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—