Passenger (Passenger #1) - Alexandra Bracken Page 0,153
saddle as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Etta felt like a bag of bones being tossed around, her legs already sore from having to squeeze the sides of the horse. Sophia had to call out to be heard over the horses, and keep her face turned down to avoid getting a mouthful of dirt.
“I’m sorry your pride’s hurt that I trailed you both so easily. You made my job very simple by being on the other side of the city as I came through the passage in that charming, secret little apartment. And anyway, you should be grateful it’s me, and not one of Grandfather’s men. We’ll make quick work of finding it, won’t we? Have it back by the thirtieth. I’m rather well-versed in meeting his impossible deadlines by now.”
Etta shook her head, her fingers toying with the smooth leather of the saddle, debating whether or not to continue. Ironwood had clearly kept the whole truth from her, but Etta couldn’t predict how the other girl would actually react if she found out what was at stake for her, too, in all of this. Sophia’s loyalty was braided into the family’s success and future—everything she wanted was tied to winning the old man’s approval. Did she care about anything outside of that attention and respect?
“Told you about the astrolabe, did he?” Etta said. “I doubt he told you the real reason he wants it.”
“Be quiet!” Sophia barked, her eyes darting to the man behind Etta in the saddle.
Etta had to try to appeal to her reason. “The astrolabe doesn’t read passages, it creates them—”
“Do shut up, Linden!”
Does she already know? And—what—she doesn’t care? Sophia had no personal attachment to the future, no one to love or who loved her, no home or place she fit in. Maybe that was what made it so easy.
Etta was jolted, and bit the inside of her mouth as the horse began to gallop again. The man behind her grunted something unintelligible, but she wasn’t fooled—not only did he understand English, but there was more here than what any of them were letting on. The men had attacked them in the souk without Sophia’s orders, or at the very least, without informing her of what had happened. Maybe they only felt true loyalty to the old man?
And maybe Sophia knew this, and that was the real reason she didn’t want Etta flapping her gums about the astrolabe for them to hear. She hadn’t forgotten what Nicholas had said in the souk—how gold, or the promise of treasure, attracted unwanted attention. If Sophia didn’t want these men to fully appreciate the magnitude of what they were after, did that mean she was afraid they might decide they wanted it for themselves? But what could guardians actually do with the astrolabe, aside from hold it for ransom?
It was a loose string on a sweater, and Etta was tempted—if she could unravel whatever thin bonds of loyalty they felt for the girl, maybe Etta could slip away in the chaos, get ahead of them, and—
Wander off into the desert?
Leave the other girl for dead?
Etta shook her head slowly. She was a lot of things, and was capable of handling a great deal more than she’d ever known, but that was cold-blooded. That was an absolute last resort if nothing else worked.
“I can almost picture it, you know,” Sophia began, laughing. “Grandfather’s face. His surprise when I complete the impossible task.”
“Surprise?” Etta felt the same feeling trickling through her. “You mean…”
Ironwood didn’t know she’d followed them. She’d come by herself, on her own volition.
“Now you’ve got the shape of things,” Sophia said. “I owe it to you, of course. Remember what you said about taking control of my life? If he won’t give me the honor of being the heir, then I’ll damn well prove to him I’m the right choice.”
And it was then that Etta knew she’d need to sort out a different plan, to prepare herself for the absolute worst. Because all the strategies in the world couldn’t guard you from the lengths a hungry young girl would go to, to get what she thought she deserved.
HOURS LATER, AFTER THE SUN HAD PASSED OVER THEIR HEADS and was setting at their backs, after the green oasis of Damascus had become a distant memory, Etta realized she had imagined this desert all wrong.
She’d expected piles of sand—dunes they’d sink down into. It was pure ignorance about this part of the world. The