The Gilded Wolves (The Gilded Wolves, #1)(15)

“Are you?” asked Tristan softly. “Serious?”

All this time, they’d been after an artifact that would be a bargaining chip to the Order. An artifact that would force the Order to restore his lost inheritance. Instead, he had information that was either a dream or a death sentence … depending on how he played this game. Séverin reached for his tin of cloves.

“I don’t know enough to be serious,” he said carefully. “But I’d like to know enough to have options.”

Tristan swore under his breath. The others looked shocked, even Zofia blankly stared into her lap.

“This information is dangerous,” said Tristan. “We’d be better off if you just threw the compass at House Nyx’s door.”

“Dangerous, yes, but the most rewarding things are,” said Séverin. “I’m not saying we approach the Order tomorrow and tell them we’ve got hold of one of their secrets. I have no intention to rush anything.”

Enrique snorted. “Slow and painful death is far better than getting it over with quickly, sure.”

Séverin rose to his feet. For a decision like this, he didn’t want to be eye level. He wanted them to look up. They did.

“Think about what this could mean for us. It could bring us everything we wanted.”

Enrique dragged his palm down his face. “You know how moths look at a fire and think, ‘Oooh! shiny!’ and then die in a burst of flames and regret?”

“Vaguely.”

“Right. Just checking to be sure.”

“What about Hypnos?” asked Laila.

“What about him?”

“You don’t think he’ll notice what went missing? He has quite the reputation for … zealousness when it comes to his possessions. And what if he knows what the compass really contained?”

“I doubt it,” said Séverin.

“You don’t think he could figure it out?” asked Laila.

“He can’t. He doesn’t have you.” When Laila’s eyes widened, he caught himself and gestured to the whole group: “All of you.”

“Awww…” said Enrique. “What a sweet sentiment. I shall take it to my grave. Literally.”

“Besides, Zofia and Enrique made a perfect fake artifact. There’s no way Hypnos can trace it back to us.”

Enrique sighed. “God, I’m brilliant.”

Zofia crossed her arms. “I am too.”

“Of course you are,” soothed Laila. “You’re both brilliant.”

“Yes, but I’m more—” huffed Enrique.

Séverin interrupted them with two sharp claps. “Now that we have the piece, let’s examine it thoroughly. We make no plans beyond that. We make no speculation about what comes next. We don’t do anything until it’s clear what we’re working with. Understood?”

The four of them nodded. Just like that, the meeting was concluded. They rose slowly. Enrique was the first to head to the door.

He paused in front of Séverin. “Remember…”

And then Enrique hooked his thumbs together and made a strange waving motion with his hands.

“You’re a bird?”

“A moth!” said Enrique. “A moth approaching a flame!”

“That’s a very alarming moth.”

“It’s a metaphor.”

“It’s an alarming metaphor too.”

Enrique rolled his eyes. Behind him, Zofia smuggled more cookies on her plate before brushing past him.

“How are the Sphinx masks coming along?”

Zofia did not break her gait or even turn as she said, “Why?”

“Might need them sooner than later,” Enrique called after her.

“Mmf.”

When Séverin turned back to the room, he went still. Though the room was nearly dark, whatever light clung to its corners now raced to illuminate Laila. It seemed the world couldn’t help but want to be near her … every beam of light, pair of eyes, atom of air. Maybe that’s why sometimes he couldn’t breathe around her.

Or maybe it was memory that choked him in those seconds. Memories of one night they’d both sworn to put behind them. Laila had. It was fate that, of course, he couldn’t.

Laila practically stormed toward him. Usually, she had a habit of being relentlessly radiant. She hated seeing someone hold an empty plate and always thought everyone was hungry. She knew everyone’s secrets even without having to read their objects. At the Palais des Rêves, she turned that radiance into an allure that earned her star billing and the name, L’énigme. The Mystery. But this evening, she spared him no smile. Her dark eyes looked like chips of stone.

Uh-oh.

“No tea and sympathy for me?” he asked. He lifted his hand. “I am wounded, you know.”

“How thoughtful of you to delay the hour of your death so that I might witness it firsthand,” she said coldly. But the longer she looked at his wrist, the more her shoulders softened. “You could’ve been hurt.”

“It’s the price one pays for chasing wants,” he said lightly. “The problem is, I have too many of them.”

Laila shook her head. “You only want one thing.”