The Gilded Wolves

by Roshani Chokshi

  “Duck!” hollered Séverin.

  The five of them ran to the end of their respective sections.

  “Ammit,” said Enrique, loudly.

  “What?”

  “That’s what that is,” he said. “The devourer of souls from Egyptian mythology.”

  “But we’re not in Egypt!” wailed Hypnos. “What’s it doing here?”

  “I’m guessing they brought it over to protect a powerful Horus Eye,” said Enrique.

  “Which means you must have found the true one,” said Séverin.

  The ground thundered. The snuffling sound of an animal searching for something filled the air.

  “If we went back and got the Eye, maybe it will disappear,” said Zofia.

  Hypnos choked back a laugh. “That’s your experiment, ma chère. Enjoy. I am not going out there.”

  “Not all of us have to,” said Séverin.

  He looked over his shoulder.

  Ammit breathed heavily, its head lowered, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Near its foot was the white feather that had fallen onto the ground. Ammit paced back and forth across that small section. The fur on its body bristled as it hunched protectively near the shelves.

  “It’s definitely guarding something,” said Séverin.

  Now all they had to do was lure it away from that thing.

  “You four go around the other side of the shelf and get to the section with the Horus Eye. When you’re close enough, signal me. I’ll jump out. Ammit will come after me. Then all you have to do is close the book and grab the Eye. Got it?”

  All of them began to creep to the other side of the shelf except one: Laila.

  “You’re far too fond of martyrdom, Majnun,” she said. “I’m not leaving you.”

  Yet, he thought.

  “It’s your grave, Laila.”

  “As long as it’s my choice.”

  The two of them peered through the cracks in the shelves. Zofia, Hypnos, and Enrique crept ahead …

  Ammit didn’t move. Its whole body was rigidly trained in Séverin and Laila’s direction. Zofia leaned forward, her fingers inches away from the book. Hypnos and Enrique crouched on either side of her.

  Then, Enrique met Séverin’s eyes, nodding once.

  Zofia reached for the book. Ammit’s neck twitched, as if it were about to turn. Séverin jumped from his hiding place.

  “Hungry?”

  The creature roared.

  Steam blew from its nostrils. It pawed the ground, then charged. The floor trembled. Objects rattled off the shelves. A ripe, putrid scent wafted from the creature, choking off the mineral scent of the air. Séverin braced himself, digging his heels into the floor. In the distance, he saw Zofia reach for both sides of the book, slamming it shut. Beside her, Enrique plucked the Horus Eye from the shelf.

  “Good-bye!” he shouted, waving.

  But Ammit kept charging.

  Séverin saw Zofia frowning, looking up, then looking back at the book. She opened it and closed it again, but nothing happened. He pushed away the panic. Sometimes Forging defense mechanisms took time. Just another moment and it would work. It had to work. Ammit ran closer. Séverin could smell its rank breath, like flesh left to curdle in the sun’s heat. He gagged. Ammit raised its paw, opening its mouth. Blood-flecked teeth shone in the light. At the back of its mouth was a blazing, sunken furnace in the precise shape of a feather that reminded him of a lock awaiting a key. Séverin paused. For a single moment, he took his gaze off Ammit, searching the floor for the white feather, which must be the key to triggering the creature’s somno. All he had to do was force the white feather into its mouth.

  But he had looked away from the creature a second too long.

  Its shadow engulfed him. Before he could throw up his hands, Laila dove from the shelves, shoving him out of the way just in time.

  He grunted, stumbling backward. Laila pulled his arm, dragging him behind another shelf in the same instant that Ammit charged into the wall. It snorted, shaking its head.

  “Feather,” said Séverin. “Get the feather.”

  Laila darted off to grab it. Seconds later, Ammit had freed itself from the wall. It reared back on its legs, turning to face the hall. Séverin crawled forward. Enrique and Zofia were holding spears they must’ve grabbed from a nearby shelf. Hypnos clutched the Horus Eye to his chest. Laila was closest to the creature. In her hands gleamed the white feather. Ammit eyed Laila like prey, tilting its head to one side. As if considering.

