The Gilded Wolves (The Gilded Wolves, #1)(40)

Clotilde allowed them almost one perfect week. Milky tea and biscuits in the morning. Warm hugs in the afternoon. Pheasant shimmering in golden fat for dinner. Cocoa just before bed. Two feather-down beds down the hall from the other two children.

And then, before the week ended, Séverin had heard Clotilde and Envy fighting behind closed doors. Séverin had been on his way to her tearoom. In his hand were flowers that he and Tristan had spent all morning picking.

“I thought they were heirs!” Clotilde yelled. “You said this was our chance to earn back a place!”

“Not anymore,” said Envy, his voice heavy. “One has an immense fortune, though he won’t see a penny of it until he comes of age.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do? Feed and clothe them on that measly allowance from the Order? This week’s meal cost a king’s ransom! We can’t go on this way!”

Finally, Envy sighed. “No. No, we cannot.”

That was the end of milky tea and biscuits, of warm hugs in the afternoon, of shining pheasant, of cocoa in bed. That was the end of “Mama,” for now she preferred to be known as Madame Canot. Séverin and Tristan were relocated to the guesthouse. The other two children no longer sought them out. The only blessing was that Tristan and Séverin were given a tutor from the university. And as it was all he was given, Séverin abandoned himself to it.

After Madame Canot moved them to the guesthouse, Tristan cried for weeks. Séverin did not. He did not cry when Christmas dinner was only for Envy and his wife and children. He did not cry when Envy’s daughters received a silk-eared puppy for a present, while Tristan and Séverin received a scolding for keeping their narrow, chilly rooms unkempt. He did not cry at all.

But he watched.

He watched them fiercely.



* * *



SéVERIN STARED AT the bone clock.

He’d moved it from its original place on his bookshelf to his desk to help him concentrate. Behind him, late afternoon sun poured through the tall, bay windows of L’Eden.

It had been two weeks since they’d uncovered a few precious pieces of verit stone and the Horus Eye location from the catalogue coin. In three days, they would leave for House Kore’s Spring Festival celebration at Chateau de la Lune, House Kore’s country estate. On those sprawling grounds hid the Horus Eye, the rare artifact that could see the Babel Fragment.

The acquisition that would change everything.

And yet one fact kept pressing at the back of his skull … Enrique and Zofia had reported that a man had been waiting for them in the dark of the exhibit. That fact haunted all of them. Tristan, especially. Not that this particularly worried Séverin. Tristan was always the most terrified out of them, always concerned they were on the brink of death, always looking for a way out of it. Only this time, Séverin hadn’t indulged him.

Last night, they’d been laying traps in the garden, trying to catch whatever creature had been killing off all the birds.

“You’re sure it’s not Goliath?” Séverin had asked.

“Goliath would never do that!” said Tristan, blushing. “But forget the bird killer. What about the man that almost killed Enrique and Zofia? Séverin, this acquisition isn’t safe.”

“When was it ever going to be safe?”

“But no one was after us before. They could hurt us. Really hurt us.”

Tristan scowled. “I bet it’s Hypnos. I bet he’s leading us into a trap. How else would someone know we’re after the Horus Eye?”

“He swore an oath of no harm. He can’t break it.”

“But what about someone working with him?”

“Our intelligence cleared all of his guards.”

“But obviously there’s someone—”

“—likely from House Kore,” said Séverin. “They’ve had teams dedicated to finding their matriarch’s missing Babel Ring, and they might have mistaken Zofia and Enrique for the thieves.”

“You’re too excited to see what’s right in front of you! This is different! And you’re not listening to me!” shouted Tristan. “Honestly, it’s all about your ego. What’s the point of this—”

“Enough.”

Tristan had flinched. Only when Séverin looked down did he realize he’d slammed his hand against the desk. But he couldn’t help it.

“What’s the point?” Séverin had repeated. “The point is getting back what was taken, but you don’t get that, do you? You were always used to Wrath, but I wasn’t. I used to have a family, Tristan. A fucking future. What do I have now?”

Tristan opened his mouth, but Séverin spoke first. “I have you, of course,” he’d said.

Tristan eyed him warily. Tense. “But?”

Séverin turned his palm skyward, eyeing his silver scar. “But I used to have more.”

Tristan had stormed out. When Séverin had gone to talk to him, he’d found the Tezcat door locked. No matter how many times he knocked and twisted the gilded ivy leaf … he couldn’t get through.

Apparently, Tristan wasn’t the only one angry with him. Laila was acting unusually distant, and no matter how many times he ran through their interactions, he wasn’t sure what he’d done.