One thing was certain: he’d had far too much to drink. He hadn’t planned on it—hadn’t planned on drinking at all. He had never been so much as tipsy in his life. But Sephone’s brother, who had reappeared, was persuasive, and liquid courage was plentiful, and when Sephone had gone off with Cass, there had been little else to do but watch them vanish into the shadows.

The shadows that had turned out to conceal very little. Perhaps Cass had known that Dorian would be watching and had deliberately chosen the biggest and nearest of the glass houses to declare himself in an illusion of privacy. Many of the lanterns had been extinguished, but the green light emanating from within was impossible to disguise, as was the moonlight bathing the domed house in a rich, silver glow. He had seen them embrace. As had Brinsley and his friends, no doubt, and anyone else looking that way.

Judging by the way Sephone had responded to the lumen, Dorian’s earlier prediction that she would one day forget him seemed to be bearing fruit. Why that made him want to reach for the nearest bottle and drain it in one swig when he should have been happy for her, he didn’t understand. Or, at least, he didn’t want to. His thoughts were muddled, especially after how she’d appeared tonight.

As it was, he had drunk far too much, hoping to erase the memory of what he’d seen. Brinsley made it easy for him, making sure that the most potent liquors were within arm’s reach and supplying him with a steady stream of conversation. Dorian hadn’t had much to eat at dinner, with Lord Viorel’s many questions, and soon he felt distinctly light-headed. When he stood, he swayed like a sapling in a gale.

“Lord Adamo.” Brinsley grabbed his arm and guided him back to the bench. “You might want to sit for a while.”

“I was going home,” Dorian replied, frustrated that his legs were not working properly and at the same time wanting more of what Brinsley had given him, for he was still thinking about Sephone and Cass. “It’s late.”

“I know, my lord, but believe me, at this time of night, Nyx is crawling with the wrong kinds of folk. Stay here and have some food, and I’ll let you go when I’m convinced you can swing a punch in a straight line.”

Dorian nodded begrudgingly and reached for a piece of bread, trying not to glance at the glass house, now partially obscured by the advance of the gray.

“You know,” began Brinsley, who had obviously noticed the look, “I will admit to wondering what the relationship is between you and my sister.”

Apparently, the man could be protective of a sister he didn’t want, just as their parents had been proud of a daughter whose existence they were yet to fully acknowledge. He had heard them talking about her at dinner; she must have made an impression on them. With everything he knew of her, that wasn’t a surprise.

“There’s naught between us but friendship,” he replied, now glad that Cass and his gift were far away. “I saved her from a kidnapping attempt back in Nulla, and because I had need of a mem, I offered to take her with me.”

“By take you mean steal, of course.” But Brinsley’s tone was friendly.

“You didn’t meet her former master. He could be . . . cruel.” Dorian’s thoughts were sluggish, and he frowned. He probably shouldn’t be sharing this with Sephone’s brother. Not when he still had suspicions about his loyalty.

When Brinsley pushed a cup of watered wine into his hand, Dorian shook his head.

“Thank you, but I’ve had enough.”

“What about a spot of forgetting?”

Dorian looked at the silver-capped vial Brinsley held out to him and was sorely tempted. To forget Lida and Emmy—Sephone and Cass—for even an hour. It would be pure bliss, a relief from the torment inside his head . . .

But only while it lasted.

You don’t understand, Miss Winter. I don’t just want the memory numbed. I have had the mind-bleeding performed twice, and the relief only lasts a few hours at most before I remember everything, and it is twice as horrible as it was before.

He shook his head again, more decisively this time. “Nay.”

Brinsley shrugged and slipped the vial into his coat pocket. “My sister is a powerful mem, Lord Adamo. Why would she be in need of saving?”

There was a faint tug at the back of his mind, but Dorian could see Brinsley’s concern. “They drugged her, so she couldn’t use her gift.”

“Drugged her? With what?”

“Helmswort.” The tugging became an outright nudge. He ignored it. “It affects the powers of alters.”

Brinsley looked appropriately horrified. “I had no idea.”

