The Gilded Wolves (The Gilded Wolves, #1)(19)

Enrique didn’t know much about the patriarch of House Nyx, but Tristan had once slipped that Hypnos and Séverin had been playmates, back when both boys were raised as heirs to their Houses. One quick glance at Séverin confirmed they hadn’t been in contact since then. Séverin’s expression was stony, his eyes drawn. His thumb dragged up and down the silvery scar on his palm.

“What if he…” Enrique couldn’t bring himself to say the words “kills us.”

Séverin seemed to guess his meaning anyway. “Hypnos was always clever,” he said slowly. “But if he tries anything, I have dirt on him that could destroy his standing with the Order the moment he lays a hand on us.”

“True, but one can’t exactly savor vengeance when one is dead.”

Séverin pulled down the brim of his hat. “I have no intention of dying.”

When the carriage stopped, Séverin leaned forward to unlock the door. As he did so, Enrique caught a glimpse of the letter held in his bandaged hand. He frowned.

It was blank.



* * *



HYPNOS HAD NAMED his residence Erebus, after a place in Greek myth where nightmares bloomed next to red poppies. Ridiculous. Enrique found his nickname, Hypnos, just as pretentious. No one would have named an infant after the god of sleep. At least, for the sake of that poor child, Enrique hoped not.

While most of the Houses of the Western world used and collected Forging objects made from both affinities, House Nyx collected treasures of a particular strain: those that showcased an affinity of the mind. House Nyx had objects that spliced memory, soaked dreams, gathered someone’s will in a tight fist, and brought forth vivid illusions. Mind was the most regulated form of artistry, used as much in pleasure houses and entertainment venues as it was for prison camps. It was the only affinity that universally required registration, whether or not a person chose to hone that talent. Some mind affinity techniques were even banned. And for good reason. Until about twenty years ago, mind-manipulation objects had been especially popular in the Southern states of the Americas where wealthy landowners kept slaves.

Up ahead loomed the entrance to Erebus. At either side stood two lions carved of diorite, and above the threshold shone a milky jade strip of verit stone. Like the verit entrance at the Palais Garnier, the stone could detect any weapon or harmful Forged object. The only way to neutralize its effect was to carry verit stone on one’s person, like two magnets repelling one another. Supposedly, there was nothing in the world like verit, although Enrique had recently come across a treatise on a North African artifact that made him wonder otherwise.

“He’s known for his illusions,” said Séverin, interrupting his thoughts. “Focus on one thing, and don’t lose yourself in his tricks.”

The door swung open. Without hesitating, Séverin walked between the two lions. When he passed beneath the verit stone, it glowed bright red and the stone lions growled, their heads whipping toward him. A bulky guard appeared at the entrance.

“Reveal your weapon,” he said.

“My apologies,” said Séverin mildly. He withdrew a small knife from his pocket. “I always keep one on hand for cutting apples.”

Enrique kept his face blank. Séverin was lying.

“You’ll have to pass through the verit entrance again—”

“We’re already late,” said Séverin. “Patriarch Hypnos won’t like that, and I can assure you there’s nothing else on my person. Here, I’ll turn out my pockets in front of you.”

Séverin made a show of lifting the bottoms of his trousers and insides of his sleeves. When he got to his pockets, a card fluttered to the floor. The guard picked it up, his eyes widening.

“Ah, and that’s a credit for two free nights at the hotel I own. You may have heard of it. It’s called L’Eden.”

The guard had certainly heard of it.

“Why don’t you hold on to it and let me through? Or I could take it for safekeeping as I go through a silly entrance yet again?”

The guard hesitated, then waved Séverin through the doors. Enrique followed after him without incident. He never had reason to carry a weapon.

Erebus, he soon discovered, was aptly named. No sooner had they crossed into the hall than it shifted. One moment, he glimpsed parquet floors, ebony pillars covered in golden filigree, a sumptuous rug close to his toes. He should have kept his gaze on the floor, but a flicker of movement distracted him. He looked up. Instantly, the room transformed into a wildwood. Silver dusk seeped between frosted tree branches. The chandelier dissolved into a snowdrift. What pieces he could see of the carpet looked sugared. Cold touched his skin. He could smell it. The mineral tang of snow. The inside of his nose burned from cold. He was in a world of ice and sugar. Blood spatter on white silk. No, not blood. Poppies. Poppies blooming, shriveling, budding in glyph-like patterns. Secrets just beneath the petals and the snow, if he only—

A voice broke the illusion. “Goodness, how rude of me.”

The images melted. No more snow or poppies or sugar.

Enrique was on his knees, hands splayed on the scarlet rug as if he wanted to shred it apart. In front of him, a pair of polished shoes. He looked up before he realized he should have stood first. The patriarch of House Nyx stared down at him.

Until now, he had only seen Hypnos at a distance. He knew the other boy’s skin, a deep umber like the rain-soaked bark of an oak tree. He knew the textured hair cropped close to his head. Even knew his strangely colored eyes, a blue so pale they looked like panes of frost. Hypnos was beautiful at a distance. Up close, he was just plain staggering. Enrique stumbled to his feet, hoping the other boy hadn’t noticed. When he looked up, Hypnos’s eyes looked darker. The pupils blown out, as if he was trying to take in all of him too.