Chapter 30

In the aftermath, the temple was deathly silent.

What had she done?

Margot fell to her knees. She couldn’t cry anymore, and her throat had gone hoarse with rage. She’d been hollowed out, emptied entirely. A husk of who she was supposed to be.

The door to the treasure was gone. It had mercilessly closed, booming as it hit the floor. She’d be sealed into the temple—into her own mausoleum.

A cold sweat whipped across Margot’s forehead. The bitter aftertaste of an emotional outbreak clogged her mouth. She couldn’t swallow it down. Behind her, Van was still as stone as he had been. She’d ruined her only chance for escape—the chance he’d given up everything for her to have—because she’d been too emotional.

Margot plucked one of the pieces off the ground—the shards had fractured, five turning into fifty. This one had the remnants of the word aeternus stamped into it. Ridiculing her. The filigreed gold shimmered.

No, the whole fragment shimmered. Faint yellow at first, then brighter until nearly molten.

She dropped the shard as it burned, hissing against her palm. It clanged against the floor, an edge chipping off. Next to it, another sliver of clay gleamed. One by one, the shards ignited until the floor glowed; each speck of dust was a map of stars against a night-black sky.

Then, a piercing light strobed through the dark temple.

Beaming out from one of the shards, a stripe of gold slashed the shadows. Another lanced out from a second chipped piece. And another, another, another. Light filled the room until everything was saturated. Margot nearly had to cover her eyes as warmth poured into every corner, daylight yellow.

One sharp spear aimed straight at the broad plane of Van’s chest. The beam sank into his marble shell. Margot lurched, her body reacting on sheer instinct, throwing herself in front of the beam, but it was too late.

And then the light was gone. A wind rushed through the temple, surprisingly brisk in contrast. It whipped through the torch flames, and shadows swelled again across the ceiling. When the gust settled, the room grew dim, only a single ribbon of light remaining.

The glimmering strand wrapped around the mosaic’s tiles, winding through the delicate paintings, the flowers blooming and then wilting, until it traced up Van’s legs. Margot stepped closer to him as the drop of sunlight expanded. Rivers of gold flowed through his marble casing and etched into the grooves.

A hopeful thrum rang through Margot like the first note of a symphony as the gilded cord wove around Van’s chest, arms, hands. The air shifted again, sweet smelling—like sandalwood and cypress and saltwater foam.

The marble cracked, tectonic plates shifting over Van’s skin. And then shattered.

Like breaking off a plaster cast, stone crumbled to the floor. A stark white mask gave way to the suntanned, freckled expanse of Van’s face. Margot grasped at his hand, and his cold marble palm grew warm in hers. His eyes blinked open. Alive, alive, alive.

“Margot?” Van asked, dazed as if he’d stepped out of a dream.

She sprung onto her tiptoes, her arms latching around his neck. Her lips found his.

He startled back in surprise only momentarily, and then, Van’s hand wound around the back of her head, threading his fingers through her curls. He leaned into her. Firm but patient. Like he’d been waiting for this, and he didn’t want to rush it.

The rest of the universe dimmed around them. Margot forgot to care about whether or not her lipstick had smudged. She pulled Van closer, and his hands grazed down her sides, landing at her hips. Stars spun behind Margot’s closed lids as Van toyed with the hem of her shirt, his fingers pressing against the smooth skin of her waist.

When she finally pulled away, out of breath and beaming, Margot cupped Van’s face with both hands. She whispered, “I love you, too. You didn’t let me say it back.”

His lips dipped against her forehead. A laugh filtered from them—the kind of sound Margot hoped she never had to miss again. “But Margot, what did you do?”

“Oh, I, um—” A rush of hot embarrassment flushed Margot’s cheeks. That familiar sting of leftover emotion prickled beneath her skin. Her head hung low. She couldn’t even look at him. “I smashed it.”

Van’s eyebrows raised so high, they nearly got lost beneath his hairline. “When I said you could have the Vase, that wasn’t exactly what I anticipated.”

“I didn’t want it anymore,” she said. “I just wanted you.”

Around them, the shards on the floor had dissolved into dust motes that sifted through the air. Every trace of the Vase of Venus Aurelia had vanished. She braced herself, but Van didn’t look at her like she’d overreacted. No chastising huff, no pinching the bridge of his nose.

He stretched his fingers behind his back and then his elbows over his head, testing his joints for stiffness. A slow smile overtook his face. “You got me.”

He wrapped his arms back around her, lifting her off her feet as his lips pressed to hers once more.

When her feet hit the ground again, she said, “I don’t understand.” Although if it meant he’d keep kissing her, she wasn’t going to complain.

“Don’t you see?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “Without the Vase, there’s no curse.”

It was as if, then, the glow from the shards radiated through her chest, lighting up the deepest parts of her. Her emotions hadn’t ruined anything—they had saved him.

There was only one problem. “I think no more Vase also means no more treasure. The minute I grabbed the Vase, the door closed. We’re super trapped.”

His eyes trailed toward the door. He considered this new input as he shook the dust out of his blond hair. “There has to be a way out. Think of it like another trial.”

Above them, the ceiling quaked again. If they didn’t find a way out soon, they might never have the chance.

Van paced the room, palms shifting over the stones in search of some kind of trapdoor, but Margot couldn’t bring herself to move. Whatever he was looking for, she was almost certain he wouldn’t find it. Venus hadn’t crafted the Vase for nothing—it was the key to the treasure, and it was gone. The inscription had said gold and a heart of stone. Not or. This wasn’t a choose-your-own-adventure.

