Page 68 of Us in Ruins

Van sounded distant, just a whisper, when he said, “Think about why you’re here.”

Being still was not Margot’s forte. Her legs itched to run. To toss the shard on the pedestal and be done with this trial—with this whole stupid quest—once and for all. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t. She knew what was at stake, everything she’d lose if she threw in the towel early.

Limestone bit into her shoulders. She squirmed, flattening herself between the two stones, giving her chest just enough space to rise and fall. The sour tang of fear coated her mouth, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t swallow it down. She pinched her eyelids closed even harder. Imagining Van on the other side of the wall against her back was the only thing keeping her pounding heart from cracking her ribs right open.

Then. Suddenly.

The walls ground to a halt. She opened her eyes. Light seared through the cave’s entrance in blinding contrast to the dark. The walls had stopped moving on either side of the pedestal, leaving only a narrow chase through the cave. Her palms felt along the walls as she pulled herself forward. Even as she fought toward the light, tar-black fear stuck to the corners of her mind.

Van’s arms found her the moment she stepped out of the tomb. Hot, fat tears spilled down her cheeks. She was alive, but she could still feel the pressure of the walls against her shoulders, their crushing weight around her.

“You’re okay,” he said, pulling her against his chest. She barely registered his lips as they pressed against her hairline, warm and soft. “You’re okay, kid.”

The shard’s clay had heated against her palms. When she pulled her hand up, the gold was nearly molten, an amber so deep she could have swam in it. But when she looked closer, her heart seized.

Her fingers trailed over the Latin inscription, pausing on the last word. Lapideum.

22

“How long have you known?”

Margot was a Molotov cocktail of emotions. Hurt, betrayal, anger. They lashed through her body like an open flame.

Van reared, pulled back only enough to look at her, then down at the shard in her hands. His palms stayed planted on her shoulders, but she wriggled out of his grasp. Frantically, his eyes scanned her face. She wondered what he saw—skin flamed red and nostrils flaring or if he could somehow see straight to the chasm carving through her heart. “Known about what?”

“That you were going to sacrifice me?” The words cut out of Margot with a serrated blade.

“Margot, that isn’t...”

“Isn’t it? The reward for finding all five shards of the Vase—you thought you’d find gold, and I thought I’d be golden. Turns out, we were both wrong. It isn’t either-or. It’s one each. One person turns to stone, and the other runs off with the treasure.” A humorless laugh ripped up her throat. Of all the people to be right, it had to be Astrid. “But you figured that out last century, didn’t you?”

While he stood there, mouth ajar, scrambling to think of some excuse, Margot slid the shard into her tote bag. She’d earned it.

Even though the marble veins had receded for good, Van’s hard exterior returned and wiped away any memory she had of the Van she thought she knew. His steely gaze and vow of solitude were probably the only true things about him. “What are you implying?”

“I don’t think I’m implying anything.” Margot crossed her arms firmly against her chest. “I know you’ve been lying to me.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Lapideum!”

Cold, Van said, “I thought we established that neither of us know Latin.”

“But you do know what it means, don’t you? If not in theory, then certainly in practice. Stone, Van. Someone has to turn to stone. And you were going to let it be me.”

“Who told you that?” He reached for her again, but Margot sidestepped out of reach.

“Does it matter?” The wind stirred, whipping her hair around her head. Like the gods themselves were angry right alongside her.

He watched her. Calculating. “It does if it was Astrid.”

Margot didn’t answer. She mimicked his cocky raised eyebrows, his I know everything stare. If he wanted to keep secrets, so could she.

“You’d rather take Astrid’s word over mine?” Van shook his head in disbelief. “Go ahead. But my word means something, and I’d rather turn to stone than trust an Ashby.”

A flat grin smeared across Margot’s face. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

It was almost worth the panic that flared in Van’s eyes. “You need to believe me,” he said.

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