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 have 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.”
“It’s charming you think that you could,” Sophia said with a dismissive flick of her hand. One of the Thorns said something in Arabic.
“It’d be a waste of ammunition,” Sophia said coldly. “Leave them for the desert. And I wouldn’t get near them with a blade. Both are trained too well. The sun will finish them off for you.”
Etta held her breath, her body straining with pain and alarm, but the men seemed to agree with Sophia’s assessment.