The Gilded Wolves (The Gilded Wolves #1)(74)

Séverin snapped his fingers and drapes swooshed down to cover the bay windows. He snapped again, and a large black screen crept over the domed glass of the stargazing room.

Hypnos snorted. “And you call me dramatic.”

Ignoring him, Enrique straightened the cuffs of his sleeves. “I’ve been doing research on honeybee symbology for some time now,” he said. “But I only recently connected what Roux-Joubert said to the man who accosted us in the exhibition hall. Both spoke of revolution. Both wore that honeybee chain. Now, historically, honeybees have some mythological resonance, and I think I found a clue…”

“Normally you’d be gloating by now,” pointed out Laila.

Enrique sighed. “Let’s just hope I’m wrong about this clue.”

He placed a small projection sphere on the coffee table. When he touched it, two images appeared side by side. They appeared to be mnemo scans of pages in textbooks or from museum displays.

The first image showed a square, golden plaque. On it was a winged woman. From the waist up, she was human, but waist-down, she was a bee. The next image showed a faded painting of a Hindu goddess, bees radiating from the halo of her heavy crown.

“Bee deities are not uncommon throughout mythology,” said Enrique. “The image you see here is a representation of the Thriae, a triplicate bee goddess—a recurring motif of trinity goddesses—who had the gift of prophecy. The other is a representation of Bhramari, a Hindu goddess of bees. Am I pronouncing that correctly, Laila?”

“It’s Bruh-mah-ree,” she corrected gently.

Enrique made a note and continued, “Where the honeybee motif gets interesting and potentially connects us to France is that honeybees were emblematic of Napoleon’s rule, though the reasons for why he chose his reign to be represented by a honeybee are contentious.”

The image on the wall changed to show a bee embroidered on a rich, velvet robe.

“Some say that when he moved into the Royal Palace at Tuileries, he didn’t want to allocate any resources to redecorating, but also didn’t want the French Royal emblem of the embroidered fleur-de-lis everywhere, so he turned it upside down. When he did that, it looked like a honeybee, and there you have it.”

Séverin sat up straighter. “Do you think Roux-Joubert has some connection to Napoleon?”

“It’s possible,” he said. “Napoleon did lead multiple campaigns throughout North Africa and the Middle East to explore the area. He had a corps of at least two hundred experts, including multiple linguists, historians, engineers, and delegates from the Order of Babel who provided a range of Forging services. Their discoveries”—he paused to press the mnemo bug and change the image—“were fascinating.”

The next image showed a slab of dark rock, covered in what looked like rows of text.

“In 1799, that corps of explorers discovered the Rosetta Stone, and sparked a worldwide interest in ancient Egyptian artifacts, with many of the Forged instruments or objects going straight to House Kore. Bees were sacred in ancient Egypt as well because they were said to grow from the tears of the sun god, Ra. But I think the other reason they held such interest to the Order of Babel was because of their honeycombs.”

“Honeycombs?” asked Laila. Honeycombs were delicious, but hardly the kind of ancient item she imagined would capture the interest of the Order.

“I didn’t think of it until I remembered something Zofia had said.”

“Me?”

Spots of color appeared on Zofia’s cheeks.

“You were the one who mentioned the perfect hexagonal prisms of honeycombs.”

“What’s so great about a hexagon?” asked Hypnos.

“Geometrically speaking, hexagonal prisms are the most efficient shape because they require the least total length of wall,” said Zofia, her voice rising slightly. “Honeybees are the mathematicians of nature.”

“This,” said Enrique, changing the display yet again, “is a hexagon.”

“I,” said Hypnos, clearly bored, “am a human.”




Séverin’s jaw fell open. “I see it.”

“See what?” demanded Zofia and Hypnos at the same time.

Séverin stood. “Extend the lines and you get—”

Enrique smile was grim. “Exactly.”

“You get what?” demanded Laila, but then the image on the wall changed, and she saw what formed when the lines of a hexagon were extended:




Laila felt a cold thud in her heart. She recognized that symbol in the blurred images of the necklace chain. In her hands, the pendant felt a touch colder than the rest of the necklace.

“It’s a hexagram,” said Enrique. “We know it as an ancient symbol that’s taken on all kinds of meanings throughout various cultures, but it also—”

“—is the crest of a House in the Order,” said Séverin, staring at the six-pointed star. He absentmindedly rubbed his thumb along the long scar on his palm. “A House that was supposed to be dead.”

Hypnos gripped the armrest. “You don’t think—”

Séverin cut him off with a nod. His eyes looked hollow.

“The Fallen House has risen.”





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