Still…they were tombs. And as eager as Etta was to finish this, just as much anxiety raced through her. She was never going to feel right about trespassing.
“Does it matter?” Sophia snapped with her usual sensitivity. “Let’s go get this over with. It’s blazing hot out here.”
They began with one of the less imposing tombs at the far left; this one was built into the side of the hill, its entrance half buried in the sand. Sophia scattered the sand with her foot as she ducked inside, searching the stone beneath it for something. A sign that there was something buried, maybe?
But Etta couldn’t stop looking up.
The walls were covered in frescoes, murals still clinging to the plaster, still showing their faded colors. All around were the faces of men and women draped in robes. Some of their expressions had worn away, leaving them literally defaced; all that remained were the outlines of their bodies and the decorative embellishments beneath. Painted grapevines, their leaves still a vivid green, climbed the support pillars. Gods or angels, or both, seemed to fly across the walls, soar up to the ceiling, which had been painted to look as though it was covered in green-and-red tile. Or…Etta squinted. Were they tiles?
You’re not here to go sightseeing, she reminded herself. Stop wasting time.
Spaced in between the frescoes were rectangular holes, cut into the walls almost like shelves. Some were covered, blocked by solid pieces of stone. Others had been left open.
“What were these for?” she asked Sophia, touching one of the covers. It dwarfed her hand.
The other girl turned, presumably to repeat the question to one of the guardians. She listened to the soft, quick explanation before turning to offer it to Etta.
“That’s where they’d place the coffins and bodies, in those openings,” she answered. “It would all normally be covered by some sort of faèade, but clearly it’s been moved. Tomb raiders and grave robbers, most likely.”
This seemed to be a unifying problem in all of the tombs—there was hardly anything left to be seen, let alone taken. What low, bench-like sarcophagi they found were broken, their lids removed to reveal absolutely nothing inside but withered bones. One or two were still whole enough that Sophia and the guardians were convinced it would be worth the effort to use brute force and slide the lids off.
“They’ve already been picked clean,” Sophia complained, punctuating the words with a frustrated kick to the side of one of the tombs. “Your mother was a fool to stash it here where anyone could find it!”
“I would call her many things,” Etta said evenly, “but I wouldn’t call her an idiot. She wouldn’t have left it here if she thought there was a chance it could be taken.”
But even as she said it, she found herself doubting. They’d wasted nearly two hours crawling around in the dark with a single torch between them, trying to find hidden compartments and passages that didn’t exist. The guardians even led them down to a series of caves between the main section of Palmyra and the towers, where they found—unsurprisingly—more sarcophagi and no astrolabe.
She rubbed at her forehead, blowing out a long sigh. One of the guardians said something to Sophia, who snapped back in irritation.
“What now?” Etta asked.
“He said that there are more tombs a little ways west of here,” Sophia translated, “or we can look around the temples in the city.”
Etta didn’t think her mother would have left anything in the city proper—not with the small settlements still clinging to the fringes of it.
“Let’s check the tombs,” she suggested.
“We should have had it by now,” Sophia grumbled, heading back toward the camels.
“We’ll find it,” Etta told her. “She wouldn’t have made it impossible, just difficult.”
Etta took a deep breath in, trying to get Daisy to remain still long enough for her to climb up onto her back. The others simply struck their camels, either on the head or snout, and got them to kneel. Daisy was as bad-tempered as always, but at least this time she didn’t try to shake Etta off like a fly.
They rode deeper into the hills surrounding the city; knowing what to expect this time, Etta’s eyes picked out the towering tombs immediately. Many seemed in worse shape than the ones they’d already seen, but there was one in particular that looked almost perfect from the outside. It kept drawing her attention, even as Sophia was hauling Etta to a closer one.
“That one,” Etta said, a strange twinge moving down her spine.
“Fine,” Sophia said, whistling to get the men’s attention.
