Ink, Iron, and Glass (Ink, Iron, and Glass #1)(87)

“What?” said Leo.

Faraz wrung his hands. “That’s what the Oracle said to me. At the time I didn’t understand how our choices could affect the entire world, but now…”

Elsa exchanged a weighted glance with Faraz, remembering the rest of the Oracle’s prophecy. The waters writhe with eldritch horrors. A plume of ash ten thousand meters high blocks out the sun. She said, “We can’t let Garibaldi get his hands on this book.”

Porzia planted her hands on her hips, moving on from horror to decisive practicality. “Garibaldi thinks he has the advantage because he is willing to hurt Jumi—or whoever else, I’d imagine—to get what he wants. We have to beat him at his own game.”

Leo snorted. “How, hold a knife to my throat? He threw me away, remember.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not suggesting we threaten you,” she said.

“Then what?”

“We threaten to destroy the editbook.” A small, devious grin pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Or render it useless, at least. We don’t need the editbook to be functional, but he does. Garibaldi may not have realized it yet, but we’ll have a hostage, too.”

It took them much less time to find their way out than it did to find their way in. The walls seemed to have stopped shifting around, and they knew to keep to the southeast quadrant to avoid the giant pit in the floor. A good thing, too, since Elsa’s attention was focused more on the book in her arms than on the ground in front of her feet.

“So,” Porzia was saying, “we’ll take it back to Casa della Pazzia first. Agreed?”

Elsa nodded. “I’ll need a minute with it, before we go after Jumi.”

Leo said, “Best not to show it to Gia, though.”

Porzia’s mouth tightened into a grim, unhappy line. “With any luck, Mamma will be too busy repairing the house to even notice we’re back.”

Elsa shrugged, deferring to their judgment on the matter of Signora Pisano. Her natural inclination was to hide everything from everyone, so this seemed a perfectly reasonable approach. “Here we are, this should be the corridor where we came in,” she said, turning around the last corner.

Elsa stopped short. There was someone leaning in the entranceway of the labyrinth—dark hair, amber eyes, insouciant slouch. Aris.

“Took you long enough,” he said, smirking. “I was about to send in a search party.”





19

HE WHO DOES NOT OPPOSE EVIL COMMANDS IT TO BE DONE.

—Leonardo da Vinci

Leo went cold at the sight of his brother. It took him a moment to find his voice. “What are you doing here?”

Aris pushed away from the wall and strolled closer to them. “After our conversation in Nizza, I was concerned you might be getting ideas. Might try to trick Father—leave with Jumi and the editbook.”

It was disorienting, meeting him here so suddenly. Leo hadn’t had the chance to prepare himself for seeing Aris again. “But … but how did you—”

“Relax, little brother,” Aris interrupted. “I’m here to protect you. Protect your friends. You don’t want to find out what happens to people who cross our father.”

Beside him, Elsa’s eyes narrowed. “You tracked us.”

“Better. I tracked your portals,” Aris gloated.

That, at least, remained the same. Aris had always been one to brag about his accomplishments, to bask in praise of his brilliant inventions.

“Is that so,” Elsa said. She had a careful, calculating look about her, as if she were already running through scenarios in her mind. Leo could only be grateful that someone was—he felt too blindsided to think clearly about their next move.

Instinctively, the four of them huddled closer, forming a united front in the face of Aris. Porzia was doing something behind her back. Leo didn’t dare look at her, lest he draw Aris’s attention as well.

Instead, he stepped forward and reached for his rapier. Aris registered the motion and drew his own, and the tips of their rapiers met in the air with a clack.

Aris grinned. “Been a long time, brother. Do you remember how we used to practice in the ballroom in Venezia?”

“I remember beating you on more than one occasion,” Leo replied.

They exchanged a few lunges and parries experimentally, each trying to gauge the other’s skill. Every fencer’s fighting style evolves over time, and there had been plenty of time since their last match. Leo feinted right, forcing Aris to circle him. He didn’t need to win; he only needed to hold Aris’s attention.

He drew Aris farther into the corridor, away from the labyrinth’s exit, always careful to keep himself positioned between his brother and his friends. He played just well enough to keep Aris’s rapier away from any vital organs, but let him believe he had the upper hand. He even allowed the sharp tip to graze him once, and tear his sleeve another time, all the while making room for the others to inch their way closer to the Edgemist.

“You’re out of practice, brother,” Aris crowed, slicing dangerously close to Leo’s cheek. “Pisa has turned you soft.”

“Or maybe I don’t believe you’re willing to skewer me just to get the book,” Leo countered.

“I’m confident I could patch you up afterward.” He flicked his wrist, the rapiers knocking together with a clack.