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“Precisely. Actually, he's an interesting one. Lust is one of the Seven Deadly Sins, and they gained powerful because of that label.”

“So, he's a Divine Curse?”

“No, God didn't create the Curse of Lust, he just called it a sin. So, that makes it an Echo Curse. He's also a charming man.” He gave me a stern look. “If I have anything to do with it, you will never cross paths.”

I laughed and took his hand. “I have no interest in lust. The Curse, I mean.”

Tristan lifted my hand and kissed it. “I'm glad to hear you say that.” He led me into the next room.

A glass case in the center of the second room held a collection of objects on velvet pedestals: a small bronze instrument I couldn't identify, a shard of carved stone with a Sigil on it, a length of knotted cord, and what appeared to be a medieval reliquary I found myself examining before I remembered I had good reasons to be careful around reliquaries.

“They're under glass for a reason,” Tristan said.

“So I assumed.”

He took my hand and led me across the room.

A statue near the far wall caught my attention. It was carved from dark stone, and the subject was an androgynous figure in robes, head slightly bowed, one hand extended palm-up. At their feet was a cascade of smaller carved figures dancing around the main.

“Alistair hates that one,” Tristan said, passing it without stopping.

I followed him around a corner and into the third gallery, which was smaller and more densely hung. He went to stand before a painting on the left wall. In it, Tristan was the main subject, but it wasn't a portrait. Behind him and to either side, a group of monks in dark habits clustered. A monastery formed the background, with a rugged hillside rising to one side.

Even if Tristan hadn't told me the painting was of Stylos, I would have recognized the architecture from my vision. “Tristan, this couldn't have been painted in the 12th century. No one in the Byzantine Empire painted on canvases at that time.” I looked closer. “This looks more like something from the 16th century.”

Tristan stood before it for a long moment before he spoke. “It's too accurate for someone to have painted it from imagination. “

“Maybe they knew you, and painted the rest from the accounts of Stylos.”

He shook his head. “No, the faces of the monks are as I remember them. The monastery is perfect, down to that bush there. This has details only someone who was there when I was would know.”

“Do you know how the Conclave acquired this piece?”

Tristan frowned. “An auction.” He pointed at one of the monks. “There's the reliquary.”

I peered closer. Indeed, a monk cradled the reliquary in both hands. The front panel was unmistakable. And whole.

He pointed at the next monk, who held a length of knotted cord. Another held the shaft of an instrument with an orb on one end. A fourth monk held something small, flat, and silver.

“Those are the tools they used for the ritual.” Tristan's expression locked down. “Whoever painted this wasn't just at the monastery. They were at the ritual.”

I didn't say anything, because there was nothing I could say to soften what the painting was telling him—one of the monks had lived, at least until the 16th century.

He straightened, and his eyes moved to the left edge of the composition, where a monk stood apart from the others. He was younger than the others and, around his neck, on a cord, hung a small piece of silver.

The rendering was too small for me to be certain. The object could have been a crucifix, a devotional medal, any one of a dozen things a monk might wear. But it was the right size, silver, and it was in a painting containing the reliquary.

“Tristan, is he wearing the silver piece?” I pointed at the monk.

Tristan leaned closer. “It could be the piece.”

“Do you remember him?”

“He's the one who freed me.” Tristan continued to stare at the monk. “After the ritual failed. He was the only one who came to unlock the manacles. If not for him, I would have died. His name was Fabian.”

“So, Curses can be killed.”

“No, vessels can be killed. If that happens, the Curse finds a new vessel.”