Etta was right about one thing—this tomb was in much better shape than any of the others. The main chamber was long, leading to the opposite wall, and lined with five busts of men and women. These overlooked more shelves like the ones they had seen in the other tombs, where the bodies or coffins were sealed. Seeing these were all open and there was nothing left inside but loose dust, Sophia took the narrow stairs just to the left of the entryway, nearly cracking her head against the painted stone ceiling. Etta followed, bracing a hand against the wall as she climbed.
Sophia cast one short glance at the second floor before continuing up to the third, her lip curling in disgust—why? Because the astrolabe of untold value and power wasn’t just sitting out, waiting for her to trip over it?
Etta stepped off onto the second floor, letting the guardians pass by on their way up. The stones bounced their quiet voices back to her, and she felt another burst of unease shift in the pit of her stomach. Sophia seemed to trust them implicitly, but Etta wished that she had ordered them to stay outside with the camels.
A small window allowed a stream of warm light to wash into the small space. Etta walked into it and took a moment to settle the rioting pace of her pulse. She leaned out the window, searching for some sign of her mother.
And when she turned, she was face-to-face with a tree.
The startled laugh burst out of her too fast to smother it. And of course, with nothing to catch it, the sound carried straight up to Sophia, who was still pounding around overhead, shaking loose plaster from the ceiling. She came charging down the steps again, nearly breathless.
“What is it?” Sophia demanded.
The second level was lined on either side with the same towering shelves as the chamber below—the only real difference was that many of them still had their coverings, and the busts of their occupants were still in place. While many of the faces were smashed in, or had missing noses, hands, whole sections of skulls, the one in front of Etta was nearly flawless, depicting the familiar outline of a tree. The stone was a shade lighter than the others—a close but imperfect match to those around it.
Everything about it—from the way the branches angled down, to the scattering of leaves across them, to the slight curve of the trunk—matched the sigil she’d seen on her mother’s travel journal.
“It’s—nothing,” Etta tried. “A bird flew by and—”
Sophia ignored her, sharp eyes scanning the room, and, of course, landing on the carved tree. “There! The Linden family sigil.” Sophia’s whole demeanor changed, a lightning-fast shift from agitation to excitement. Etta finally understood what people meant when they said that eyes could gleam with emotion. Sophia looked ready to tear the cover off with her bare hands.
The guardians used knives—daggers, really, Etta thought—to carve around the edges of the relief and pry it out enough to hold. It crashed to the floor, the symbol of her family smashing into pieces with a deafening crash. There wasn’t a stone block behind it; that much was clear when Sophia had the guardians start to wiggle it free. There was a backing, mostly to hold it in place, but nothing so heavy that Etta couldn’t have pulled it out herself.
Both girls peered inside, and Etta spotted a lump of something at the back right corner.
“You get it,” Sophia ordered. “If someone’s hand is going to get burned or chopped off with a booby trap your devil of a mother set, it isn’t going to be mine.”
Etta rolled her eyes, and with a single, silent prayer, thrust her arm into the opening, stretching as far as she could, fingers closing around the tattered end of the cloth. She dragged it forward to the opening, sucking in a sharp breath between her teeth as she drew out a dusty bundle of faded linen and unwrapped it.
Sophia shouldered her out of the way, breaking Etta’s concentration long enough to snatch the thing out of Etta’s hands and clutch it between her own.
The astrolabe was bigger than she’d expected; twice the size of her small, clenched fist. Age hadn’t dulled its gold sheen in the slightest. The flat disc caught the light from the window and warmed the whole room. There seemed to be markings running along the edge of it, almost like a dial. Etta moved, trying to get a better look at the beautifully etched design on the back.
The other girl seemed so stunned by the fact that it was there—that she had found it after all—there was a long moment where Sophia didn’t seem to breathe.
Etta couldn’t, either.
An ending must be final.
And this one might just kill her.
“Here,” she said. “Give it to me. I’ll show you how it works.”
