The Gilded Wolves (20 page)

“The logarithmic spiral based on the golden ratio,” she said. “One of nature’s favorite equations.”

“Ah!” The matriarch clapped her hands. “You have a fine eye, Baroness. My late husband imbued everything in our home with meaning. Though it is a shame I could not keep the grounds beyond the greenhouse open … that is truly a sight.”

Zofia felt the barest stab of guilt. It was her fault, after all, that the greenhouse couldn’t be accessed.

“A shame,” Zofia agreed.

“More so for my landscape artist and his colleague, though,” whispered the matriarch. “Pity what happened to them.”

The ebony doors opened. Damp fog rolled in through the entrance, sitting low on the hematite river. Zofia knew she was supposed to move, but she
couldn’t. One of the matriarch’s servants leaned in to whisper something in her ear. Zofia felt all the air stolen from her lungs.

She gulped down a breath, the stays of her corset straining. “What?”

The next person in the greeting line tapped their foot. The din of the music played louder. A servant appeared at her elbow.

“What did you say about the landscape artist and his colleague?”

Applause
thundered through the hall, drowning out her words. Fire-breathing acrobats had just appeared, leaping down from the ceiling like bolts of lightning. Sulfur stung the air.

“I do hope to see you at the Winter Conclave in Russia!” called the matriarch over the din.

The person behind Zofia kicked at her ankles, and she tripped forward just as the servant took her—rather forcefully—by the elbow.
A gift favor was placed in her hand. The matriarch turned to the next person in line.

It happened so fast.

The doors opening, then closing. The boat rising up to meet her
and gliding over the silent, Forged water. There was no one else in the boat with her.

Pity what happened to them
.

She felt as though someone had grabbed her thoughts in a fist and squeezed. What happened to Enrique and Tristan?

From the dock, Zofia walked past the verit stone structure and handed in her invitation. The guards bid her a good evening. She waited for a moment before S
é
verin’s marked transport drove up to where she stood.

“Straight for two kilometers, stop at the second row of sycamores,” she said to the driver.

Whatever had happened to Enrique and Tristan, she would find out soon enough.

Night blurred
outside the carriage window as the driver took strange twists and turns about the property, driving them through secure roads with no other transports in sight. Zofia thought about the matriarch’s last words and about the others until the carriage slowed to a stop.

“Clear on all sides,” said the driver. “Go now.”

Zofia stepped out of the carriage. According to the stolen House Kore blueprints,
there was an old Tezcat door situated between two unmarked trees that would grant her access directly to the estate gardens.

As with any Tezcat door, Zofia assumed she’d be looking for an object that looked like a mirror. But when she walked to the trees, there was nothing there. Just two sycamores side by side, and all around, the ever-hungry dark. Zofia turned around. The road stretched out
on either side. Beyond it loomed a shadowed meadow. She was entirely alone with no path in sight. Maybe it was too dark, she thought. Zofia reached for a particular pendant on her
necklace. Phosphorous was one of the only materials that could reveal a Tezcat. She snapped the phosphorous pendant between her fingers, and it emitted a pale, blue light. Zofia looked up, blinded by the sudden radiance.

A shadowy figure was standing inches from her.

A scream caught in her throat. She stumbled backward, reaching for the pendants at her necklace, when she noticed the shadowy figure before her did the same. Zofia went still. Slowly, her eyes adjusted. The light in her hand was not alone. It was twinned by the light in front of her, held in the hands of the shadowy figure.

Zofia was looking at
her reflection.

She was looking at herself.

Fascinating
, thought Zofia. The technology of how to make a Tezcat door that did not look like a mirror had been lost when the Fallen House had, well,
fallen
. But now she was looking at proof of what they had been capable of making … not just pieces which could camouflage doors, but actual portals that pinched together the distance between one place
and another.

Zofia reached forward, her fingertips trembling. At her touch, the Tezcat door yielded, bending and absorbing her hand. On the other side, she could feel the same air, the brush of ivy on her skin. Zofia dropped the phosphorous pendant on the ground, crushing it beneath her heel.