“As you say, she has a powerful gift.” Vaguely remembering how the man had tried to involve Sephone in the family business, Dorian spoke as sternly as he was able. “When I am gone, you must protect your sister, Brin. Keep her powers hidden, or she will be in danger.” Maybe he should tell the man about the webbing and what it meant. “There’s something else you should know—”

Brinsley leaned forward expectantly.

“Brin?”

Sephone stood before them.

“Can we go home, please?”

She was ashen-faced and trembling with cold. “Where’s Cass?” Dorian asked, trying to keep his voice empty of emotion and as sober as possible. He removed his coat and slipped it around her shoulders. She accepted it without protest. Since she would notice the touch of his calor gift, it was the best way to keep her warm.

“He went back,” was all she said before looking at Brinsley again. “Will you take me home now?”

Brinsley glanced at his friends. “I usually stay longer than this.”

“It’s all right,” Dorian interjected. “I’ll walk you back, Sephone.”

“Are you sure you’re up to the task, Lord Adamo?” Brinsley sounded doubtful, but he had a slight smirk.

“I’m fine.”

When Dorian stood, he was pleased to find that the world remained upright, and so did he. Brinsley handed Sephone her shawl from the bench, and she draped it around her neck, still fidgeting with her gloves. Whistling to Jewel to follow them, Dorian set off with Sephone beside him. Wrapped in a haze of misery, by the look of it.

Had something happened between her and Cass? But from all he’d seen, she’d welcomed his advances. Why, then, did she look as if tonight had proved to be the worst night of her life?

When they were clear of the others and on the lantern-lit path, he stopped her with a gentle touch of her arm. “Is something wrong, Sephone?” He was surprised by how much the alcohol emboldened him. Was that what his gift felt like to others?

She met his gaze uneasily, still plucking at the silken fingertips of her gloves. Several strands of hair had come loose from their pins, framing her face. A white blossom remained tucked just above her ear. “Everything’s fine, Dorian.”

“I know you better than that.”

“I’m all right . . . truly.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“You have no right to ask that.” She was correct, for he’d hurt her more than anyone. “But nay, he didn’t hurt me.”

She started walking again, and he tried to resign himself to the fact that she would not confide in him as she had the day before. Considering how much alcohol now coursed through his veins, it was probably a good thing.

“Is your face cold,” she began conversationally, “without the beard?”

“Every part of me is cold,” he joked, touching his face instinctively. He had shaved on a whim, but once he was done, he had to admit that he liked the result. He looked younger, and with his eyes more lined and shadowed than ever, that would hardly be a bad thing. Not even Lida had seen him without a beard.

When he looked at Sephone again, she was offering him back his coat.

“Nay,” he shook his head. “Keep it.”

She draped it around her shoulders again, but this time, she didn’t put her arms through the sleeves. There was silence between them as they reentered the city, now quiet and empty. Every lantern glowed white, a result of the glittering powder the Letheans used to color their fire. The sound of his boots and Sephone’s heeled shoes was uncomfortably loud, and he was thankful for Jewel’s presence, especially since he doubted he could throw a punch, let alone in a straight line.

When they reached the door to Sephone’s parents’ house, she turned to face him. She handed him his coat, and he tried not to register how it held the warmth of her body.

She toyed with the edge of her gloves. “Thank you, Dorian.”

“Your gloves,” he said, watching her fidget, and suddenly understanding what had rattled her. “Cass asked you, didn’t he? To take away his memories?”

“He told you?” Her eyes filled with pain.

“I guessed.”

“It isn’t what you think,” she said.

“Why should it matter what I think?”

“It matters to me.”

It might have been easier to disentangle the meaning of her words if he hadn’t drunk so much, but perhaps not. Her expression was unfathomable.

After a long moment, she raised her head. “It’s not so easy to do as he asks. Or what anyone asks, for that matter. I’m losing control . . . of my gift.”

His heart leaped to his throat. “The poison?”

“Nay, it hasn’t advanced.” She swallowed. “My gift is getting stronger. I thought it would plateau when I reached adulthood, but every week it grows. I used to be able to manage it. But now sometimes when somebody touches me, I can barely hold back from plunging into their mind. It’s like my gift is a magnet, drawn to a person’s deepest memories and to the very things that are poisoning me. And I don’t know how to stop it.”