She sagged against the altar. Her hand depressed the center of the stone pedestal, and she yipped in surprise. The farther her hand sank, the more the opposite wall shifted with the groan of an archway opening.

“Is that . . . ?” Van trailed off with a question mark of disbelief tacked on the end.

The door to the treasure room—a stone plate that slid beneath a carved frieze of tides and moons and myrtle blooms—stood wide open. Margot raised her palm slowly, stopping halfway. The door followed, sinking low but refusing to close.

Again and again, she tested the door’s response. A thought percolated, bubbling closer to the surface with each rise and fall of the stone slab. Without the Vase, it was like whatever magic tie had protected the gold had severed. Now, it was a simple pulley system.

Van and Margot pivoted toward each other and, in unison, said, “The House of Olea!”

The door operated with a pressure plate—they didn’t have the Vase of Venus Aurelia, but all they needed was something to keep it triggered. Just like they had with the stones in the House of Olea, operating the pendulums.

She could practically see the light bulb go off in Van’s head. He said, “Wait right there!”

But when Van dashed toward the staircase, half-submerged beneath a thousand tons of soil, the door to the treasure slammed shut so forcefully, it kicked up a cloud of dust.

“Was that you?” he asked.

“Definitely not.” Even leaning all her body weight against the altar, the door wouldn’t budge. Margot slumped against the cool stone with a groan. They were never getting out of here alive.

Van backtracked toward her. Halfway, the door shifted again.

Margot propped herself up on her elbow. Her gaze sliced between Van and the door and back again. It didn’t make sense. Was he controlling the treasure room? One more step, and the doorway closed, leaving Van bobbing in the center of the temple, hands outstretched warily.

Then, Margot saw it. He’d stepped inside the ring of mosaic myrtles, the same place he’d turned to stone. Of course. It wasn’t enough to have the Vase of Venus Aurelia—just like the inscription said.

“I need to stand here, don’t I?” Van asked. “We can’t both leave.”

There was supposed to be a statue and something needed to be placed on the altar to trigger the door. Which meant that someone would get left behind. Unless . . .

“No. Let me,” Margot said. His face contorted in a pained expression, but before he could get any more heroic ideas and try to sacrifice himself again, she added, “You said it yourself. It’s like the House of Olea. If we put something on the altar, and I stand here, the door opens. Then, I can run off, and you can hold it open until I make it through.”

“I know what we need.” Van jumped into action, hoisting himself onto the staircase, and trekked back to where Mors’s skeletal frame laid in severed pieces. He lifted up the guardian’s skull and trudged back toward the altar.

Even—or maybe especially—decapitated, Mors gave Margot the heebie-jeebies.

The stone skull was nearly the size of Van’s chest, and he wobbled down the steps, cradling it with both arms. With the scraping sound of a column splintering, the temple trembled. A layer of debris collapsed behind Van.

A scream clawed up Margot’s throat as Van teetered on even feet. The weight of Mors’s head dragged him downward, just as a sheet of sediment blocked the upper half of the staircase.

“Hurry!” Margot yelled.

Van righted himself with a groan and a grimace. As he situated the guardian’s head on the altar, Margot scooted into position. Like she’d hoped, the door across the hall scrolled open.

She knew what it would mean to stand here—that Van could turn his back on her, decide she wasn’t worth as much as the treasure, and abandon her in the temple. Maybe love was just trusting and being trusted in return.

As Van approached the doorway, she wondered what he saw. What that first glimpse of gold looked like, what the first promise of notoriety felt like for the boy who had nothing to lose.

Then, he shifted, turning back to face her. There was no hesitation in his gaze, only glittering determination. He planted his feet, grounding his heels into the stone floors. With his arms primed to catch the door, he asked, “Ready?”

She sucked down a steadying breath. There wouldn’t be a second chance. “Can I get a countdown?”

Van’s forehead creased. “One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight—”

“Three, two, one, go!” Margot shot toward the archway, and the rock wall released.

Sisyphus beneath his boulder, Van’s arms trembled with immediate effort. Margot pumped her arms at her side. The closer she got, the more she could see Van’s struggle—the bulging vein in his forehead, the sinew of his biceps.

Van fell to his knees, bracing his shoulders against the wall. With one hand, he reached toward her. “Faster!”

Margot slid onto her belly, diving toward the gap and sincerely hoping she wouldn’t get cut in half like an amateur magician’s assistant. Arms outstretched, Van caught her by the bracelet as his fingers snagged against the band of jade beads.

The cord inside snapped, beads scattering, but it gave him enough time to get a better grip on her wrist. He tugged her through to the other side milliseconds before the door banged against the tiles. Closed for good.

Lungs heaving, Margot pushed herself upright. Next to her, Van slung his arm around her shoulders, reeling her in. He murmured a single syllable: “Wow.”

It wasn’t a treasure room so much as it was an entire treasure wing. Mounds of gold lined a hall so long, Margot couldn’t see the end of it. Shelves striped the walls, holding rolled parchments, the kinds of ancient histories that academic archaeologists like Isla and Reed would have salivated over. Empirical busts and statues of Pompeii’s patron goddess were surrounded by gilded weapons and sparkling gems.

But Margot’s gaze caught on maybe the best treasure of all.

“I know,” she breathed, leaning her cheek against his chest. “A staircase.”