On the other side, Zofia found herself in the gardens. Without any guests, the gardens looked eerie.
The music of the instruments sounded haunted and lopsided. Broken glasses littered the ground. Gold peeled off the tree bark. Just beyond the trees, Zofia could make out the abandoned greenhouse. A noxious smell rose over the place, and her heart shuddered. Zofia double-checked for any guards, but S
é
verin’s predictions held true: They’d been stationed to the garden perimeters in the event of inhaling
any toxic fumes.

And then, a hand on her shoulder.

Zofia jumped.

“Shh, it’s just me.”

Laila
.

Zofia turned to face her and then frowned. “What happened to your costume?”

She was wearing half a blouse and a skirt that sat too low on her hips. It looked far more comfortable than what the other women were wearing.

Laila laughed. “This
is
my costume.”

“Oh.”

But then, the corners of Laila’s
lips turned downward. “I heard something when I was hiding. I think Enrique and Tristan might’ve gotten hurt.”

Laila’s lower lip trembled. She started walking toward the greenhouse, and Zofia followed.

“Everyone in the servants’ hall was talking about what happened at the gardens. There were two men covered in bandages. And … and one of them was wearing Enrique’s costume.”

Zofia’s breath knotted
inside her. But there was nothing she could do or say. Either they were inside the greenhouse and safe.

Or not.

She tore the outer sheath of her dress, then ripped it in half. One for Laila, one for her. They wrapped it like a veil around their heads as they got closer to the greenhouse. Even with the veil, the fumes still stung her eyes.

The doors were open. Laila looked at her, hope written
all over her face.

But Zofia was not certain. An open door didn’t mean Enrique and Tristan had done that to welcome them. The matriarch might have ordered the doors opened to allow the greenhouse fumes to dissipate.
Zofia clenched her hands.
Focus
. She started counting what she saw around her. Two doors. Fourteen bars of iron. One moon. Seven linden trees. Four gargoyles hanging off the greenhouse
roof, their cheeks pulled in menacing smiles. Six statues beneath six darkening oaks, stone eyes unblinking.

Three steps until the door.

Then two.

Laila went in first, knife out. Inside, the windows were silhouetted with light.

Everything here was burnt down to the ground. They shuffled slowly over the floor of the greenhouse, watching for some slip or dent, some indication of a
door
when
someone coughed in the shadows. Laila darted forward, throwing someone from the shadows onto the floor of the greenhouse. It was a police officer with a scarf tied around his head. Laila snarled, raising her knife.

“You…” she said. “You must have been one of the men that hurt them. I’m not sorry for what I’ll do next.”

The police officer waved his arms, his speech panicked and muffled. Zofia
felt the thrum of vengeance, the ache of it raw in her heart. They’d hurt Tristan and Enrique. Her … her
friends
.

Then the guard tore open a small gap on his towel.
“—waitdontkillme!”

The man braced his elbows on his knees, his face red. He looked up at them, a faint grin on his face.

Enrique
.

“Though I’m delighted you’d avenge me, there’s really no need.”

Enrique whistled, and Tristan stepped out of the shadows. Tristan looked at Zofia, who was dressed up in silk and velvet, then Laila, who was dressed in … less. Tristan blushed furiously, and Enrique threw the towel at his face.

“You’re such an infant.”

Tristan scowled, but the expression faded, replaced once more with that pinched look of terror. He’d looked like that ever
since the violet candy had released him from the grips of poison. Not that Enrique blamed him. Any brush with death would have left him shaking. Tristan was never at ease outside of L’Eden, and this acquisition in particular had him spooked. While they’d been waiting to return to the greenhouse, Tristan had fidgeted nonstop, nearly destroying an entire rose bush because he kept tearing out the petals.

“I thought you were
dead
!” said Laila, running to them and crushing them in a hug.

