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“Yeah.” He nods, pushing a stray lock of golden curls from his eyes. “Actually, I do.”

“You know what Jago once told me?” I muse.

“Seriously, Shiv?” Killian scoffs. “You do realize my blade is freshly sharpened, and I think you know better than anyone I’m more than willing to use it.”

Ignoring him, I go on. “Jago said each choice you make causes your life to shoot off in a new direction. But at the moment of decision, all those varying choices and directions are viable—those roads are already paved.”

“Yeah,” Killian grunts. “Jago’s a real fuckin’ genius. The next Nietzsche, no doubt.” He scowls, shaking his head.

“The only question now,” I continue, my gaze boring into his, “is which road will I take?”

A tense silence passes between us.

“Because here’s what I know for sure,” I say, stepping forward once more. “You are not going to harm me.”

Killian lets out a scornful laugh, increasing the pressure on his blade, deepening the wound, and causing a thicker stream of blood to gush from Braxton’s father’s neck. Though he barely reacts, having accepted his fate.

“I hate to break it to you, Shiv,” Killian says, “but I think you might be overestimating this bond you and I share. You really think I won’t harm you because I love you?” He shakes his head and frowns. “It’ll pain me to watch you go. Won’t lie about that. But, to my credit, I did try to warn you about making me choose between Arthur and you.”

Another step forward, and I say, “The reason you won’t harm me, Killian, isn’t because of any feelings you may or may not harbor for me, but because, well, simply put, we both know you can’t.”

He shoots me a wary look, tightens his grip on the hilt of his dagger.

“You need a Timekeeper to carry the Star back to Gray Wolf. You made that mistake a few times before, didn’t you? Like the time you killed my father.”

I watch as his eyes narrow, his jaw clenching as his back teeth grind together. “I need only one Timekeeper,” he says. “Which means one of you is expendable. Maybe I’ll take this wanker here and get rid of you.”

He pushes the blade harder, deeper, and I watch in horror as a torrent of blood begins to gush from the wound he made.

“Hand over the Star, Shiv,” Killian barks, “and—”

Before he can finish, I spring forward.

Dagger poised well above my head, I propel myself toward him, targeting the spot where his heart might reside should he actually be in possession of one.

Startled, Killian stumbles backward as Braxton’s father quickly ducks out of his hold.

“Natasha, no!” he cries out, a horrible guttural sound, but it’s too late for that.

My body collides with Killian’s, sending us crashing to the ground.

For a fleeting second, Killian seems to yield, his blade at his side, his swimming-pool eyes locked onto mine.

As I drive my own blade toward him, I could swear I hear him whisper, “Just do it already.”

Without hesitation, I follow through, the tip of my blade sinking into his chest.

50

Killian stares at me, eyes wide with shock. “Damn, Shiv,” he manages to say. “Look what you’ve done.” His fingers fumble at his chest; when they come away, they’re dripping with blood.

I lift my dagger once more. Like a replay of what happened with the duke back in 1745 Versailles, I’m more than willing to see this thing through. My resolve to finish this, finish him, is ironclad. Nothing Killian can say or do that will stop me this time.

“Natasha, don’t,” Braxton’s father urges. “This isn’t the way.” He hovers close by, his neck badly bleeding; he warns me against the very deed I’m poised to commit.

“Stay out of it, old man,” Killian rasps. “This here’s between Shiv and me.” His dagger is loosely clutched in his hand, the vibrancy fading from his eyes as blood steadily seeps from the wound in his chest. He looks at me and says, “Remember what I told you about this sort of thing?”

“Yeah,” I reply, my blade steady, ready to deliver as many blows as it takes to silence him.