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“Look at that!” I exclaim, pointing to a display of medieval swords. “They look so heavy.”
“They’re lighter than you think,” Nikolai replies. “But it’s the craftsmanship that is astounding. The details of the designs, and the thousands of hours of labor that must’ve gone into them.”
He points, and my gaze follows until it rests upon the intricate designs etched into the metal. Nikolai is right. The designs are breathtakingly beautiful. But as much as I marvel at the beauty, an uneasy feeling creeps into the pit of my stomach.
These objects were created for violence and destruction. The beauty they inspire is nothing like the horrors they once inflicted.
Just like the world Nikolai is entangled in.
And now I am too.
“I wanted to show you this painting. It’s part of a special exhibition.”
He guides me toward a breathtaking masterpiece depicting a battle between two ancient armies. The painting takes up the length of the wall, and a wooden bench is situated in front of it.
Within the painting, the detail is breathtaking. Weapons gleam in the fading light of the battlefield. Limbs twist in agony. Thecloser I look, the more details I notice in this elegantly stunning display of raw butchery.
Each brushstroke captures the raw power and chaos of the scene. It feels both alive and tragic.
But all I can think of is another painting, locked away in the dark. A single chrysanthemum suspended above a body of water—brutish, violent, and filled with unmuted anger.
“It’s amazing what people are capable of doing to each other,” I whisper. “And the beauty that those horrors can inspire.”
Nikolai tilts his head, his eyes drawn to the small detail of a knight atop a horse. The knight has his lance high in the air, pointed at his enemy fallen on the battleground. The other man holds his hand up in a plea for mercy even though he is seconds away from death.
“Beauty and horror are often different faces of the same coin,” Nikolai whispers. “One cannot exist without the other.”
His gaze is a thousand miles away. And as I stare at him, I wonder just exactly what he means by that.
And I wonder if he’s talking about us.
31
EDEN
Slowly,I notice a man alone across the room, seemingly engrossed in a display of armor in a tall case. But there’s something off about him. Each time I glance away from a display, he’s there in my periphery. Not close but visible, sending the occasional furtive glance in our direction. He never lingers too long in one spot or gets too close to the other visitors.
“Who is he?” I ask, my pulse quickening. “Are we in trouble?”
Nikolai hesitates, then leans in close so only I can hear. “Lanzzare.”
“Who?” I ask in confusion. I’ve never heard of a name like that.
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Why is he watching us?” I ask, trying to keep my voice low and steady. “Will he hurt us?”
“He won’t dare,” Nikolai reassures me. “Not here. But stay close, Eden.”
Nikolai touches his phone, and in a few minutes, our driver, Anton, appears. He lets the man see him. No words are exchanged, but the man gives a curt nod before he walks away. That’s when I realize he’s not alone.
Another man—one of Nikolai’s men who wears his long hair in a ponytail—trails behind him.
“Can we leave?” I whisper. Suddenly the allure of the museum is gone. And instead, all I can feel is the fear that we’re trapped.
Nikolai looks at me, and for a fearful moment, I’m afraid he’ll say no. But then, he nods and we make our way toward the exit.
As we near the museum exit, my heart pounds like a drum solo in a heavy metal ballad. I glance at Nikolai, who appears outwardly calm but alert. He tightens his grip on my hand, a silent reminder of his promise that he won’t let anything happen to me. The sun is sinking low in the sky as we walk out onto the steps. I resist the urge to glance behind me. Instead, I focus my gaze forward, trying to appear as if nothing is wrong.
