The Gilded Wolves (The Gilded Wolves, #1)(12)

“Tristan!” scolded Laila. “What did I just tell you about spiders?”

Tristan lifted his chin. “You said not to bring him into your room. This is not your room.”

Faced with Laila’s glare, he shrank a bit.

“Please can he stay for the meeting? Goliath is different. He’s special.”

Enrique pulled his knees up to his chest and shuddered. “What is so special about that?”

“Well,” said Zofia, “as part of the infraorder of Mygalomorphae, the fangs of a tarantula point down, whereas the spiders you’re thinking of have fangs which point and join in a pincerlike arrangement. That’s rather special.”

Enrique gagged.

Tristan beamed at her. “You remembered.”

Zofia did not find this particularly noteworthy. She remembered most things people told her. Besides, Tristan had listened just as attentively when she explained the arithmetic spiral properties of a spiderweb.

Enrique made a shoo motion with his hands. “Please take it away, Tristan. I beg you.”

“Aren’t you happy for Goliath? He’s been sick for days.”

“Can we be happy for Goliath from behind a sheet of glass and a net and a fence? Maybe a ring of fire for good measure?” asked Enrique.

Tristan made a face at Laila. Zofia knew that pattern: widened eyes, pressed-down brows, dimpled chin, and the barest quiver of his bottom lip. Ridiculous, yet effective. Zofia approved. Across from her, Laila clapped her hands over her eyes.

“Not falling for it,” said Laila sternly. “Go look like a kicked puppy elsewhere. Goliath can’t stay here during a meeting. That’s final.”

Tristan huffed. “Fine.” Then he murmured to Goliath, “I’ll make you a cricket cake, dear friend. Don’t fret.”

Once Tristan had left, Enrique turned to Zofia. “I rather sympathized with Arachne after her duel with Minerva, but I detest her descendants.”

Zofia went still. People and conversation were already a cipher without throwing in all the extra words. Enrique was especially confusing. Elegance illuminated every word the historian spoke. And she could never tell when he was angry. His mouth was always bent in a half smile, regardless of his mood. If she answered now, she’d only sound foolish. Instead, Zofia said nothing, but pulled out a matchbox from her pocket and turned it over in her hands. Enrique rolled his eyes and turned back to his book. She knew what he thought of her. She had overheard him once. She’s a snob.

He could think what he liked.

As the minutes ticked by, Laila handed out tea and desserts, making sure Zofia received exactly three sugar cookies, all pale and perfectly round. She settled back in her chair, glancing around the room. Eventually, Tristan returned and dramatically plopped onto his cushion.

“In case you’re wondering, Goliath is deeply offended, and he says—”

But they would never know the tarantula’s specific grievances because at that moment a beam of light shot up through the coffee table. The room went dark. Then, slowly, an image of a piece of metal appeared. When she looked up, Séverin was standing behind Tristan. She hadn’t heard him enter.

Tristan followed her gaze and nearly jumped when he saw Séverin. “Must you creep up on us like that? I didn’t even hear you come into the room!”

“It’s part of my aesthetic,” said Séverin, dangling a Forged muffling bell.

Enrique laughed. Laila didn’t. Her gaze was fixed on his bloodied arm. Her shoulders dropped a bit, as if she was relieved it was only his arm that was bloodied. Zofia knew he was alive and well enough, so she turned her attention to the object. It was a square piece of metal, with curling symbols at the four corners. A large circle had been inscribed upon the middle. Within the circle were small rows of stacked lines shaped like squares:




“That’s what we planned for weeks to acquire?” asked Tristan. “What is it? A game? I thought we were after a treasure map hidden in a compass?”

“So did I,” sighed Enrique.

“My bet was that it was a map to the Fallen House’s lost stash,” said Tristan.

“My bet was on an ancient book the Order lost years ago,” said Laila, looking terribly disappointed. “Zofia? What’d you think it’d be?”

“Not that,” she answered, pointing at the diagram.

“Looks like all of us were wrong,” said Tristan. “So much for blackmailing the Order.”

“At least because all of us were wrong, none of us have to play test subjects to whatever strange poison Tristan makes next,” Laila pointed out.

“Touché!” said Enrique, raising a glass.

“I resent that,” said Tristan.

“Don’t call it a loss yet,” said Séverin, pacing. “This diagram could still be useful. There has to be a reason why the patriarch of House Nyx wanted it. Just like there has to be a reason why all of our intelligence was on high alert with this transaction. Enrique, care to enlighten us on what this diagram is? Or are you too preoccupied with praying for my immortal soul?”

Enrique scowled and closed the book on his lap. Zofia glanced at the spine. He was holding the Bible. Instinctively, she leaned away.

“I’ve given up on your soul,” said Enrique. He cleared his throat and pointed at the hologram. “What you see before you might look like a board game, but it’s actually an example of Chinese cleromancy. Cleromancy is a type of divination that produces random numbers that are then interpreted as the will of God or some other supernatural force. What you see in this silver diagram are the sixty-four hexagrams found in the I Ching, which is an ancient Chinese divination text that loosely translates to ‘Book of Changes.’ These hexagrams”—he pointed at the small squares composed of six stacked lines in an eight-by-eight arrangement—“correspond to certain cryptic words, like ‘force’ or ‘diminishing.’ Supposedly, these arrangements translate fate.”