Zofia did not move, but she tugged at the edges of her dress.
Enrique saw her glance at him, then back down at the ground, her eyes shining. She didn’t have to run to them. He knew.

“That violet candy saved us,” said Enrique. “Tristan got poisoned somehow. I think the mask was faulty and let in some of the fumes.”

Zofia looked up. “It wasn’t.”

“I know they’re your inventions, but there could always be a mistake,” he said. “I hate to be the one to inform you of this, Zofia, but you
are
human.”

“Then why do you call me ‘phoenix?’”

Enrique couldn’t argue with that.

Beside him, Tristan’s shoulders slumped.

“So what happened?” asked Laila.

“I think the guards must’ve gotten a whiff of the fumes, and so
they bolted to raise the alarm,” said Enrique. “Two guards ended up unconscious and blistered, so we switched out our clothes and have been hiding until an hour ago.”

Laila touched his face. “I’m glad you’re both safe. Now let’s get to the vault. It’s nearly midnight. Did you find the door?”

“Yes,” said Enrique. “Except we couldn’t come in until the fumes had gone down enough that we could walk
inside with only the towels. I wasn’t going to take a chance with the masks after Tristan got hurt.”

Tristan swept aside the plant detritus, revealing a flat, metal door.

“Everyone ready?” asked Enrique. “Minus Tristan, of course.”

Tristan was usually fine with playing lookout when it came to acquisitions, but as he opened the flat door, his hands trembled.

“Be careful,” said Tristan.

“Just
think about what we’ll do when we finish,” said Laila lightly. “Hot cocoa?”

“Oooh … and cake,” added Enrique.

Even Zofia smiled.

“Can Goliath join too?” asked Tristan.

The three of them groaned.

As the door opened, a lightless staircase spiraled out below, yawning into the darkness.

“Honestly,” muttered Enrique as he hoisted himself down. “Why can’t Goliath be on a leash? He’s nearly the
size of a cat.”

“I can hear you,” scolded Tristan.

“
Good
. Start thinking about tarantula leashes.”

The staircase twisted off to the side and seemed to stretch out for nearly a kilometer. After a while Enrique looked up to see how far they’d gone and whether they could still see Tristan. It was too dark. And it didn’t help that the staircase was wet. As he walked, his shoes slipped out from
underneath him.

Laila shivered. “It’s
freezing
here!”

Enrique agreed through chattering teeth.

They were approaching the bottom of the staircase. Enrique had expected the staircase to lead down to the grand library, but this place looked more like a gigantic atrium. Wet cave walls glistened in a rough, oval shape. Roots dangled above them. When he breathed, a slick, mineral scent coated his
throat. At the center of the atrium, a round pedestal protruded like a boulder. Three metal sticks poked out of it. They reminded him of levers, though he couldn’t imagine why they would be there. He couldn’t even tell if that’s what they were. There was no light, save for the small flare Zofia held out, which barely cast more than a puddle of light around them.

“Where’s the library?” asked Laila.

Zofia waved the flare. It spread across the cave walls, then disappeared.

“A tunnel,” breathed Enrique. “Maybe it’s down there?”

He was still looking down the tunnel when he took his foot off the staircase and touched the ground. Hardly a second had passed
before he felt it … a tremor in the earth. Enrique took a step back, until both feet were firmly planted on the last step.

“Do you feel
that?” he asked, his voice suddenly high.

“Do you
see
that?” retorted Zofia.

She pointed up ahead. In the tunnel, a torch flared. The light of its fire caught on the outlines of an amber door.

“That must be the entrance to the library,” breathed Laila. A huge grin broke out on her face, and she leapt down the last two steps.

“Wait, Laila—”

There was something strange about the floor. As if
it had
read
their presence. But he couldn’t stop Laila in time. She landed with both feet on the ground. That same tremor returned, shaking the stairs this time. Enrique tripped, his arms flailing as he landed on the hard earth. Zofia fell beside him, her flare rolling across the ground.

