Page 31 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)
I stand before Arthur, my body trembling, my mouth as dry as bone, grappling with the horrifying truth of his words.
I thought I had time—a year, maybe two. But Arthur has discovered a shortcut, and now there’s not enough time to devise a plan to stop him!
“I can see your disappointment,” he says, gaze sharp and unwavering. “Though you’ve greatly enjoyed these little excursions through time, I presumed you’d feel some sense of achievement on my behalf. After all, I never could’ve done this without you.”
With glazed eyes, I nod dutifully, my mind spinning with everything he’s said and all it implies. Arthur is ten steps ahead of me in this game, and I fear I may never catch up.
“Before you came to Gray Wolf, I was at a bit of a loss,” he continues. “My dream was stalled. But now, thanks to you, eternity is well within my grasp. And once you’ve secured the Star, you’ll be free of those damn misguided Timekeepers.”
I search Arthur’s face for any hint of recognition that I’m one of those damn Timekeepers , but his expression remains impassive, unreadable—a facade I’ve never been able to penetrate.
And yet, clearly, he knows what I am. It’s the sole reason he brought me here. Still, the question remains: Does he realize I’ve discovered my destiny? That I’m no longer the same clueless girl who first arrived on this rock?
The three golden circles beneath my sleeve begin to throb in an unbearable itch, and it’s all I can do to maintain my composure, to stand steady and firm, despite the turmoil brewing within.
Arthur stands before me, exuding the aura of a man on the cusp of achieving a long-cherished dream. For him, this moment is triumphant, but for me the revelation lands with a daunting gravity. Time is slipping through my grasp faster than I ever imagined, and I have no idea how to stop it.
“Natasha, are you all right?” Arthur’s tone softens, a hint of concern threading through his words.
Drawing in a deep breath, I try to wade through the storm of my thoughts. “I’m just surprised,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I though you wanted to fully restore the Antikythera Mechanism—see it in its entirety, with all its original pieces and components intact, including the original box it was encased in. There are still so many pieces left to be found, but now it seems—”
Arthur, his patience evidently worn thin, sharply interrupts. “You’ve been aware of my true intentions from the start,” he says, his intense gaze locking onto mine.
I swallow past the bile rising in my throat, silently urging my stomach not to betray me. The air between us is charged with a palpable tension, but I know I can’t afford to let Arthur see my uncertainty.
“And exactly how do you plan to remake the world, once I bring you the Star?” I ask, meeting the challenge in his gaze. I remind myself that I have every right to ask. He can achieve his dream only if I’m willing to cooperate.
After an agonizingly long stretch of silence, he says, “It will be a place of great beauty.” As though that were somehow enough. As though his version of beauty is one-size-fits-all.
Though, having caught a glimpse of his remade world, I can at least confirm he’s telling his version of the truth.
“Now,” he says, directing me back to the task at hand. “Once you’ve made your selection, you may leave. But a word of advice: Use your time wisely, study the engraving, and ensure you’re well-rested. Your next Trip will demand your best.”
“You mean my next Trip to locate the Star?” I ask, needing confirmation.
Arthur gives a sharp, decisive nod.
“And have you decided who will join me on this Trip?” I watch his face closely. Last time we met, he was debating between the equally unpleasant candidates of either Elodie or Killian, so I float another name for him to consider. “Because I’m not sure if you realize this, but I’ve Tripped with everyone here, except Braxton.”
My gaze locks on his, and though I want to remind him of the broken promise that Braxton and I would Trip to Renaissance Italy together, only for him to send Killian in his place, I refrain. We both know that, in Arthur’s view, there’s no debt to be settled with me.
Arthur, a master at the poker face, gives nothing away. Though I detect a slight edge to his voice, a hint of irritation, when he says, “As mentioned, I will inform you once I’ve made my decision.”
Knowing I’ve broached the topic as far as I can, I navigate through rows of masterpieces under Arthur’s keen surveillance. Making a beeline for Caravaggio’s depiction of David slaying Goliath, I feel his piercing gaze tracking my every step.
Though I’ve always admired Caravaggio’s work—he’s a master of chiaroscuro, the use of strong contrasts between light and dark—unlike Braxton, it’s not the kind of art I ever thought I could live with. It always seemed too heavy and brooding.
But now, as I stand before David with the Head of Goliath , I’m swept away by its power. The work is raw, dynamic, and dramatic, depicting David in the aftermath of his victory, holding Goliath’s severed head by the hair. The expert brushwork draws me in, and I feel an immediate kinship with this journey, especially the way David is portrayed in his victory.
Instead of gloating, David exhibits a sense of introspection, pondering the cost of his conquest. The face of Goliath, said to be a self-portrait of Caravaggio, hints at the toll on both the beast and the artist. If I do manage to outmaneuver Arthur, I imagine my emotions will mirror that sentiment. Such a win, while gratifying, will undoubtedly carry a tinge of bitterness.
Knowing how Arthur likes to psychoanalyze our artistic preferences, I wonder what conclusions he might be drawing as he watches me grasp the edge of the frame, ready to stake my claim. But just as I’m about to commit, another work catches my eye, and I find myself rushing toward it.
My heart skips a beat as I gaze at the scene unfolding on the canvas before me. I’ve always had an enormous fondness for this piece and the artist who painted it. I can hardly believe I didn’t think of it before, when all this time, it’s been sitting right here, mine for the taking.
Judith Slaying Holofernes , by Artemisia Gentileschi, is an absolute wonder, as is the artist herself—a young woman whose personal story is as profound as the works she created. This piece, depicting the biblical story of Judith, reflected the artist’s own personal struggles and triumph over adversity.
Standing before it, I realize it resonates with me just as much, if not more, than the Caravaggio. Born to a well-established artist, Artemisia’s early life was marked by trauma when she was raped by the painter Agostino Tassi, a colleague of her father. She chose to prosecute and go to trial, which was pretty much unheard of at the time. Despite being subjected to torture to verify her testimony, she prevailed. Tassi was convicted, and Artemisia gained respect and patronage in a male-dominated field—a rarity in her time. She even became the first woman accepted into the Accademia delle Arti del Disegno and enjoyed the patronage of the Medici family and Charles I of England, among others.
Her work, somewhat forgotten after her death, was rediscovered in the twentieth century, and she’s now celebrated as a pioneering figure in the history of women in the arts. She’s also one of my personal heroes, and, as it happens, her painting sends a powerful message to Arthur.
“Interesting choice,” Arthur says. Though I don’t turn to look, I feel his gaze burning into the back of my skull.
In this powerful painting, Judith, assisted by her maidservant, executes Holofernes. The way Judith grasps his hair, pressing down on his forehead with one hand while drawing the sword across his neck with the other, is so vivid and real, I can feel the muscles straining in her arms, feel her determination to get the job done. The maidservant holding Holofernes down only adds to the sense of violence and realness.
Like Caravaggio, Artemisia used the chiaroscuro technique, intensifying the drama and highlighting the resolve on Judith’s face, as well as the horror and desperation on Holofernes’s as he comes to terms with his fate.
It’s a painting celebrated not only for its technical skill but for its depiction of female power and resilience. Which makes it the perfect, if not only, choice I can make.
Grasping the corner of the frame, I turn to Arthur and say, “It is an interesting piece, I agree. I’ll take it.”
There’s a challenge in my eyes. But Arthur, his own gaze on lockdown, merely nods and says, “I’ll see that it’s delivered to your room.”