He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her, but he wasn’t wearing gloves, and he didn’t want her glimpsing the tumult in his mind. It had been almost brazen of him to touch her yesterday.

“Sephone,” he said instead. “I’m going to find a way to save you, I promise.”

Was that why she was so miserable? His mind clouded. Because with her gift the way it was, she couldn’t have the future she desired with Cass?

If you save her, you will only be saving her for him. He pushed the thought down. When had he become so focused on himself? It was his grief for his family that had made him that way, but he had allowed it to consume him.

I’ve been so blind! In dwelling so completely on everything he’d lost, he’d not stopped to consider what he’d gained.

And now it was too late.

Sephone was still looking at him, probably wondering what was gripping him. He shook himself and spoke to the wolf, who had come up beside him.

“Jewel, stay here with Sephone.”

“Nay,” Sephone objected. “She misses you. Keep her with you, just for tonight.”

He wanted to argue with her, but she reached out and brushed his arm.

“It’s all right. I’ll be fine.”

It suddenly dawned on him that she could tell he had been drinking. Shame took hold of him. But she was right, of course. Lady Xia’s men were watching the house for any signs of Rufus and Asa Karthick, or Silas Silvertongue. Lord Grennor had, at Dorian’s suggestion, doubled the guard on the walls. Things were stirring up north, but they were safe for now.

And yet, Jewel aside, he could not bear to leave her alone. It was for the best, then, considering his weak resolve, that she was the one to leave.

“Goodnight, Dorian,” she whispered, and the door opened with a soft click to admit her. And then, before he could gather his addled senses enough to wish her goodnight in return, she was gone.

“I know, I know,” Dorian said as he climbed the stairs to his room, leaning heavily on the banisters while the nimble Jewel bounded up ahead of him. “I shouldn’t have drunk anything. I’m an idiot.”

The wolf paused at the top of the stairs and eyed him with a mixture of concern and unmistakable disapproval. Giving her a placating pat, he saw a sliver of light peeking out from under the door to the small room Spartan occupied. The Mardell brothers would be in their room, guarding the Reliquary as he had instructed earlier. Neither had any interest in attending the festival.

He knocked on Spartan’s door. A few seconds later, it opened wide, and behind the acolyte, Dorian saw several candles burning on a desk cluttered with papers.

“Dorian, Lady Jewel,” said the boy, apparently unfazed by their appearance. “Come in, I’ve just been working on a few things.”

Dorian stepped into the room, noticing the mullioned windows, the carefully made bed, the pack standing upright in a clean-swept corner, and the crowded desk covered with the stubs of spent candles. Had Spartan been writing to the Mysterium?

“You’re up late,” Dorian remarked. Jewel curled into a ball in the only armchair, next to the unlit hearth.

“I usually am. I find it easier to sleep if my mind is exhausted.”

“You and me both. Isn’t that a bit of a fire hazard?” He waved his hand at the papers, precariously close to the darting flames.

Spartan smiled. “Aye, probably. But something tells me you didn’t come to talk about fire hazards.” He tilted his head, and once again, Dorian saw the flash of auburn stubble on his scalp, this time with a hint of gold.

Iridescence?

Why had he come? As he stood there, the boy’s words returned to him.

Pain is everywhere. It is at the very heart of this world. It was woven into its fibers since the beginning, when the natural order of things was first undone, only to unravel more and more with every subsequent tug on the pattern.

He knew all about pain. He knew about sleepless nights and restless days and a crushing emptiness that could never be filled, not even with the pleasures that kept the rest of humanity content. He knew exactly what kind of grief had driven Sephone’s parents to erase their past . . . to remove their memories of their beloved only daughter.

Hollow was the only word he could think to describe their expressions. Sephone might be optimistic and hopeful, but somewhere along the way, the mind-bleedings had stolen her parents’ souls. Was that what she’d warned him about? That when something was taken from the heart of a person, it not only left behind a cavity, but a void that expanded, devouring everything else in an insatiable thirst for nothingness? To reduce everything else to what it was—the absence of everything good?

