Passenger (Passenger, #1)(108)

So. Her grandparents—Rose’s parents—hadn’t been killed in a Christmas car accident after all.

“It’s so extreme,” Etta said, trying to reconcile this angry young woman with the one who had raised her. “I understand her motivations, but—changing the whole future?”

Hasan made a thoughtful sound. “At first, all the Thorns wished was to bring Ironwood to his knees—to restore the council of families, save their loved ones from service to him. The timeline they knew was the original timeline, you see. Can you argue that it is meant to be, more than the one that exists now?”

Meaning that she really had grown up in an altered timeline of what was actually meant to be. Everything she knew was a product of the changes Ironwood had made in his conquest of the families. So—which timeline deserved to exist? Hers? Theirs?

The full weight of her exhaustion hit her at once. Etta felt as though her head was stuffed with cotton, her knees suddenly hollow. The room tilted sideways a second before two hands caught her; they held her steady until the black spots cleared from her vision.

“Etta?” Nicholas’s face floated in front of hers.

“I’m okay,” she promised. “Just…”

Hasan’s face transformed, sharpening. “Who are you to be so familiar with my little niece? Remove your hands before I do.”

“Familar?” she repeated, just as Nicholas’s grip tightened and he said, “Her husband.”

Etta choked. Nicholas’s hands squeezed her arms once, in silent warning. He wrapped both arms around her shoulders—a mimic of a loving embrace. When she dug her heel down into his foot, he barely grimaced.

Excuse me? Excuse me?

If the lie lit a fuse in her, it had the opposite effect on Hasan, stamping out the flare of fury that had turned his handsome features almost ominous. Mostly stamping it out, anyway.

“I do not think Abbi would approve of this match,” he said.

“Why?” Nicholas said challengingly.

“She looks as if she desires nothing so much as to feed you to a lion,” said Hasan.

Etta managed to wriggle free. She wasn’t sure what it was—the way his expression softened, more vulnerable than she’d ever seen it, or the simple fact that Nicholas rarely did something without good reason—but she held her tongue instead of calling him out on the lie.

“Next time we’re on a ship,” she said, turning back to Hasan with a conspiratorial smile, “I’ll feed some important bit to a shark.”

“A sailor?” Hasan scoffed, turning to assess him again with this new knowledge. “A pirate, no doubt.”

“A legal pirate,” Nicholas said tiredly.

“The only pirates I know are those from the Barbary Coast,” Hasan said, eyeing Nicholas. “They are not so friendly to Europeans, you see. They trade in slaves, and their tastes are vast. They take from Africa. They take from Europe. A girl such as this would be prized: her skin, her hair, her eyes. A man would pay a price for her.”

Etta actually gasped. “What are you getting at?”

“I believe he’s trying to ask if you are my concubine,” Nicholas said with a humorless smile. “If you need rescue.”

“No!” she choked out. “Neither of us are even from this time, and the fact that you think he’s even capable of doing something like that—”

Hasan visibly relaxed, even as Nicholas put a calming hand on her shoulder. “One hears of such things—sees them—and so I worry. If Abbi is not here, then it falls to me to protect you. But if he is your husband, as he says, he shares in the responsibility.”

“I can take care of myself,” Etta muttered.

“This is the truth,” Nicholas told him, stooping down to pick up the letter. He glanced over it again. “But we’re in a hurry, you see. Ironwood has ‘sweet Rose’ at his mercy and is threatening to kill her, and very likely will, if we can’t figure out where she’s hidden something. Does this last phrase here mean anything to you? Bring jasmine to the bride who sleeps eternal beneath the sky?”

“My papa was very fond of riddles such as these, but I cannot say I have heard this one before.” Hasan’s steps were light as he made his way through the room, running his hands along each possession; all were clearly prized. He picked up the photograph of the tiger hunt and brushed the coating of dust from its glass face, continuing, “He is gone, but I have hope that I will see him again. Perhaps not as old as he was, but a young man, discovering this era for the first time. Perhaps he will not yet recognize me, but I will know him. And until that day, I will care for our family, and ask that you stay as my guests. When I am gone, you may use my home as your own.”

“Thank you,” Etta said. “But what do you mean, when you’re gone?”

They had…How many days was it now until the thirtieth? Only six?

“I must go to Baghdad to collect my wife, little cousin,” he said, an almost goofy look of happiness passing over his face. And once again, she tried to judge exactly how old he was, and came up with seventeen at the most. “Samarah will be greatly displeased to have missed you. She has gone to be with her sister and their new child. I will remain here to sell my indigo and pearls, and will fetch her as soon as the goods are gone and there is a caravan or others to travel with.”