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131
I’m about to say something more, no longer caring how Braxton reacts, when I remember back to my first Trip to Versailles when Killian gave me that handkerchief—how he waved it before me, as he promised he’d never forget me.
If seeing that handkerchief tonight woke him from the Fade, then why didn’t it wake him back then?
Or is it possible he was never actually in a Fade?
Did he instantly recognize me as a girl out of time, and after taking advantage of my own Fade, he gave me that embroidered piece of cloth knowing once Arthur saw it, it was just a matter of time before I was sent back to fetch him?
No.
It’s impossible.
Surely Killian was in a Fade. I mean, why else would he stay in Versailles for so long?
Unless he was purposely avoiding something at Gray Wolf.
Or, maybe even someone,like Braxton?
I remember how Killian hinted about there being more to Gray Wolf than collecting trinkets and art. But I was so incensed by his calling medarling, I missed the chance to ask what he meant.
Does he know about the Antikythera? Is that why he was in Versailles? Is that what Arthur referred to back in the Vault when he mentioned the costly mistakes he’d made in an effort to decipher the map? Was Killian that costly mistake?
Also, why did he refer to that man he’d left to bleed out as aTimekeeper? I mean, what the hell is that? And if that man is the enemy, then why did he have the same sort of tattoo, in the exact same spot, as my dad?
And what about the vision I saw in the garden? The one left from the boy who’d energetically imprinted the message into the sun. The same wavy-haired boy who bore an alarming resemblance to Braxton.
And why have all these memories of my father’s strange esoteric teachings—lessons that’ve lain dormant for years—suddenly awoken from a near decade’s long slumber starting from the moment I arrived at Arcana?
My dad, Arthur, the Timekeeper, Killian, Braxton—what could possibly be the connection?
“What’re you thinking?” Braxton slides closer, tentatively rests a hand on my knee. The startling warmth of his touch draws me back to the present, where the two of us sit in this opulent room.
I sigh heavily, releasing the burden of things I don’t want to carry. “I’m thinking about everything. And nothing. My thoughts are a puzzle, and not a single piece fits.” I press my eyes closed. Wishing I could clear my mind like a fresh coat of primer swept across a used canvas and start all over again.
“Please don’t let them divide us,” he says. “Arthur, Killian, Elodie—they’re out for only themselves. You’re the one true thing I have in my life.”
When I open my eyes, I find Braxton leaning toward me. His gaze soft, tentative, as though he’s no longer sure if his kisses are welcome. And for the first time since I saw him with Mason, I look at him through an unfiltered lens.
Gray Wolf holds so many secrets, but right now, this beautiful boy who sits before me, with a bit of a bend in his nose and eyes like the sea, has gone out of his way to protect me. To be true to me. And I can’t say that about anyone else I’ve met in this place.
I tip my body toward his, slide my hands over his cashmere-covered chest, and entwine my fingers at the nape of his neck.
But when his lips first meet mine, I flash on an image of the duke’s hideous, leering mouth, and I instinctively recoil from his touch.
“You okay?” Braxton draws away, gazing at me with such compassion and concern, it sets my heart lurching.
I remember what Arthur said about how I’m the one who decides how to frame my own stories.
Is it denial to focus only on the good stuff?
Or am I just choosing the brighter side of the truth?
Either way, I’m the one who determines what happens next. The duke will have no part in that.
“Yes,” I say, returning to Braxton, my lips eagerly tipping toward his. Because I am okay.
Better than okay.
