“No, nothing,” I said. My voice sounded too high. Bel tilted his chin, skeptical. “At least you’re healed,” I added quickly.
“You do realize I’m a powerful suminaire, don’t you? On top of it, you used an entire jar of Morvayan Sacred Salve. The paste costs more than renting the Ode to a Fabled Forest Suite for a year.” He wiped a thick streak from under my ear.
It made little difference. The gold paste was matted in my hair and smeared over his bed. I couldn’t help it, I laughed.
“I’m glad you find this funny,” he said, but he grinned, too. After his smile died, his eyes remained on me, his expression unreadable.
Warmth spread up my neck.
“I like your room,” I said, reaching for something to fill the silence. Except I hadn’t actually looked at his room.
Slowly, I took it in. It was lined with books. The titles I could read were all geographies, the floor littered with stacks of maps and atlases. A collection of little globes sat across one shelf, along with a few old compasses, a small brass telescope, and other worldly knickknacks.
My fingers twitched, wanting to inspect every shelf. It wasn’t fair that he got to surround himself with all this treasure. I could easily spend days here.
I always thought Bel’s room would be modern and spare. Not this. His room reminded me of Bézier’s third-floor sitting room that I’d loved so much. Bel had professed to not care about a single destination, and yet this room was an altar to them.
The rest of the space was nice. Folded blankets, a worn leather chair. It even smelled like him: brass polish and orange oil. I inhaled a lungful.
Bel untied something at his neck—the cape he wore when he used his key.
“You got up and moved the hotel?”
“A midnight passed.” He shrugged. “It’s my job.”
I nodded as everything came crashing back: Café Margot, the salon, Zosa. My sister had looked right at me, mouthed my name. Another name came to mind. “Who’s Frigga?”
Bel stilled as if he knew something. “I think she helps Des Rêves, but I could be wrong.”
My fingers balled into fists. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Of course not.” He took my wrist, smoothing out my hand with his palm. “Would you relax?”
Relax? This was the closest I’d come to finding out how to get my sister back. I forced myself to take a deep breath. Bel was probably right. Zosa was still under contract. Besides, even if I found this Frigga, there was no way I could ask her about the aviary without revealing myself.
I picked at a snagged nail and thought of the aviary’s thick glass, the woman’s voice as I touched it. Closed indefinitely.
“I don’t understand why the aviary is always locked.” There had to be an explanation why Alastair closed it to guests, something driving him. “That day in the map room, you told me Alastair was greedy. What did you mean exactly?”
Bel shrugged. “I see his face every time I bring him an artéfact. Alastair’s fanatical about hoarding them. More so, I think, than he is about safety. Once I caught him lining up artéfacts across his office floor, counting them over and over, like a dragon counting its hoard of gold.”
“What about that signet ring you’re looking for?”
“You’re not going let it go, are you?”
“Did you honestly expect me to?”
He huffed a laugh. “Actually, I thought I’d have to explain it sooner. The truth is, I’ve searched for that miserable ring for years.”
Alastair must want it badly. “What does it do?”
“I don’t know,” Bel said. “I’ve been looking for it for so long that I can barely stand to think about it. And yet Alastair still expects me to find it.”
It must do something spectacular—but none of this explained the strictness around the aviary.
Bel swirled his thumb in a puddle of gold paste. “Now would you care to tell me how you came by the Sacred Salve?”
Here we go.
Bel listened, grim-faced, as I recounted the tale of the library bird. There was one more thing I wanted to ask, but I didn’t know how. The thought alone made me sweat.
“Are you all right?”
I must have looked anxious because he took my hand and began idly scraping paste from my palm with the hilt of his switchblade. I prayed he didn’t notice my full-body blush. But he definitely did. I wished to god my face wasn’t so damned readable, especially by him.