Page 62
Story: Ruling Destiny
But is that because you had an audience? What if it had been just us?
“And even now,” she continues, “I could’ve easily sat back and watched you climb inside. Not that you would’ve gone anywhere, seeing as how the conditions weren’t right, but not only did I stop you, but I rushed out of that construct because I could tell you were up to no good. And now that I’ve told you, my conscience is clear. So tell me, Nat, are we good? Have I managed to redeem some small part of myself?”
I want to believe her. Mainly because being able to trust Elodie would make my life here at Gray Wolf a helluva lot easier. So I take a deep breath and say, “Thank you. For saving me yesterday.”
She nods, brings her chair to a stop, and collects her wig from the floor, flopping it over her arm in a way that makes it look like she’s cradling some sort of strange, faceless dog.
“You might want to take a closer look at whoever sent you out there.” She runs a hand down the bodice of her dress as she stands. “Because clearly, they can’t be trusted.”
As she’s making her way up the stairs, I call out to her. “You mentioned something about it needing to be just the right conditions.”
Gripping the banister, she turns to face me.
“What did you mean?” I try to get a good read on her, but the way the chandelier reflects off her features makes it nearly impossible to catch her expression.
So, all I can do is take her at her word when she says, “It follows the cycles of the moon.”
I nod, sensing there’s more.
“And the conditions for disappearing are right when the moon is in its waxing phase.”
I blink. Swallow. Incapable of moving, speaking, doing much of anything other than open-mouthed staring.
“The waxing phase,” she repeats. “Just like it was yesterday.”
35
By the time I make it back to my room, I’m so distracted by what Elodie said, it’s a moment before I notice there’s a freaking Leonardo da Vinci painting casually propped in the corner.
Or at least I assume it’s theSalvator Mundi, because it’s not like I check.
Because right now, it’s just one bigwhatever.
Right now, all I can think about is how Freya might’ve directed me toThe Magicianduring the waxing phase on purpose—that she might’ve actually set out tomake me disappear. And the worst part is, she has access to my room during the times I’m not here.
I flip the switch next to the hearth and warm my hands before the fire, trying to think of the best way to handle her, when there’s a knock at my door.
My first instinct is to ignore it. If it’s Freya, I can’t risk speaking to her until I’ve sorted it out. But then the knock sounds again, followed by: “I know you’re in there.” And I immediately recognized the voice as Mason’s.
“Do you want to sit?” I usher him through the door and gesture nervously toward the velvet settee. It’s the first time he’s been in my room—the first time we’ve spoken since yesterday’s Trip—and I’m not entirely sure where I stand with him.
Mason ignores the offer and wanders the space. Pausing before the Salvador Dalí, he says, “The Persistence of Memory?” He shoots a squinty look over his shoulder, his eyes slowly taking me in. “Do I want to know what you stole to get your hands on that?”
“Probably not.” I sink onto a chair and watch as he continues his inspection.
After taking a moment to studyVanitas, he heads back toward me. “I’m sensing a theme,” he says. “Time, memories, vanities…” He nods toward the easel. “And that one?”
I shake my head. “It’s not mine.” Then, desperate to change the subject, I say, “I hear you did good today.”
“You heard or you saw?” Mason cocks a brow.
“Both,” I admit, my belly clenching when he wanders over to the easel, lifts the cloth, and flings it aside.
Other than the crackling of flames in the hearth, the room is quiet enough that I can hear his quick intake of breath when he takes in the sight of the da Vinci masterpiece.
“It’s real,” I tell him before he can ask. But by now, he’s probably already guessed that.
“So—” He turns away from the painting and settles onto the velvet settee. “Is there a reason you didn’t at least try to warn me?”
“And even now,” she continues, “I could’ve easily sat back and watched you climb inside. Not that you would’ve gone anywhere, seeing as how the conditions weren’t right, but not only did I stop you, but I rushed out of that construct because I could tell you were up to no good. And now that I’ve told you, my conscience is clear. So tell me, Nat, are we good? Have I managed to redeem some small part of myself?”
I want to believe her. Mainly because being able to trust Elodie would make my life here at Gray Wolf a helluva lot easier. So I take a deep breath and say, “Thank you. For saving me yesterday.”
She nods, brings her chair to a stop, and collects her wig from the floor, flopping it over her arm in a way that makes it look like she’s cradling some sort of strange, faceless dog.
“You might want to take a closer look at whoever sent you out there.” She runs a hand down the bodice of her dress as she stands. “Because clearly, they can’t be trusted.”
As she’s making her way up the stairs, I call out to her. “You mentioned something about it needing to be just the right conditions.”
Gripping the banister, she turns to face me.
“What did you mean?” I try to get a good read on her, but the way the chandelier reflects off her features makes it nearly impossible to catch her expression.
So, all I can do is take her at her word when she says, “It follows the cycles of the moon.”
I nod, sensing there’s more.
“And the conditions for disappearing are right when the moon is in its waxing phase.”
I blink. Swallow. Incapable of moving, speaking, doing much of anything other than open-mouthed staring.
“The waxing phase,” she repeats. “Just like it was yesterday.”
35
By the time I make it back to my room, I’m so distracted by what Elodie said, it’s a moment before I notice there’s a freaking Leonardo da Vinci painting casually propped in the corner.
Or at least I assume it’s theSalvator Mundi, because it’s not like I check.
Because right now, it’s just one bigwhatever.
Right now, all I can think about is how Freya might’ve directed me toThe Magicianduring the waxing phase on purpose—that she might’ve actually set out tomake me disappear. And the worst part is, she has access to my room during the times I’m not here.
I flip the switch next to the hearth and warm my hands before the fire, trying to think of the best way to handle her, when there’s a knock at my door.
My first instinct is to ignore it. If it’s Freya, I can’t risk speaking to her until I’ve sorted it out. But then the knock sounds again, followed by: “I know you’re in there.” And I immediately recognized the voice as Mason’s.
“Do you want to sit?” I usher him through the door and gesture nervously toward the velvet settee. It’s the first time he’s been in my room—the first time we’ve spoken since yesterday’s Trip—and I’m not entirely sure where I stand with him.
Mason ignores the offer and wanders the space. Pausing before the Salvador Dalí, he says, “The Persistence of Memory?” He shoots a squinty look over his shoulder, his eyes slowly taking me in. “Do I want to know what you stole to get your hands on that?”
“Probably not.” I sink onto a chair and watch as he continues his inspection.
After taking a moment to studyVanitas, he heads back toward me. “I’m sensing a theme,” he says. “Time, memories, vanities…” He nods toward the easel. “And that one?”
I shake my head. “It’s not mine.” Then, desperate to change the subject, I say, “I hear you did good today.”
“You heard or you saw?” Mason cocks a brow.
“Both,” I admit, my belly clenching when he wanders over to the easel, lifts the cloth, and flings it aside.
Other than the crackling of flames in the hearth, the room is quiet enough that I can hear his quick intake of breath when he takes in the sight of the da Vinci masterpiece.
“It’s real,” I tell him before he can ask. But by now, he’s probably already guessed that.
“So—” He turns away from the painting and settles onto the velvet settee. “Is there a reason you didn’t at least try to warn me?”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114
- Page 115
- Page 116
- Page 117
- Page 118
- Page 119
- Page 120
- Page 121
- Page 122
- Page 123
- Page 124
- Page 125
- Page 126
- Page 127
- Page 128
- Page 129
- Page 130
- Page 131
- Page 132