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115
“Maybe he deserves killing!” I snap.
With unseeing eyes, I raise the blade again, only to have it snatched right out of my hand.
“It’s enough. You’ve done enough. Trust me, once you’ve killed, you can never go back.”
I look up to find a boy holding my handmade weapon at his side. He’s strangely familiar, but the part of his face not hidden by his mask is veiled by shadow.
Retrieving a square of white cotton from his pocket, he offers it to me. “You have blood—” He motions to my cheek and then to my chin.
I make quick work of it, and when I return the square, he stares at the blue embroidery marking the center for so long, you’d think he was seeing it for the very first time.
I turn back to the bloodied man on the floor, and the boy says, “It’s not your place to change history. That man has a role to play that surpasses this moment. By killing him, you risk leaving a ripple in time that’ll have far-reaching effects.”
“That’s not my problem.” I scoff, torn between wanting to finish the job and the horrible realization of what I’ve already done, the sort of damage I’m still capable of.
“Let’s leave him alive and make sure that it’s not.” The boy offers his hand, but I brush it aside and find my own way to my feet.
“Who are you?” I ask, taking a deliberate step back. He doesn’t appear to mean any harm, but no one’s above suspicion anymore. Also, he’s acting kind of strange.
He shakes his head. Wipes a hand across his chin. “I found something,” he says. “Out there, on the ground.” He nods toward a place somewhere beyond the walls of this cell. “I think it belongs to you.”
I glance over my shoulder, then back at him, warily watching as he takes a step forward and leans into the light.
His hair is long and golden. His nose prominent, jaw strong. And though the cluster of medals on his jacket, along with the fine cut of his breeches and shine of his polished black boots, suggest he’s someone of significance, my attention is claimed by the small golden charm he now holds in the center of his outstretched palm.
It’s a gilded cage with a moon and star caught inside.
“Thanks to you, I remember.” His voice is merely a whisper. “And now it’s time for you to remember, too.” He takes another step toward me until there’s only a breath of space left spanning between us.
My hand trembles as I reach for the charm, fold my fingers around it, and gasp at the sudden rush of images that swirl through my head like a cyclone.
Braxton.
Gray Wolf.
Arthur.
Elodie.
The portal that’s going to close—and my own annihilation, if that happens before I can reach it.
My mind is a tempest of memory.
“My name is Killian de Luce,” the boy says. “And I want to help you. Will you let me?” His voice is gentle, kind.
I gaze back with wide, frightened eyes. “Unless you hold great favor with the king, they’ll make you pay for helping me.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t care about that anymore. I remember who I am now.”
“And who’s that?” My voice trembles.
“I’m one of you.”
Killian extends an arm toward the wall at my back, and at first, I’m not sure what he’s getting at.
But when I follow the length of his finger, I find the place where I scratched my name into the rock, along with the initials AAD, in a final bid to hang on to my memories.