  The rest of the world seemed to fall away in that moment.

  Not her.

  “No … No no no,” Séverin rasped, forcing himself to stand. He waved his hands. “Over here!”

  But Ammit was not distracted.

  Laila’s gaze darted to Séverin’s, then back at the creature. She squeezed her eyes shut. There was no way she could get the feather to him. She held out her hand and the creature charged at her. Distantly, Séverin heard the others shout. He didn’t think he made a single sound even as every ounce of his body screamed. Ammit charged at Laila, pinning her down with a paw. Pain twisted across her face, but she fought back, thrusting the feather forward where it disappeared into Ammit’s mouth. Ammit’s head swung, blocking Laila’s face from view. A loud howl rumbled through the shelves, and then Laila’s hand fell slack on the floor.

  Séverin’s mind numbed at the edges, zeroing in on her fallen hand. It was silly how well he knew her hands. He knew her hands were always cold even when it was blazing hot outside. He knew there was a small burn on the tip of her index finger. He remembered because he’d been in the kitchens with her when she yelped after touching a scalding pan. Séverin wanted to call a doctor, a retinue of nurses, declare a war on pans if he could … but Laila refused.

  “It’s a tiny burn, Majnun,” she’d said, laughing off his panic.

  “I know,” he’d said.

  But I cannot stand to see you hurt.

  Ammit tossed back its head. The world turned weightless. Cracks showed through the creature’s body, the eerie blue of twilight. Then, in a burst of light, the creature vanished. But Laila didn’t stir on the floor.

  He rushed to her, gathering her body close. She felt too light in his arms. The others approached warily, but he didn’t turn.

  “Laila?” he called, shaking her.

  Open your eyes.

  Her head lolled to one side, and something in him snapped. He brought his lips to her ear and whispered, “Laila, it’s your majnun.” Your madman, he thought, though he did not say it. “And you will drive me well and truly mad if you do not wake up this instant—”

  She stirred, groaning. Then she opened her dark, fathomless eyes.

  “Thank God,” breathed Enrique, crossing himself.

  Zofia looked stricken and pale. Even Hypnos, who Séverin thought had only seen them as a means to an end, had tears in his eyes. Enrique helped Laila to stand, and Séverin stood too. He brushed himself off and straightened his suit. He didn’t trust himself to look in Laila’s direction.

  “Thank every pantheon of deities for Laila and Zofia because you two”—Séverin pointed at Enrique and Hypnos—“are useless.”

  Hypnos’s hand fluttered to his throat. “I was frightened. You know what fear does to one’s complexion?”

  “Enlighten me.”

  Hypnos blinked. “Well, I don’t know precisely, but it’s nothing good, I can tell you that much.”

  “We got the Eye?” tried Enrique.

  He turned, as if he was going to give the artifact to Hypnos when Séverin held out a hand.

  “Don’t give that to him,” he said.

  “Why ever not?” demanded Hypnos.

  “You’ll perform the inheritance test, then you may have your Eye—”

  Hypnos crossed his arms. “My conditions were—”

  “Acquire the eye and in return I will have my inheritance restored,” recited Séverin. “You never once specified that in acquiring the Eye, it had to be passed over to
your possession immediately.”

  Hypnos opened his mouth and closed it. Finally, he grinned. He wasn’t angry at all. In fact, he seemed relieved.

  “Touché.”

  Hypnos wandered off in search of the black box he’d placed in House Kore’s care. Minutes later, he returned with a heavy black box.

  “For you, my lovelies.”

  He took off the top. Inside gleamed five pairs of guard uniforms and hats. They pulled on the clothes quickly. Then, hats adjusted, they made their way to the exit separately.

  “I shall be at L’Eden day after next to honor my promise,” said Hypnos. His gaze rested on each of them, something hungry and searching in his gaze. “I look forward to being in the presence of another patriarch.”

