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112
I have no idea how to play this.
This is not one of the stories we covered in AP History. If it was, maybe I would’ve paid more attention.
It’s also not the sort of thing we covered at Gray Wolf, where the focus is on learning to blend so seamlessly, you rise above all suspicion and avoid moments like this.
And yet, despite all the time I spent studying, I still find myself being dragged deep into the bowels of Versailles, where the rooms are devoid of all grandeur, probably because they’re reserved for torturing traitors and holding them prisoner.
Realizing it may well turn out to be my last chance to save myself, I cry, “Stop! I—I’m sorry. Um…je suis désolé!”
The groundskeeper rakes a disparaging gaze over me, then shoves me hard against a wall as I frantically tap my mask once again, but still nothing appears.
Technology can fail, Jago had warned.
And while it’s undoubtedly true, I’ve got my own theories about what’s really going on here.
“Do you know what happens to little thieves like you?” The groundskeeper snarls as he jabs the tip of my dagger to a tender bit of flesh just under my ear.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my head ducked in shame.
The groundskeeper leans closer. “Repetez!” he commands, and I know I have no choice but to obey.
Slowly, I lift my chin and center my gaze upon his. “I said, I’m so—”
As he cocks his head to the side and leans toward me, I seize the moment to kick my leg high and jam my knee straight into his groin.
“Sophomore year PE, self-defense module,” I spit, watching as a shock wave of pain thunders through him, causing his knees to give way as he crumbles to the ground in a heap.
I crouch down beside him, wishing I could take full advantage of the moment and really savor this victory but, since time is definitely not on my side, I’m quick to reclaim my dagger and pinch the small golden ball from the leather pouch at his waist.
Then I cram my stockings into one of my pockets, bite back a scream of agony as I shove my ravaged feet back into my shoes, and just to make sure he won’t be rallying anytime soon, I aim a solid kick to the side of his ribs that sends the air whooshing right out of him. Then I spin on my heel and run like the wind.
I have no idea where I’m going, but seeing as how I can’t afford to have any of those nobles who spotted me earlier deciding to break out of their fog of apathy and play the hero by returning me to captivity, it’s safer to head the opposite way that I came.
There’s a corner up ahead, and though I’ve no idea what mysteries I might discover on the other side, I’m hoping it will allow me to duck out of sight long enough to get my bearings and find my way back to the portal while I still can. Because when it comes down to it, as much as I dread seeing Arthur’s disappointment when he discovers I failed to drag Killian back to Gray Wolf, it’s still preferable to shaking hands with my own oblivion.
Because, just like the handkerchief vanished from my pocket, I know I’ll also vanish the second I cross my own timeline.
The bottoms of my feet are so battered and raw, every step brings a fresh wave of misery. Still, I race forward, about to swing around the bend, when a man turns the corner and I run smack into his brick of a chest.
He cries out in surprise. Settles me back on my feet. And just when I’m sure that I’m free, his gaze darts from me to the flashing bit of gold in my hand, to the gleaming dagger in my other hand, to the place just past my shoulder where the groundskeeper lies curled in a heap.
Next thing I know, he’s locking me inside a cell.