The twinge she’d felt outside was back, moving through her veins. The air seemed to vibrate with its power, the buzz racing along her skin until every hair stood on end, until her nerves sang at the same pitch.
“All of that, for this…” Sophia shook her head, placing it in Etta’s outstretched hand. “Go on, then, make it work.”
Etta nodded, her jaw clenched as she assessed her options. Finally, she carefully, slowly, set it down in the stream of sunlight on the stone ground, kneeling beside it. Under the cover of her robes, her fingers curled around a jagged piece of rock.
“Get on with it, Linden,” Sophia barked.
“With pleasure,” Etta said, and before the other girl could even think to move, brought the rock down against the astrolabe’s gilded face.
The fire that raced through her was instantly extinguished as the rock broke against it, leaving scratches and dents, but with the device still in one piece. Etta scrambled to pick the astrolabe up and bash it against the floor, until it hopefully fell to pieces.
“You rat!” Sophia shrieked, hauling her back by the hair. She turned toward one of the guardians. “Give me your dagger!”
The man lifted it out of its hilt at his side.
It happened so quickly. The man flicked his wrist, flipping the dagger around to slice against Sophia’s outstretched palm. The girl gasped in pain as blood sprayed across the stone.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she snarled. “How dare you! By our family’s laws, I could have you killed for this—”
“Yes, if we were Ironwoods,” the man said, reaching into his robes for another dagger. The other guardian did the same, holding its razor-sharp tip out in the direction of Etta’s throat. “But, sadly for you, we are not.”
Not Ironwood? Etta detangled herself from Sophia’s grip, and tried to scramble back toward the wall. Then—
“Is that so?” Sophia said, clutching her hand, a thunderous expression on her face. “Is that why you were living in our family’s home, using our family’s money?”
The guardian laughed, a deep sound that welled up from a belly full of venom and malice.
“Your guardians were easy enough to dispose of,” he continued. “How very unsurprising you have never bothered to meet them in your life, let alone learn their faces. And yet, how very fortunate for us.”
Etta began to sidestep slowly toward Sophia, the blood thundering through her. She started to lean down to pick up the astrolabe, only to find the dagger’s blade a hair away from her throat.
“Step back, girl,” the other man snarled. “Hand the astrolabe to me slowly…slowly…”
Fury lanced her, piercing the cloud of confusion and fear. “Get it yourself!”
The man backhanded her so hard, Etta’s vision blacked out as she hit the stone floor and dust exploded into her lungs.
“If you’re not Ironwoods, then who the hell are you?” Sophia demanded.
“Dead men,” came a deep voice from behind them.
NICHOLAS STOOD AT THE EDGE OF THE LANDING, ONE FOOT STILL on the step below, Sophia’s small pistol in his hands—aimed directly at the man hovering over Etta.
She wanted to drink in the sight of him, to study the way he seemed just slightly unsteady on his feet. The glow of his skin had dimmed. Sweat dripped off his jaw. He was panting, harder than he would have been if he hadn’t just crossed a desert with a serious knife wound in a body that had clearly just narrowly escaped a fatal fever.
Now, she thought, now, now, now—
Etta threw herself at the man’s feet, sending him slamming back with a startled cry. She scrambled to grab the astrolabe from the ground, even as he grabbed her legs and yanked her back. A heavy set of arms locked around her neck.
“Etta!” Nicholas shouted, just before the deafening crack ripped through the air and she felt a sharp, hot pain in her shoulder. She fell forward again under the hot, limp weight of the Thorn, who coughed and sputtered, even as he got the curve of his dagger around Etta’s throat, letting it kiss her skin. The hot stench of blood filled her nose, her lungs.
The second man charged Nicholas, knocking him back against the wall, and the gun fell to the ground. Nicholas swung wildly at his face, but only clipped him. The whole world swung beneath Etta as she stood. He wasn’t going to be any good in this fight, not in his condition—she needed to get the gun—
The second man already had it in his hands, and was thrashing Nicholas across the face with it. Etta screamed as he stumbled back and slumped against the wall. The man spun back toward Sophia, leveling the revolver at her heart.
