Page 101 of The City of Stardust

“That is not what I mean.”

Ever hands her a bulky object, and it takes her a second to realise it’s the sword. The blade is suspiciously clean, even shinier than when she’d first unwrapped it from Caspian’s mysterious benefactor. Ever’s face looms in its reflection as he leans towards it.

He examines the sword, muttering to himself. Violet admires the way his hands deftly move across the metal, with a confidence that suggests decades of staring at nothingbutswords. Without warning, he points the sword towards her. On the blade, a faint indent of two feathers shines out of the metal.

“This is my mark,” he says. “So where, stranger, did you get this?”

Suddenly he grabs Violet, and hauls her off the table. Aleksander moves to stop him, but Ever throws him back with one hand alone. His other fist clutches Violet’s shirt, inhuman power in every fingertip.

“Who are you?” he hisses. “Who sent you?”

Violet could think of a million answers to that question. Her uncles. Her mother. Penelope. Or just a frayed book of fairy tales and the siren song of elsewhere.

She tilts her head upwards defiantly. “My name is Violet Everly, and I’m here to break our curse.”

There are a lot of questions, on both sides.

Mostly, Ever sits in silence as Violet explains. It’s obvious he doesn’t recognise the name Penelope, but as soon as she mentions Astriade, his entire body goes rigid with warning.

“You bring terrible calamity,” he says, his golden eyes shadowed. “You have killed us all.”

“Calamity? No, you don’t understand—listen—”

Violet tries to explain again about the curse and Penelope’s vow, but when she takes a step forward, the entire room tilts underneath her feet. Aleksander puts his arm around her, and she doesn’t have the strength to refuse him.

“She needs rest,” he argues.

Violet can’t disagree on this point; her back aches from lying on the table, and there is an empty hollow in the pit of her stomach that suggests she’s overdue a good meal. Reluctantly, Ever nods, then returns to the sword, his attention reabsorbed.

Aleksander steers her down the corridor, until they reach a quiet room with two makeshift beds set up. The minute he closes the door, his whole body slumps in exhaustion. Violet bites her lip.

“Aleksand—” she starts.

“Don’t,” he says, his eyes closed. “I have no right to be angry with you—” He opens his eyes again, and they’re everywhere but her. “Youdied, Violet. You died in my arms just as we arrived here. I don’t know what he did, or how he did it, but he brought you back. And there was so much blood.”

His voice is quiet, but Violet flinches. She deliberately hasn’t thought about the blade sinking in, how it had felt like pressing liquid fire through her skin. She’s not even sure if she could have gone through with it if Aleksander had been there.

Guilt floods through her, then anger. After all, he has no right to demand her safety. Not when he held the sword—her life—in his hands and hesitated. So she holds back the apology her mouth was already forming.

“Anyway, we’re here now,” she says instead. “Elandriel. I assume Penelope is in the city.”

Waiting for Violet to step out of the house.

“She won’t touch us,” Aleksander says, with a confidence that belies their situation. “But I think you should see this,” he adds, more ominously.

Violet steps outside, into the walled-off courtyard at the centre of the building. At first she can’t even comprehend what she’s seeing. Then she takes it in, and finally understands why the colour of the light has been so beautiful and oddly purple all this time.

Stretched thinly over the sky is a violet-paned dome, so huge it’s impossible to tell where it begins and ends. From here, it looks like the whole world. But Violet lets her gaze slide into that half-greyfocus that Gabriel had reluctantly taught her only a few days ago, and the world burns with a golden shimmer. She blinks and rubs her eyes to dispel the image, as the low throb of a headache creeps up her skull.

A protective sheet of reveurite. A cage of god-metal. She recognises this part of the story well enough.

Aleksander is still speaking, low and too fast for her to catch everything. “It was a trap. Penelope wasn’t on the other side at all—she was still in the tower, waiting for you to unlock the door. She came after us, so I had to drag you and run. Ever let us into the cage—and I didn’t have a choice but to enter. But you have to understand: the door home is on theother side.”

And so is Penelope. Violet understands immediately.

They are trapped.

CHAPTER

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