Page 237 of Ashen Torment

We both turn toward Ivan, he brings a hand to his jacket, hesitates for an instant, and then draws out an envelope. The paper is thick, slightly crumpled at the corners; he offers it without looking up.

I take it.

“Am I mistaken,” Lucien says, “or is that not the Vasiliev seal?”

The sealing wax is not the customary bright red, nor the elegant burgundy of the great families. It is brown, dark, like clotted blood. In the center stands a moth with wings spread wide, engraved with a care that verges on obsession. A snake coils around it, and below the insect’s body tapers, losing all softness to become a blade.

“It belongs to Miazma”

Lucien swallows. “Could he not have used something... more ordinary?”

Ivan stiffens.

“It is only his seal, Lucien,” a corner of my lips curves, “spare yourself the agitation.”

I break the wax with my thumb and open the envelope. Inside, there is nothing resembling a letter; no greeting, no explanation. Only a single line, traced in the center of the sheet.

Himmelpfortgrund 14, Vienna.

“Well?” Lucien insists. “What does it say?”

I pass him the paper without comment. He takes it, reads it, looks at me, and then reads it again.

“An address, that’s all?”

“Nothing more.”

I turn toward Ivan.

He does not hesitate. “Zima said only that what you seek is to be found there, moy barìn.”

Lucien lets out a strangled laugh. “And how, in God’s name, did he come to know it?”

“Believe me, brother.” I lean back against the armchair. “It is not knowledge that would benefit you to possess.”

I look at the boy.

“You may return to Ashford Manor, Ivan.”

He inclines his head, first toward me, then toward Lucien, and leaves the room without uttering a word.

Lucien breaks the silence almost immediately. “And now?”

He leans over the paper, taking it between his fingers again. “Do we go straight to...” he rereads the address, “Vienna?”

I bring the glass of brandy to my lips and tap my nail against the crystal.

“No.”

“No?”

“We send a letter.”

He stands up abruptly, the chair scraping the floor.

“And do you truly believe he will respond?” His hands open, then close again. “He has eluded everyone, Dorian. The entire world.”

I continue to drum my fingers on the glass.