. . . from everything I have seen, forgetting leaves a vacuum. A hole that slowly absorbs every fragment of good in a life along with the bad. If you could erase the past, what would you put in its place?

Sephone had said that.

His head began to throb. Once more, the alcohol loosened his tongue. “If I use the Reliquary on my past,” he said, speaking slowly now, “if I decide I don’t want to remember anything, I will erase myself, won’t I? Like Sephone’s parents?”

“Aye, if you choose to do so,” said Spartan simply. “The body cannot live without the spirit, and man is naught without his soul. Eventually, you would become no more than the dust from which you were formed.”

It wasn’t so different to how he felt now. In fact, it was difficult to believe that he still had a soul. He had thought that part of him had died with his family. But if that were true, why did he still hurt so badly? Animals could feel pain. Though only humans tortured themselves with the how and the why, the what and the what for of existence.

“That doesn’t mean,” continued Spartan, “that you are condemned to hold on to your pain forever, Dorian. Heartache—and the cravings that follow—can kill a man. But if he can forget himself, there is a chance for his soul.”

. . . it is what you do with that pain—who you turn to and what you turn away from—that matters. How you respond to your heartache will chart the very course of your life . . .

“I don’t know what to do with this heartache.” His tongue was certainly loosed. He suddenly realized that he hadn’t shut the door, and he moved to close it. “I thought the Reliquary would give me all the answers, Spartan. But it’s only given me more questions.”

“Questions are good,” pronounced the acolyte. “And for every question, I promise you that there is an answer. No matter how long it takes for you to find it.” He lifted his head. “Perhaps you might consider what it is that you truly wish to erase. Your past . . . or the shame and guilt that accompany it.”

How about both, was his first thought. He didn’t need Sephone’s gift to know that shame and guilt were his daily companions. A whole suite of if onlys kept him awake at night.

If only I had not made such powerful enemies . . . if only I had a normal profession . . . spent more time with my family. If only Emmy had not come to see me . . . Lida hadn’t come after us.

If only I had fought harder to save them.

In the beginning, he had grieved for his family. And he still missed them—desperately. But what made it worse was that—

“You blame yourself for their deaths, Dorian.”

He looked at the boy. Could he read minds?

Spartan went on, “You cannot change the past. No one can, not even the Reliquary. Wrong remains wrong, and truth remains truth, even if you forget it.”

“But what if there’s no other option? What if I can’t live with what’s been done to me?” And what I’ve done, his conscience prompted him to add.

“Then you must find the one who can.” Spartan passed his hand over the flame of a candle that was about to splutter out. “This quest is not only for you, but also for Sephone. For just as there is only one person who can save you, there is only one person who can save her.”

“How do you know she’s dying? Did she tell you?”

“Nay,” said Spartan, with a cryptic expression. “A time will come very soon, Dorian, when you will face an enemy you cannot defeat. You will hold the lives of those dearest to you in your hand, but you will not be able to save them. In that hour, you will be given a choice between life and death. That choice will come to define everything about you.”

“Are you some kind of prophet, then?”

“Of sorts,” Spartan replied with a boyish grin. Then he turned serious again. “One thing I know is this: you and your guilt are fighting for occupation of the same space. I can assure you, in that battle, there is only ever one winner. Only one of you can continue in the same body, for shame does not share territory with joy.”

Dorian gazed at the acolyte, whom he had considered, quite honestly, to be a bit of a pest on their journey south. An odd peace descended over his mind. Or perhaps that was merely the aftereffects of the alcohol. There was no pain anymore—or at least, it wasn’t like it had been. His chest was no longer heavy, and for the first time in nearly two years, he could breathe again, and freely.

For some strange reason, that made him want to run. Without answering Spartan, he stumbled back to his room.

In the morning, he woke with a pounding headache to a matching rhythm on his door. Dimly aware he’d slept in his clothes from the night before, he hastened to the door and opened it. On the other side was a man he recognized as one of Xia’s guards.

“My lord, Lady Xia has bid me deliver urgent news.”

“What news?” By all the old gods, he didn’t want to deal with the end of the world and a hangover at the same time.

“Arch-Lord Lio has been assassinated. And Memosine and Lethe are at war.”