Page 56 of Ruling Destiny

“The upside-down High Priestess points toward secrets—the kind that can possibly cause trouble or harm. It can also mean that someone is listening to bad advice, following the wrong path or even the wrong teacher.”

“And?” Arthur asks, always looking for more.

And making the grave mistake of ignoring your own intuition—it can also mean that.

But I don’t say it. Instead, I say, “Maybe I’m missing something. But that’s all I’ve got.”

Arthur leans back in his seat. “Tell me,” he says. “How’s your prep work coming?”

I shrug. “My equestrian skills have improved, and I’m feeling more confident with swordcraft. Though, admittedly, I’m far from an expert in any of those things. As for languages…” I make a sheepish face. “It’s like my tongue refuses to speak anything other than Southern Californian.”

Arthur runs a hand along the edge of his desk. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing you’ll be Tripping with a fluent speaker.”

“About that—” I lean toward him. “This whole thing with the Antikythera and you sending me to Florence to bring back the Moon—it’s still confidential, right? Which means I’ll have to slip away and secure the piece on my own?”

“Will that be a problem?” he asks.

Of course it’ll be a problem! Braxton thinks we’re going to spend every waking moment together!

But since Arthur doesn’t like excuses or the people who make them, I simply say, “Well, it might prove a bit difficult, but—”

“But not impossible.” His gaze narrows on me.

I shake my head, return my own gaze to the map.

“When do you think you’ll be ready?” he says.

My head jerks up.Is he serious? Is it actually up to me to decide?

“Or, should I say, what more do you need to be ready?”

Ah, yes, that’s more like it.

I take a moment to think. Then, remembering today’s inspirational quote, “Fortune favors the bold,” I look at Arthur and say, “Two things.”

Arthur nods, waiting.

“One, if possible, I’d really like to see theSalvator Mundiin person.”

“And two?” Arthur places his elbows on the desk and steeples his fingers together.

“I’m really hoping you can explain just what the heck a Timekeeper is.”

32

A moment passes between us. It feels charged, dangerous. Like a live wire stretched to its limit, ready to snap any second.

And just when I’m about to breach the silence, Arthur does the strangest, most unexpected thing—he throws his head back and laughs—a deep, hearty howl of a sound—as I sit just opposite him, having no idea why that struck him as funny.

“My apologies.” He shakes his head. “I assumed you’d figured it out by now.”

My first instinct is to slump in embarrassment, but, reluctant to do anything that risks diminishing me even further in his eyes, I square my shoulders and say, “I’m guessing they’re some sort of enemy?”

Arthur centers his gaze on mine. “And what makes you think that?” His fingers idly pick at the cuffed sleeves of his sweater.

“Well, the man who went after me in Versailles—twice—according to Killian, he was a Timekeeper.”

Arthur nods. “I suppose Killian would know.”

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