  * * *

  THE STAIRCASE TO the greenhouse was a short distance away, and yet even that made Séverin impatient. He wanted to be on that step already. He wanted to be in L’Eden, wandering through his grand lobby, holding out his scarred palm for the two Rings test and watching the matriarch of House Kore’s face as she declared him blood heir of House Vanth. When he blinked, he saw the future poured out before him, rich and golden as mythic honey, each taste an edible prophecy—Tristan smiling, his pockets full of flowers; Enrique buried under the weight of books; Zofia and her spontaneous combustions; Laila, her heart’s quest satisfied, lounging across from him with a smile fashioned just for him. Pain lanced through Séverin and he winced at the sharpness of it. Unripe, untested joy. The kind that doesn’t know any better than to explode furiously behind the ribs. He didn’t know what to do with it. He wanted to hold it at arm’s length before it could devour any more of him, but then he felt Enrique tugging at his sleeve.

  “Zofia has a spear.”

  Séverin looked behind him. “Zofia, I said not to take anything but the Horus Eye.” He pointed at the spear. “You can’t keep it.”

  Zofia glared at him. “You stole a silver cloth and it’s in your jacket pocket.”

  Séverin considered this. “You can keep the spear.”

  “Not fair!” said Enrique. “I didn’t take anything!”

  “You’re getting a completely different reward.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Enrique dreamily. “Destiny. Deliverance. Dessert.”

  “No more debt,” added Zofia.

  “What will you do, Laila?” asked Enrique.

  “Oh, you know. I’ll go wherever my search takes me,” said Laila, with a secret smile.

  The others thought she was looking for the means to return home, her arms loaded with treasure. But Séverin knew what she sought. He knew that Paris was merely a stop along the way, and the thought folded his joy in half even as it steeled his resolve. If he let her, she could lay waste to his heart. What a foolish thought. She was Laila. The famous L’Énigme. Who was to say she’d even have him again?

  “What about Tristan?” mused Enrique. “What’s he going to do?”

  Zofia lifted her spear. “Build an army of spiders.”

  Everyone laughed, even Séverin, but his cheer had an edge to it now. At the top of the staircase, he pushed open the door.

  “Tristan?” called Laila.

  “We got attacked by a hippo!” shouted Enrique.

  Séverin didn’t move. He swept his gaze across the greenhouse. Something was wrong. Heavy fumes and veils shadowed the ground, moving slowly across the acid-scorched dirt. A black sheen caught Séverin’s eye. Mist rolled out of the way. A faint ringing built up in his ears. The sound of fear howling in the mind.

  “Tristan,” he said softly.

  Now the mist disappeared entirely, revealing a small garden chair dragged in the middle of the room. Atop it, his head lolled to one side, sat Tristan. And on his head, a contraption that haunted Séverin’s every nightmare. A pale metal diadem, blue light snapping back and forth. A Phobus Helmet. The words of Wrath flared through his head.

  Your imagination hurts you far worse than anything I could ever do.

  Under enough pressure, the mind might even … crack.

  Séverin tried to run to him, but Forged knives materialized in the air, a blade grazing his throat. A second later, the Horus Eye was torn from his hand.

  “Thank you, dear boy,” said a weak voice.

  Séverin slowly turned his head to the side. Roux-Joubert stood before him, thin and quivering. He dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief flecked with blood. A honeybee pin gleamed unmistakably on his lapel.

  “Though really, I should be thanking your friend here,” he said. He tapped the side of his own temple. “His love and his fear and his own cracked mind made it easy to convince him that betraying you was saving you. Though he did have some help from the lovely baroness. It was her very hands that led me to you.”

  Zofia slowly lifted her hands, horror clear on her face. Roux-Joubert must have slipped something on her … but how?

  Roux-Joubert bowed. “Thank you, Mademoiselle, for being such a willing participant. I do love an idiot girl.”

  From behind the garden chair, the Forged knives drifted toward Tristan’s neck.

  “Stop!” shouted Séverin.

  “You don’t wish to put him out of his misery?” asked Roux-Joubert mildly. “I must admit I was not always as, well, kind as I might have been. But if you wish him alive, then let us make a deal, Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie. According to Tristan, you are in contact with Hypnos, the patriarch of House Nyx.”

  Séverin said nothing.

