Chapter 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.

“I don’t need to do anything for you anymore.”

“Margot, you don’t understand.” He stepped forward, and she moved back, foxtrotting around the tomb entrance. “I would never do anything to hurt you like that. We’re partners.”

The Mourning of Virgil watched them, her head propped up on her palm and her heavy lids blinking. Bored or bemused—or maybe both. Like she’d seen two thousand years’ worth of heartache from her perch, and this was another rerun.

Heat crawled up Margot’s neck, staining her cheeks and ears. “I understand perfectly fine. You probably took one look at me in the temple and thought she’ll work.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Van said, but his mouth had worked into a pinched frown.

“Two looks, then?” she wagered. Bold for a girl who’d just dribbled snot onto Van’s shirt. “You know what I think? I think you betrayed Atlas, too.”

His eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I absolutely do.” Margot pushed her curls away from her face. Every word was vitriolic. “Atlas had been the brains behind the operation, and you were just the brawn. Some kid from the city with a chip on his shoulder, desperate to prove himself.”

The muscle in Van’s jaw twinged. “I trusted him, and he betrayed me.”

“Like you were going to betray me?” Margot knew, deep in her bones, that every quicksilver word off her tongue would leave a mark. “Maybe Atlas stood right here, the shard in his hands, and realized that only one of you was going to get the treasure. And maybe he tried to warn you, told you not to construct the Vase. But you thought he wanted the treasure for himself. So, you turned on him first.”

Van’s armor cracked, if only briefly.

So, she hit where it would hurt. “Someday, you’re going to realize that if you’re so hell-bent on doing everything on your own, that’s exactly how you’ll stay. Alone.”

God, the humiliation of it all. She’d trusted him. Some part of her actually thought she might have even been able to love him—all of him, not just the idea of him.

Van didn’t retreat. Didn’t cower. The only sign of agitation was a breath pushed out through his nose. “If you’ll calm down, I can explain, but you aren’t going to like it.”

“Most people don’t like finding out they’ve been used, Van. I don’t know what it was like a hundred years ago, but now there’s this thing called basic decency, and maybe you should think about getting some.” Margot started down the stairs, a white-knuckle grip on the strap of her tote in case he’d gotten any bright ideas from Enzo.

Behind her, Van said, “I tried to leave you out of it, but you said you’d do anything.”

“And anything usually doesn’t include voluntary human sacrifice.”

His voice trailed after her, saying, “I’d hoped we could find another way.”

Her face burned red-hot. Every step raised her blood pressure. Calm down, he’d said. Calm down. She couldn’t. Margot had never been enough to keep anyone around for the right reasons—she should have known Van was only here for the wrong ones.

And despite everything he’d said, he didn’t chase after her. Even when she had the one thing he needed most, he was still too stubborn to apologize.

Wait. He wasn’t chasing after her.

Margot peered into her tote bag, rustling through the mass of emergency snacks and loose pens, but there was no fragment of hardened clay shoved down at the bottom.

She turned back, fuming. “How dare you?”

The shard was clutched in Van’s palm. He must have slipped it out of her bag while they were arguing. He said, “You know why I need this.”

The tempest inside Margot stirred faster, like a hurricane finding a pocket of warm water. Even if she wanted to stop it, she couldn’t. The words spilled out of her, floodwater through an opened dam. “You can’t just steal it from me! I’m the one who almost got pancaked for it.”

His jaw clenched, lips thinning. “I tried to tell you not to barge in there, but did you listen?”

No. She hadn’t.

“You don’t deserve the shard,” she seethed. “Turning your back on the only person you have left to care about you? If it weren’t for me, you’d still be trapped in that temple.”

“And what about you?” he asked.

Margot’s fists clenched at her side. “What about me?”

“I care about you, and you’re still turning your back on me.” He paced toward her, the sharp lines of his face softening, but he tucked the shard into his pocket. Did he think she wouldn’t notice? “Don’t do this, Margot. Don’t quit when it gets hard.”

But it was the one thing she was best at.