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His words leave me stunned, struggling to accept his resignation. If there’s even the slightest chance to save him, why on earth would he not take it?

“Every action leads to the next,” he says. “And despite the sorrow involved, I must trust that my son is precisely where he is meant to be. There’s a reason two Timekeepers from different eras have been brought together.”

His words settle over me, and while I won’t argue with his reasoning, there’s one thing I still need to make clear. “While I agree that the story of Macbeth does sound strikingly similar to Arthur Blackstone,” I say, “there’s one crucial difference.”

Braxton’s father cocks his head, his piercing gaze locked onto mine.

“Arthur doesn’t aspire to be a king. Not because he lacks ambition, but because his aspirations exceed the confines of ruling a mere kingdom. Arthur seeks dominion over time itself, envisioning himself in the role of an omnipotent God, intent on remaking the world in his own image.”

The response is swift, unequivocal. “Then he must be stopped.”

I nod, hopeful that I’ve finally managed to sway him to my side.

After a brief, contemplative pause, he says, “Your companions are currently in the ballroom.” He makes a vague gesture toward the door. “By all accounts, they appear to be enjoying themselves.”

“They’re good at pretending,” I say. “It’s what Arthur’s trained them to do. But soon, they’ll tire of all that and come looking for me. And, since you’re the Timekeeper meant to stop me, here’s how you can help.”

48

Just as we’re about to exit the study, Braxton’s father retrieves a red cape casually left on a chair and offers it to me.

“Wear this,” he says. “It will keep you from being easily recognized.”

As I drape the cloak around my shoulders and draw the hood over my head, the significance of the moment does not escape me. Not only do I mirror the maiden depicted on the Star card from the Visconti-Sforza deck, but also the mysterious figure I spotted navigating the complex maze beneath my window at Gray Wolf.

“Do you know where we’re headed?” he asks.

I nod. “The Star is hidden inside the labyrinth.”

Pausing briefly before the door, he glances over his shoulder and says, “I was certain you were headed there during your last visit. I presumed that’s what led you to the window. From there, looking north, it’s just visible.”

“Back then, I had no idea what I was doing,” I admit.

As we make our way into the hall, I steal a glance at the dance floor, searching for Elodie and Killian amid the swirling throng of dancers.

“Come,” Braxton’s father urges, his tone insistent. “There is no time for that.”

With his hand at my elbow, I duck my head and follow his lead without hesitation. To my great shame, I notice he now walks with a slight limp, courtesy of my last visit.

Making our way outside, we quicken our pace through the gardens, enveloped in a heady fragrance of jasmine and the distant strains of a string quartet, a haunting melody that seems almost in tune with our purposeful strides.

Reaching the edge of the labyrinth, Braxton’s father stops. Letting go of my arm, he says, “I will remain here to keep watch.” I nod, ready to dart into the maze when he adds, “May the fates be with you, Natasha.”

I pause, recalling how Charlotte echoed the same sentiment. Dismissing it as a turn of phrase from another era, I venture inside.

The hedges loom high, towering far above me, their meticulously groomed branches casting shadows that dance under the moonlit sky. Drawing the cape closer, I take a moment to tap into any ancestral Timekeeper wisdom, hoping some glimmer of insight on how I might go about unlocking this maze is buried within me.

It’s not long before the mark on my arm begins to thrum as my feet instinctively move. Propelled by the pull of my destiny and bolstered by the belief I can navigate it successfully, I delve deeper into the intricate twists of the labyrinth.

With each step, the feeling that time is collapsing in on itself grows stronger.

With each bend and curve the lines between past, present, and future seem to blur.

A phenomenon that only amplifies the recurring thought that once again streams through my head.

Time is a flat circle. You have been here before, done this before.

Amid this unsettling déjà vécu, my determination to shatter this endless loop has never been stronger.