  “I take your silence as agreement,” he said, with a terrible smile. “In three days’ time, you will meet me and my associate inside the Exhibition on Colonial Superstitions at midnight. At that time, you will bring me the Babel Ring of House Nyx. I already have House Kore’s, but now I desire the matched set … Do we have an agreement?”

  Tristan shook violently in the chair. His eyes were shut tight. One of the knives started to rotate, its point brushing the topmost button of his shirt—

  “Yes,” said Séverin, breathless. “Yes, I agree.”

  The knife halted.

  Beside him, Laila trembled with rage. “You’ll never find the Babel Fragment—”

  “Find it?” Roux-Joubert laughed. “Oh, my dear. I already know where it is.” He paused to cough into his blood-flecked handkerchief. “Three days, Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie. Three days to give me the Ring. Or I will burn down your world and everything that you love with it.”

  Roux-Joubert checked his watch.

  “You made a very detailed schedule, Monsieur. Best to be on that guard convoy now. I wouldn’t want you to miss your ride home,” he said, waving the stolen Horus Eye in his hand. “Not when you have so much to do.”

  “I—”

  “—will find me?” guessed Roux-Joubert, laughing softly. “No, you won’t. We have been hiding for ages, and none have found us yet. When the time comes, we’ll make ourselves known. After all, this is the start of a revolution.”

  PART IV

  From the archival records of the Order of Babel The Origins of Empire

  Mistress Marie Ludwig Victor, House Frigg of the Order’s Prussian faction 1828, reign of Frederick Wilhelm IV

  In olden times, there was some debate as to whether the Babel Fragments were separate and distinct artifacts, or whether they were once part of something greater … something that was then hewn apart and flung across the soils of different kingdoms.

  It is my belief that if they fell from the heavens separately, they were never meant to be joined.

  God always has His reasons.

  20

  LAILA

  Laila stood in the Seven Sins Garden.

  Tristan’s workshop deep within Envy looked as it always had. There was his old trowel, the wood gone dark and sculpted by the pressure of his fingers. An unfinished terrarium holding a single golden flower. The ruler Zofia had made him because he didn’t like uneven spaces between his plants. The packet of seeds from the Philippines, a gift from Enrique that Tristan was planning to plant in sum
mer. A plate from the kitchens where a thin film of mold grew over a cookie. He must have stolen it when she wasn’t looking, gotten distracted, and forgotten all about it.

  The tips of Laila’s fingers buzzed numb. Cold touched their edges blue. It was too much, her body protested. But Laila couldn’t stop. Roux-Joubert’s words about Tristan haunted her.

  His love and his fear and his own cracked mind made it easy to convince him that betraying you was saving you …

  Cracked mind. It was true that some were more susceptible to the effects of mind affinity Forging than others, but Tristan …

  Tristan hated Hypnos.

  Tristan washed blood from his palms every time he dug his nails into his skin.

  Tristan ached.

  Guilt grabbed her by the throat.

  All of yesterday had passed in a blur. The convoy. The switch. The guards in Tristan and Enrique’s disguise placed onto an infirmary bus, their clothes exchanged, and none the wiser. Then came the carriage ride home. Empty-handed and raw.

  In the carriage, Séverin looked each of them in the eye as he spoke:

  “This acquisition is not done. We’re going to get the Horus Eye back, and we’re going to do it before those three days are up. And when we do, we’ll rescue Tristan from this mess,” he said. “Our number one priority is finding out who Roux-Joubert is and where he’s hiding. We can’t save Tristan if we don’t know who has him.”

  Laila had come here to look for clues of Roux-Joubert’s location or identity. But she had ended up trying to answer the question of Tristan. She read everything in his workshop, but found nothing. Nothing but what she had known the whole time. His laughter. His shyness. His curiosity. His love. For all of them. Séverin, especially.

  Behind her, Laila heard the soft crunch of branches. She turned around sharply. Séverin had changed out of the guard uniform and into a dark suit. His hair was mussed, dark waves falling across his forehead. With the dawn rising around them, he looked like a stubborn vestige of night, and her breath caught.