Light—far too grand to belong to Zofia’s pendant flare—streamed across the floor.

Slowly, Enrique lifted
his gaze. The tunnel was gradually brightening. Where there had been one torch, now there were hundreds. And they weren’t alone. That tremor belonged to something … a great stone ball rolling through the tunnel. With each rotation, it caught fire from the torches, blazing hot and illuminating the stone atrium. Enrique scanned the rest of the atrium. A grooved, spiral path wrapped around the room,
winding to the center.

Enrique pushed himself off the ground. “On second thought, I’m completely fine with the dark and cold.”

Laila grabbed his and Zofia’s wrists, tugging them to the other side of the atrium.

“If we just move out of its trajectory, then it can crash into the wall, and we run to the tunnel and get to the door,” she said. “It’s not as if the floor is going to—”

The floor snapped.

Enrique’s shoe snagged on a crack in the ground that had not been there a moment ago. The crack spidered across the stone floor, as if it were nothing more than a pane of ice. Enrique fell hard. He scuttled backward, only for his hand to slip.

Inches from his fingers was a plummeting drop. An icy river flowed beneath the ground, rushing dark and roaring. The floor plan must have been Forged to
fit together like a puzzle piece, framed above a river so that any trespassers would either die by fire or by water. The only good thing that could be said about the fireball moving closer was that at least he could see what was around him.

“We’re moving!” called Zofia.

She was sprawled on a narrow slab of rock not too far from him. Laila stood on the other side, lightly balancing on a piece
of the floor no bigger than a dining plate. Far in the tunnel, the fireball gained speed, following a corkscrew pattern that would soon catch up to them.

Enrique glanced at the river. His position had changed. He watched as the room slowly turned. All of the shattered pieces, including the ones they perched on, drifted in a slow rotation around the pedestal in the center of the room.

“All defensive
Forged things legally have a somno!” he shouted over the din of the river and the fireball. “We just have to find it! That center pedestal must be the key. Laila, you’re getting to the pedestal first. Be ready to tell us what it says!”

Laila nodded. She leapt again, gracefully springing from one slab of rock to another, closing the distance to the pedestal.

Enrique cast about the room. This
was not like the auction’s holding room. There was no onyx bear with its teeth caught around someone’s wrist. No stone body to skim his hands over and find the divots and markings of a release. He was too far away from the cave
walls to see if they had any writing. And the rock slabs, as far as he could tell, were nothing but rock.

“Chin up!” called Zofia.

“This really isn’t the time for tired
motivational phrases!”

“
Enrique.
There’s writing up there.”

Enrique looked up. On their way down the steps, he hadn’t noticed anything above them but roots dangling from the ceiling. With the light from the fireball, he could see more of it, and there was a pattern hacked into the roots … a precise arrangement of letters. The rock he stood on spun faster, and Enrique had to pivot on his heels,
trying to suss out the words—

E? Mut? Surg?

He squinted.

He looked back at Zofia, thinking she might be able to help, but she was sitting cross-legged on the rock, as comfortable as if she were inside L’Eden’s stargazing room. Her gaze was unfocused as she looked around her, her fingers slowly tracing a spiral in the air. Ahead, Laila was getting close to the pedestal.

Enrique’s rock moved
faster, spinning around the room as it drew ever closer to the pedestal. He craned his neck up, catching the letters as fast as he could, until he saw them fully.

EADEM MUTATA RESURGO

“What does it say?” called Zofia.

The language was Latin. And the phrase somewhat familiar, though he could not tell where he had heard it …

“It means …
although changed, I arise the same
.”

“Zofia! Enrique!”
shouted Laila. She waved her hands, pointing at the pedestal. “There’s thirteen levers with numbers on them! They
seem attached to some kind of … dial? I think? I … I can’t see it anymore, but you’re going to be coming up on it soon!”

Levers
.

That was a somewhat heartening fact because it meant it could be controlled.

