Page 24 of Ruling Destiny

“Sometimes?” Killian tips his head back and laughs. “You’d be surprised how much he gives away. Redistributing the wealth is one of his greatest joys.”

“So, he really is Robin Hood,” I say.

“Arthur is a lot of things,” Killian replies somewhat mysteriously. “And while there’s much I’m not authorized to share, I will tell you this—sometimes, when I’m out Tripping, Arthur has permitted me to free the odd prisoner now and again.”

I stare at him blankly, trying to make sense of his words.

“I break them out of their cell and bring them back here.” He shrugs, once again tucking into his food.

My fork slips from my fingers, clattering loudly against my plate. My mind is in a whirl, struggling to process his words.

“You mean, bring them back here like ensla—?”

Before I can finish, Killian stops me. “Good God, no.” He glances over his shoulder, ensuring no one heard, then returns to me wearing an expression of horror. “Don’t even think it—much less say it. It’s nothing of the sort.”

It’s the most wound-up I’ve ever seen him, and yet, I refuse to let it go. “But if that’s what happened with Maisie, and you brought her back here to work—”

“Shiv,please.” Killian speaks in the sort of stage whisper intended to shush me. “Let’s get one thing straight—Arthur doesn’townthem. He doesn’t own anyone. They chose to come to Gray Wolf. I’m betting it’s not so different from how you ended up here.”

“Oh, so you framed them for a crime before you freed them from jail?”

“No.” Killian narrows his gaze. “Nothing remotely like that.”

“Then it’s nothing like me,” I tell him, my voice edged with the sort of unmistakable bitterness I didn’t expect. I truly thought I’d moved beyond all of that.

“My point is, they were given a choice,” Killian says. “And I know you were, too, because that’s how Arthur works. They could either stay behind and face the consequences of their purported crimes—which often meant death—or they could agree to come here, where they’d be clothed, fed, and have all their needs met.”

“In exchange for their labor,” I say.

“You’re still not getting it.” He takes another bite of his pie and washes it down with a swig of his coffee. “Look—” He pushes back a random curl that’s tumbled over his forehead and into his eyes. “What I know for sure is that everyone you see here was an innocent victim of uncivilized times. They were poor, with no chance of improving their lot. And when given the choice between staring down the guillotine, being drawn and quartered, burned at the stake, or whatever punishment their executioners could dream up—versus traveling forward in time to a safe place in the new millennium—only a few didn’t take the chance to escape.”

I watch as he polishes off what’s left of his pie, then starts eyeballing mine.

“You going to eat that?” He motions toward my plate. “Because if not—”

“Yes,” I say, quick to carve another piece and angle it into my mouth.

“God, I love a girl with an appetite.” Killian watches me with a look of deep appreciation.

“You were saying?” I pause my fork and shoot him a knock-it-off look.

“Yes—back to Maisie,” he says. “She was training as a midwife’s apprentice when the baby she was helping deliver was stillborn, and she and the midwife were convicted of witchcraft and sentenced to die. Maisie chose to flee. The midwife chose to burn. Then there was the time when…”

Killian rambles on, but my mind has traveled back to the leather-bound book I saw in Song’s room. The one with the strange marking on its cover.

Magick has always been the currency of the oppressed.

Is it possible that book is some sort of spell book or grimoire?

And if so, then why did Song have it?

And what about the person in the red cape who carried it out of a maze that no longer exists in the modern day?

All I know for sure is that Song was sending a message via the perfume and the note. But did Freya put it in my room—or was it someone else?

“I’ve lost you,” Killian says, drawing me away from my thoughts. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re many timelines away.”

“Sorry.” I offer a thin smile that feels wrong on my face. “I guess I was just wondering…”

---