his affinity, though?” asked Laila. “He could have someone working for him.”

Enrique shuddered. “Don’t forget the gentleman with the blade-brimmed hat who accosted us in the exhibit. It could be him. What else do we know?”

“He’s underground,” said Laila.

The four of them turned to face her. Hypnos rested his chin on his hand, eyeing her suspiciously. “And how do we know that?” he asked.

“I don’t owe you all my sources,” said Séverin protectively. “Does Roux-Joubert remind you of anyone?”

Hypnos shook his head. “I’m sorry, mon cher, but I haven’t heard that name at all. I can always return to Erebus and check, of course. My house holds many secrets.”

Enrique cleared his throat. “There’s something, though, about the honeybees … I’m starting to think it’s not a coincidence that both he and the man from the exhibition wore one.”

“Not again,” groaned Hypnos. “It’s nothing but a symbol—”

Laila hissed in her breath. She could practically see Enrique brandishing a sword.

“Nothing but a symbol?” repeated Enrique quietly. “People die for symbols. People have hope because of symbols. They’re not just lines. They’re histories, cultures, traditions, given shape.”

Hypnos blushed and plucked at his vest.

Enrique turned to Séverin. “Can you get the lights?”