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Prologue

Braxton

Basilique Royale De Saint-Denis, France

1741

I stand beside the dead man and raise my torch high, my gaze cutting from those blank, lifeless eyes to the bloodied gash in his chest where the dagger plunged deep into his heart and claimed his last breath.

I never meant for it to go this far. I never—

Desperate to block out the sight, I squeeze my eyes shut, only to find the gruesome image burned into my brain—a bleak and wretched still life destined to haunt me for the rest of my days.

“Merde.” I grimace, then turn to see Killian coming to stand beside me, a cigarette tucked between his lips.

“Speak English,” he says, his voice booming through the ancient space. “You can cut the act now. It’s just us.”

He grabs hold of my wrist and, using the flaming torch like a match, lights the tip and takes a deep drag that launches him straight into a coughing fit.

“Nothing like a good gasper.” He chokes. “My pop gave me my first taste back when I was nine.” Killian looks at me sideways and laughs. “Didn’t realize how much I missed it. The smoke, that is. Not my pop.” To illustrate the point, he blows a series of smoke rings that hover briefly over the corpse. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m not better suited for this century. You know, before all the rules and regulations and blasted surgeon general warnings.”

I watch uneasily as he crouches beside the dead man and, with a tap of his finger, slides the eyelids all the way closed.

“Fuckin’ giving me the creeps, the way he’s half-lidded staring at me.”

“Do you think it’s true?” I gaze down at my boots. The toes are splattered with vomit and blood. And though my first instinct is to wipe it all off, I know that I won’t.

Mainly because I can’t allow myself to forget that, because of my actions, a young girl just lost her father and she’ll never know why. I shake my head, shake away the thought, and return to the question. “About the Sun being a fake—what do you make of that?”

Killian flicks a length of ash onto the dead man’s cheek. In that moment, I’ve never hated him more.Disrespectful, despicable piece of—

“Do you really think Arthur would send us out for a dupe?” He lets out a derisive snort.

My gaze finds the body again.No. Not a body; a person. A man who had a wife, a daughter. A man who, thanks tome—was put to a violent, premature end.

And yet, he’s not just any man, but a Timekeeper. One who, even when he sensed what was coming, remained completely unshaken, accepting a fate that was not his to change.

Or at least until he heard the threat leveled against his girl. Because in that instant, he switched from loyal, oath-keeping Timekeeper to desperate father willing to do anything to save his daughter.

“Hey, Posh Spice—”

I look to Killian and frown. His constant digs at my upper-crust accent never fail to get under my skin.

He pushes himself off the ground until he’s towering a good three inches above me. At fourteen, he’s a bit older than me, but he’s also tall for his age. Built, too. “In case you haven’t noticed—” He reaches into his pocket and retrieves an engraved silver flask. “We did the damn thing. So take a load off—have a drink. Still enough time to stash the body and be on our way.”

I don’t want the drink, but knowing it’s easier to go along, I take the flask and fake a swig. But Killian’s onto me, and before I can stop him, he tips the bottom with a whack of his hand, causing a jolt of whiskey to slip down my throat, leaving a fiery trail in its wake.

“That’s more like it,” he grunts, reclaiming the flask, he takes a hefty swill for himself. “One Timekeeper down, another to go,” he shouts, then seeing my look of confusion, he says, “I’m talking about the girl, of course.”

“But that’s impossible,” I say. “There are no female Timekeepers.”

“There are now.” He shrugs. “As his first and only child, that makes his daughter a Timekeeper, too. And I, for one, can’t wait to meet this miracle girl. I plan on showing her the onetruewonder of the world before it’s time to end her. Send her out with abang, as they say.”

My stomach rolls as I watch him thrust his hips back and forth, all the while making crude gestures with his fingers and tongue. This guy is so crass, so vulgar and obnoxious, I vow right here and now that if I should ever meet this girl, this supposed Timekeeper, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her from him.

Or, on second thought, maybe I should take care of it now. I’m pretty sure no one will miss him. Or at least not for long. Hell, people disappear all the time. What’s one more?

“C’mon,” he says. “Help me dump the body so we can get back to Gray Wolf and celebrate for real.”