“Thorns,” she spat, blood spilling out of her palm as she watched him kneel and pick up the astrolabe. “Isn’t that right?”
The man gave a mocking little bow that made Etta’s stomach tighten to the point of pain.
I have to do this, I have to destroy it, Mom—
I can handle this—
It’s my time—
The Thorn holding her pressed the blade so tightly against her throat, she felt a line of her own blood drip down the front of her faded, sandy robes.
“At your service,” the first one said.
“Who sold us out?” Sophia demanded.
“Not a soul, though there are many in your so-called family who would if given the opportunity for retribution. You left a trail for us to find—you made it exceptionally easy, in fact, when our leader saw what occurred at the museum. He put out a call for any Thorn guardian or traveler to watch your movements through the passage, to see if you might lead us directly to the astrolabe. And rather than force us to continue to search for you, we set a trap for you to come to us. How well it all worked out.” He glanced at the Thorn holding Etta and said, “Tie her up. The desert will deal out its punishment.”
The Thorn shifted his weight back, and Etta found herself jerked forward onto her knees. He pinned her hands behind her back, winding something—his sash?—around her wrists.
“The other one as well—”
“Wait—” Sophia said, backing away. “Now listen, just a moment. Do you know who I am?”
Have to destroy it—
Can’t let Mom down—
Have to save Mom—
“You are an Ironwood,” the Thorn said. “That is all I need to know about you.”
“No,” Sophia added quickly, glancing toward Etta. “I’m a gift. Anything your group wants to know about the Ironwoods, about the Grand Master himself, I can provide. But only if you take me with you.”
Nicholas was coming around on the floor, and seemed to rouse just in time to hear this. His eyes snapped open.
The Thorn holding the gun laughed. “You take me for a fool.”
“Do you honestly think I was ever going to give the Grand Master the astrolabe?” Sophia asked. “I would hav
e laughed in his face as I tore his dreams apart. If you want to use it to do the same, then I wouldn’t stop you. I’d celebrate that. The only thing I care about is making his life as miserable as he’s made mine.”
“You bloody—” Nicholas swore, cutting himself off. “Sophia, it has to be destroyed. It doesn’t matter if you have it, if they have it—once Ironwood knows, he won’t stop until it’s in his possession. Think about this—it doesn’t read passages, it creates them—”
“I know that,” she snapped.
“Once he knows—that you went with the Thorns, that you let them have it—you won’t just be exiled. You won’t just lose your standing—he will obliterate you. And that goes for all of the Thorns,” he added. “Let me destroy it now. Put the blame on me; let the old man come after me and see your worth. He’ll make you heir, but only if he doesn’t have the astrolabe, only if he can’t use it to save his first wife and create new heirs. But this…this is the path to madness.”
Etta saw the flicker of something in Sophia’s expression, the fear of confronting that truth. Her lips parted, as if to ask something; but instead she set her shoulders back, eyeing Nicholas like a queen about to order an execution. “So be it.”
The Thorn holding Etta down against the stone floor laughed. The one with the gun motioned for him to do something, grating out a few words in Arabic. Etta watched, her mind dragging on a half-second delay, as the man grabbed Nicholas and slammed him up against the wall, ripping the sash from his waist to bind his hands. Finished with that, he punched Nicholas squarely in the jaw, sending him crashing back down onto the stone.
Etta screamed, trying to surge up off the ground, but she was off-balance; Sophia shoved her back into the wall of tombs, half-stunning her. The room blinked out of view as she dropped heavily back onto the stone, her ribs bruised and swollen beneath her skin. Without an ounce of air in her lungs, she couldn’t even yelp in pain; she could only wait until her vision pieced itself back together.
“Don’t be ridiculous, darling,” Sophia murmured, staring down at Etta.
Nicholas bellowed with rage. “I will kill you for this one day.”
Passenger Page 39