“If the levers have dials, what if that means there’s a numerical pattern
here?” asked Zofia.

“Like a key,” said Enrique, nodding.

If they put the right numbers into the levers, the fireball should stop and the atrium would right itself.

“Although changed, I arise the same,” he whispered to himself before risking a glance at the ball of fire. It had doubled in size and now resembled a flaming carriage that would hit them within minutes.

Zofia dragged her finger
through the dirt as she sketched something.

“Think, think,” muttered Enrique, stamping his feet.

He’d noticed the layout of House Kore’s gardens … the pieces of sacred geometry hanging from the trees, even the great spiral on the marble floor of its entrance room. But it didn’t help him with the pattern. Arising out of the same thing? But remaining the same? Did it mean something that
built
upon itself—

“A spiral,” said Zofia.

“What?”

“We’re moving in a spiral.”

He blinked. “Obviously, Zofia—”

“But we’re moving in a
specific
spiral,” she continued. “It matches the pattern of House Kore’s floor. And the spiral fits with the riddle!
Although changed, I arise the same
. It’s a logarithmic spiral. That means the angle between the tangent and the radius vector is going to be the same
throughout
all
points of the spiral—”

His head was spinning, and not just because his square of floor seemed to be moving faster.

“But it would have to be something repeating,” said Zofia, talking fast now. “Something that has ancient roots too. A sequence of some kind—”

Enrique followed the spiral. Even the tremor in the ground seemed to move to a particular
rhythm
. Rhythm that might have
been found in nature, or poetry. They were closing in on the levers now. He could see the jutting pedesetal.

Up ahead, Laila was crouched on a slab of stone, her body angled toward the pedestal with the thirteen levers.

“Don’t jump!” called Zofia.

Just then, the rocks lurched.

Laila teetered. Her rock tipped, canting sharply to one side. She rolled down the slab, just narrowly catching onto
the edges. Her feet dangled over the icy river. A livid tremor ran through the atrium, as more light splashed onto the cave walls. The fireball picked up speed, and with it … momentum. From where Enrique stood, the fireball verged on leaving the tunnel behind and pummeling straight through the atrium.

“I’m fine!” called Laila, heaving herself onto the slab.

But her rock had been dragged into
the churn of the spiral … and if they couldn’t stop the fireball in time, it would roll into the atrium, and Laila would be caught directly in its path.

“The riddles are a pattern; the pattern is a key,” murmured Enrique aloud. Every breath he sucked into his lungs felt stolen. The room grew hotter, and sweat ran down his back. “Thirteen levers. A riddle. A key. Moving floor.”

Slowly, an image
shifted together in his head. There was only one historical sequence he could think of that fit the pattern.

“The Fibonacci sequence,” he said, his head pounding.

Enrique only remembered the sequence because he had tried to impress a lovely Italian girl in his linguistics class. Her fianc
é
had not been amused, but he hadn’t forgotten the numbers …

“Zero, one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen,
twenty-one—” said Zofia rapidly. “Each number is formed by adding the two previous numbers. It fits the logarithm riddle.”

The pedestal swam into view, thirteen ancient levers and just enough space for two people to stand.

“It’s getting closer!” shouted Laila.

Enrique’s head shot up. The fireball moved closer and closer, and directly in its path: Laila.

She had hoisted herself just far enough
onto the piece of rock so she wouldn’t fall, but she was stuck.

“We’ve got the code!” said Enrique. “Hold on!”

When the pedestal with the levers came closer, Enrique nodded at Zofia.

“On my count, we leap,” he said. “One, two,
three
—”

He jumped. For a moment, everything was weightless. The ground fell away, and a mouth of darkness opened beneath him. He strained, reaching forward, his breath
gathered in a tight knot until his fingers hit the rocky ledge. Zofia stumbled beside him. Wrenching himself upright, he grabbed her by the arm. Zofia clung to him as the ground pulled back from their feet, plunging into the icy river below.