Page 73 of Ruling Destiny

“She used to live here,” Finn says as he picks up the pace, as though trying to outrun this conversation.

“Used to?” Mason looks from Finn to me, his face a mask of confusion.

“But then she…left,” Oliver says, his voice merely a whisper.

“Left. Sure,” Finn says under his breath, which pretty much proves he knows something—or at least suspects something.

“But I thought—” Mason starts, only to have Oliver cut in.

“Look,” he says. “All we know for sure is that one day she was here, and the next—” He makes a rolling gesture with his hand. “And now, all we’re left with are theories.”

“And what exactly are those theories?” I ask, but neither of them acknowledges my question.

We walk in silence for a while before finally stopping in front of their door, which is right across from my own. And I know if I have any hope of getting the truth, I need to act now.

“Look,” I say. “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but do you actually think Elodie’s responsible for what happened to Song?”

“Not…directly,” Finn says. “I can’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying?” I ask. “Because last we spoke of it, you guys were sure Song never made it back from her Trip.”

“Excuse me?” Mason’s eyes go wide, and while I realize this is probably not the best conversation to be having in front of someone who’s still new at all this, it’s not like he didn’t witness what nearly became of me in Regency England. “Does that actually happen?”

“It absolutely happens,” Oliver says. “Not everyone is lucky enough to get rescued.”

I’m not sure if Oliver was referring to me, Killian, or all the other nameless people I don’t even know about. But when he turns toward the door, I know I need to get whatever answers I can while I still can.

I have so many questions—about the note, the bottle of perfume, the small leather-bound book—but before I can so much as open my mouth, Oliver says, “Look, here’s what we know for sure: Song missed Anjou. And because of it, she no longer wanted to be here at Gray Wolf, so she made a choice to go. Whether she purposely got lost in time or found some other way, I can’t say for sure. But she’s gone now, and I seriously doubt we’ll ever see her again.”

“But Killian returned,” Mason says.

“Only because Natasha dragged him back,” Finn says. “Or so the story goes.” The way Finn slides a gaze over me makes me think he doesn’t quite believe the story I told.

Which, I have to admit, is pretty perceptive, considering how I hardly dragged Killian anywhere. He was all too willing to make his return.

“Anyway,” Oliver says, in the way of a person who’s desperate to end a conversation. “It’s late, everyone’s tired, and this isn’t exactly the best place to talk about this. So, Natasha, good luck tomorrow.” He leans in with a hug.

“Yes,” Finn says. “Safe Tripping.” When he joins the hug, I catch a whiff of something familiar, but a moment later, they’re gone, leaving Mason and me standing alone in the hall.

Knowing how on edge Mason must be after hearing all that, I give a nod toward his outfit and say, “I really hope Arthur sends you to the court of Louis XIV someday.”

Mason gazes down at himself, tugs on his ruffled shirtsleeves, and grins. “He’d be a fool not to, right?” Then his eyes meet mine, and he says, “So, your friend Song—what do you think really happened to her?”

I sigh. “No idea. But I hope to find out.”

His eyes meet mine, and I wish I had more time to share some of my thoughts, if for no other reason than Mason’s probably the only one here with an unbiased perspective.

But the truth is, I’m exhausted. So, I get right to the point and say, “I have something for you.” I reach into my bag and hand him a small velvet pouch.

Mason loosens the drawstring, slips a finger inside, and, finding the golden ring, he holds it up before him.

“It’s a talisman,” I say. “For when you Trip. It’s a sort of insurance against getting lost in a Fade, which is when you forget your own identity and what timeline you belong in. Not that you seemed to have a problem with that, but…” I’m rambling. I need to get to the point. “Anyway, do you remember?” I ask, my voice betraying my nervousness.

“How could I forget?” His face lights up at the memory of the time the two of us spent a rainy afternoon watchingBreakfast at Tiffany’son repeat, before we decided to head out to the nearest dollar store and recreate a scene from the movie. “I wore the Marilyn Monroe mask.”

“And mine was a masquerade one.” I nod, my eyes pricking with tears.

“You stole a glittering tiara for me, and I gave you—” He holds up the crown-shaped ring I had made using the gold from the ring I’d stolen from the duke who attacked me.

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