Page 91 of The City of Stardust

She extends her claw towards Violet’s chest. Violet frantically tugs on her wrists. Her hands dangle uselessly, trapped in burning dark rope. If she can just get free—

Aleksander skids into the room, Gabriel following and armed with a chair. Aleksander recoils, his eyes wide with horror. But Gabriel doesn’t hesitate; he flings the chair at Penelope. It strikes her in the back, instantly shattering to splinters.

Penelope jerks towards them like a serpent, and the rope loosens. Violet launches off the wall with every ounce of her being. She smashes into Penelope, and for a second, darkness engulfs her vision. She inhales ash and flame, choking on fumes. Penelope clutches Violet tightly, claws pricking her back.

“We go together,” Penelope says softly.

Tears streaming down her face, Violet sees the glint of the sword in Aleksander’s hands. He looks at it, then at her, trapped in Penelope’s embrace, a sea of poisonous black shadows between them.

He hesitates.

But Gabriel doesn’t. He snatches the sword out of Aleksander’s hands and hurls it across the room.

Violet dives for it, feeling the hot graze of claws across her back as she escapes Penelope’s grip. Penelope twists, lightning fast—but still not fast enough. Violet’s hands gain purchase on the leather pommel. She slashes upwards, the blade glittering with golden sparks in a wide arc. It connects with something meaty. Wet blood spatters across her face.

Dragging in air, Penelope takes one look at the scene in front of her. Her ethereal wings shimmer, and once more, Violet sees the two images superimposed over one another: the woman and the monster. Her blonde hair lies lank on her skull, and her skin clefts too tightly to her bones, as though she’s aged between one step and the next.

“Know me, Violet Everly,” Penelope hisses. “I will claim what is mine. And no amount of treachery will save you.”

She snaps her wings together, shedding flame across the carpet. Through the haze of smoke, Violet sees a flash of key in the air, a snarl of blue light—

Penelope vanishes.

Aleksander’s heart is still pounding against his ribcage. He slumps against the corridor wall, trying to process what he’s just seen. What he’s justdone.

If he thought taking back the child was an irredeemable offence, then this is something he’ll never be able to undo. Panic swells in his chest. The walls press in on him, and the world narrows down to thescant point of darkness in front of him. Without meaning to, he clutches at the front of his shirt, like the fabric itself is too heavy to bear.

He is walking down a corridor to a room. There is only that black abyss, and pain. So much pain.

You are in Violet Everly’s house. You are standing against a wall with somewhat ugly wallpaper.

His breath is loud in his ears. Heart bursting. His skin is on fire.

You are in Violet’s house.

She would not be in that room with you.

Slowly, his panic subsides, and he finds the strength to take in a deep breath, and then another. He manages to make his way to the kitchen, following the sound of voices.

Violet’s uncles have immediately swept in on her, peppering her with questions. Their hands flutter around her: one on her shoulder to steady her; another to gently steer her towards a chair. Blood trickles from a cut along her hairline, and her eyes have the wide, vacant look of someone in shock. She’s still clutching the sword, arms wrapped around the naked blade, even though it must hurt to hold on so tightly.

Her uncles look no better, bruised and limping alongside Violet. The taller uncle of the two—the one Penelope so swiftly threw against the wall—keeps rubbing the back of his head and wincing. But all of their attention is pinpointed on her.

They seem to have entirely forgotten about Aleksander.

He watches all of this with a slightly sick feeling in his stomach, not quite guilt and not quite hatred, but something in between.Envy. Suddenly, he can’t bear to look at them at all. He glances away, to the cracked tiles under his feet, well worn from years of Everly feet treading on them.

He will always be on the outside, no matter where he is. Always nothing, no matter how hard he has tried to build himself into someone worthy of love.

And now, knowing who Penelope is, even though he can’t bring himself to think of her as Astriade—even though he saw her astral self—even though she asked him to take achild—

“Aleksander.” He looks up and catches Violet staring at him, the shock in her eyes dimmed. “Are you okay?”

He swallows the hard knot of resentment and nods. “Are… are you?”

The scary uncle, the one in the leather jacket, scrapes his chair back to stand up, blocking Violet from view. A crack runs through the left lens of his sunglasses.

“How the hell does she look to you?” he demands. “How dare you come back. You have no bloody right to be here.”

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