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ALL THAT MATTERS
1902—New York
When Jianyu came to, alarm bells were still clanging, and he understood exactly what had happened. He should have expected such a betrayal, and even now, with his head aching, he wondered how he had not. He should have suspected something was amiss when the one called Logan—Nibsy Lorcan’s newest acquisition—waved him on and allowed him to lead the way up the narrow, winding steps to the Mysterium. He should never have turned his back on the other boy. He understood his mistake the moment Logan had attacked. Jianyu’s legs had been taken out from beneath him. Pain had exploded through his head, and his vision had gone black.
From the look of things, he had been dragged behind one of the bookcases, but Jianyu refused to be grateful for the small mercy Logan had shown him. The doorway in the ceiling above had disappeared. In its place was the bronze seal that had been forged to depict a mystical hand. Jianyu had no way to tell whether Logan was still up there—whether he was trapped with the artifact he had sought or whether he had managed to escape with the ring before the chamber had been sealed.
The back of Jianyu’s head continued to ache, and he felt more than a little unsteady as he pulled himself to his feet. He had no idea how long it had been, no sense of the time that had passed. What he did know was that he had to leave, now, before the Order was released from their sanctuary below. Before anything else could go wrong.
He also knew that he had failed again.
The sound of footsteps and shouting came to him suddenly from the hall beyond, and Jianyu understood something more—he was trapped. Without hesitation, he opened the light and managed to wrap it around himself before a group of robed white men entered the room. He recognized some of the men from the gala and, before the gala, from Khafre Hall and the Metropolitan. Then their numbers parted, and a white-haired man stepped through. It was the same man who had taken the stage that night in Khafre Hall, the same one who had trapped Esta. The High Princept.
The fact that they could not see him did not stop Jianyu from drawing farther back into the corner of the room. Outside, the night was already growing deeper. He no longer felt the heat of the strange ritual magic that had seared his skin during the Golden Hour, but his skin still felt raw. He should go—he should escape now, while the door was open and the way was clear—but something stayed him. He could not leave without the ring.
The Princept hurried up the steps and began some complicated ritual to open the portal overhead, as the others waited. Once the door was open, they climbed, one by one, disappearing into the chamber above. Again, Jianyu considered his options, and then he began to move toward the ladder himself. If Logan was still trapped with Jack Grew, there remained a chance to retrieve the Delphi’s Tear. He would not leave such a chance untaken.
He climbed the staircase soundlessly, but when he entered the Mysterium, he saw no sign of Logan. The men were all red-faced and shouting.
“I don’t know how the maggot managed to get the seal open!” Jack railed. Two of the robed men were flanking him and had taken him by the arms. “My designs were perfect. I accounted for every possibility.” He tried to jerk away from the hold the men had on him.
“Clearly not every possibility,” the Princept said. “The artifact is gone. We gave you our trust. You knew what regaining the Delphi’s Tear meant to the Order—knew how essential it was for rejuvenating the Brink. Without the artifacts, we cannot perform the ritual at the Conclave. Without the ritual—”
“The ring couldn’t have gone far,” Jack said, cutting the Princept off. He nodded toward the open door of the balcony. “Even if the protections I placed failed, there was only one way for the maggot to escape. You should be able to collect the artifact easily enough from a dead man.”
The Princept gave a small nod, and two of the men went out onto the open balcony to check. The other men all waited for their report.
“There’s no one below,” one of the robed men said, glaring.
“That’s impossible,” Jack said, still struggling against the other men’s hold on him. “I saw the thief jump.”
“Search him,” the Princept demanded.
But Jack tore away from the men and shoved past the Princept to the balcony, where he leaned far over the stone railing. As the men followed, cornering Jack, Jianyu inched closer to examine the large golden tree that seemed to be growing in the center of the room. In its tangled gilded branches were five open spaces, likely for the five artifacts. He stepped out of range as the men dragged Jack back inside and began to search him for the missing ring. Jianyu waited, silent and ready to take the artifact the moment he could. He wished he could rush the men himself, wished that for once he could let the anger that burned within him spill out… but no. He would wait and he would remain patient, because he understood it was more important to win. It was as he had told Cela. Anger could wait. It would have to.
“It’s not here,” another of the robed men said finally, leaving Jack disheveled and panting.
Jack tore himself away from their grip. “I told you—”
But Jianyu did not wait to hear any more of their talk. If the ring was not there to be taken, if Logan’s body was not below for all to see, then it was pointless to stay. He began to move back toward the staircase. He would go while he could. He would find Viola and Cela, and they would figure out what to do next. But he had barely reached the opening in the floor when another of the Order’s robed men began to climb the stairs.
When the man entered the chamber, the others turned for the news.
“Did you find the maggots responsible?” the High Princept demanded.
“No…” The robed man’s jaw clenched. “But we have another problem. Newton’s sigils are gone.”
By the time Jianyu extricated himself from the building, night had arrived. With the glare of the streetlights in this part of the city, it was simple now to keep the light open around him, but his feet could not seem to carry him fast enough. Once he found himself on the broad stretch of Fifth Avenue, though, he turned immediately west and began to run toward the building where Cela had been positioned. He did not allow himself to think about what might have happened to Cela or Abel if Viola had not made it in time. But if Paul Kelly’s men had harmed his friends…
He was barely two blocks away when he saw them, standing on the corner of Twenty-Third Street. Viola, Abel, and Cela were all staring up at the building he had escaped from minutes before. Cela’s deep-brown skin had taken on an almost silvery glow in the light thrown by the streetlamps, and Jianyu was struck suddenly by her beauty—the curve of her smooth cheek and the way her hair was curling around her temples, the strength in her narrow shoulders and the graceful, nimble fingers she had lifted to her mouth.
The direction of his thoughts made him nearly stumble and lose hold of the light.
Cela Johnson was not for him. He could offer her nothing—not safety, nor home, nor the promise of a future. He had his path set before him, and he would follow it through until the end. And if that thought made him feel suddenly more tired than he ever had been before? It did not matter. It could not matter.
Jianyu waited until he was closer to release his hold on the light. He did not let himself acknowledge—or revel in—the relief he saw in Cela’s eyes. But he could not stop his heart from racing when she threw her arms around him, tucking her face close to his neck.
“I thought we’d lost you again,” she whispered, hugging him a moment longer before she finally released him and stepped back.
