Page 89 of The City of Stardust

He stops pacing. “I should have already known. Really, there’s no excuse.” He laughs humourlessly. “You would have made an excellent scholar. Much better than me.”

Without meaning to, Violet sits down on her bed. “What happened?”

Quickly, Aleksander outlines the scholars’ test. How he’d figured out who Penelope really is. He’s sparse on detail, and Violet suspects there’s plenty he’s omitted from the way he avoids her gaze. Or maybe it’s just hard to admit the truth.

“Where’s the child now?” Violet asks.

“I took him back,” Aleksander says. Then his eyes widen, as if he’s just remembered something. “I—I threatened one of the scholars to get into the novices’ quarter. Oh God, and I stole theirkey. But she would have killed him. I never imagined—everything Penelope’s done—”

It hasn’t even occurred to Aleksander that the other scholars are in on it, she notes. Even though at least some of them must be awareof Penelope’s true identity. That she never ages seems to be a big clue, for one. Johannes knew; she could tell from the way he spoke about the poisoned chalice. And yet Aleksander had no idea.

Whereas Violet has always known there would be monsters alongside the magic.

Sudden ice floods through her. Penelope will be here any moment. And if Violet was a less charitable person—if she was a scholar—she would let Aleksander stay, unknowing, for the pure pleasure of watching the outcome. Let him see what betrayal feels like. Let himhurt.

But Violet isn’t a scholar, and never will be.

She leaps up. “You have to go.”

“Violet, I can’t—”

She cuts him off. “You don’t understand—you can’t be here. Not now.”

She starts to push him towards the door, just as a terrible blue flash lights up the courtyard outside.

“Shit,” she says.

Aleksander looks up at her, his face suddenly sheet-white. “They’ve found me.”

Violet stops shoving him. Instead, she grabs the sword from her desk. The terrible, useless sword that she was supposed to be practising with, instead of arguing with Aleksander. And now there’s no time left.

“Oh, for the love of—It’s notyou.”

“Then who?” Aleksander’s gaze follows the sword. “What have you done?”

Downstairs, the doorbell rings. She doesn’t have time for this.

“Stay here, go, whatever—just don’t head downstairs.” She pushes past him. “But I would really suggest you leave.”

She slams the door behind her, her heart in her throat. The sword weighs a ton, and in her sweaty grip, it feels even heavier than it did when she’d first held it in the library. It had seemed like such a comfort then, to carry such solid weaponry. But she’s no knight errant and this is no fairy-tale dragon.

She’s going to die here, and it’s going to be incredibly stupid.

Downstairs, Ambrose is arguing loudly, with the kind of tone thatused to shock Violet into obedience when she was little. She’s under no illusion about who he’s arguing with.

At the bottom of the staircase, she smacks into Gabriel. He takes one look at her—the sword, her knuckles white around its hilt, her lips bloodied from biting on them for the last three days—and flings one hand out to stop her.

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” he hisses. “Get back upstairs—take my key—”

“I’m not leaving you,” Violet says.

He grabs her arm, tight enough to be painful. “This is not a negotiation. We can buy you some time, but you have to gonow.”

“I said I would stay and fight. I meant that.” She shrugs out of his grip. “Anyway, ‘we Everlys stick together,’ remember?”

She readjusts her grasp on the sword and strides past her uncle, down the corridor to the front door. For a split second, she goes unnoticed as the argument turns to full-on shouting, Ambrose blocking the entrance as best as he can. And there’s Penelope, her expression placid, even as she takes another footstep into the house.

“We had a deal, Ambrose. Ten years, to the day. I have honoured my part; now you must honour yours.” Then her eyes light on Violet. “It’s time, little dreamer.”

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