Timeless (The Clockrealm Chronicles #3)

Prologue

The Labyrinth of Neverwhen raged.

Blinding white light shot toward the sky as if looking to split the night open—but if you went closer, you’d see that was not the case.

The white light spread all around the Labyrinth, too, and it was looking to destroy—not something ordinary, but something very, very dangerous.

A curse.

A curse cast by a boy with a Timekeeper Clock in his hands, full of hours and hours that some might argue did not belong to him—but then if he was smart enough to steal them from the biggest, most powerful machine ever created in the Clockrealm…

“NEVER!” the White Queen shouted at the top of her voice, and that was quite a lot. The guests—hand-picked people from the most important families who were allowed to enter the Labyrinth to watch the trials—heard her.

And Calren Hock, the youngest Royal Timekeeper in the past seventy years, was close enough that his ears rang from the sound.

“Don’t—don’t—DON’T, YOUR MAJESTY!”

His shout was lost to the blast of magic that shot from her, white as a Diamond’s, though the Royal Timekeeper knew she had been a Spade before. The magic spread on all sides, and his own, a pure teal color, rose to meet it.

But the shield only reached as far as the seconds before impact allowed, which was roughly two.

Two seconds, and the Royal Timekeeper’s shield made it halfway to the boy with the clock in his hands, casting a curse by weaving minutes and hours he had no business knowing how to weave—but there he was.

Bleeding, half dead already, chanting words and unleashing intent, as well as all the magic in his clock.

Then everything exploded.

White—that was all the world was made of for that second.

White, all consuming, so powerful it sent everything, everyone flying.

It sent the Royal Timekeeper flying, too, from where he’d tried to stop the queen, but it did not move the boy who’d cast the curse.

That teal-colored half-shield had done its job better than he himself expected and had protected the boy who cast the curse, if only physically.

Silence when the darkness fell.

The light disappeared all at once, and the shadows came from everywhere around the trees like they were peeling off their bark.

The Royal Timekeeper raised his head to find every single person who’d been in this forest on the ground.

He barely felt his body, felt the magic rushing through his veins, rebelling against the power—too much power—but he’d always thought of his own mind as a stubborn beast. And it was the only reason he managed to push himself off the ground, to reach for the nearest tree to help with his balance; the only reason he made it all the way to his knees when everyone was still motionless on the ground. Unconscious.

Including the White Queen.

His mind worked. The hands of his Timekeeper Clock vibrated and he felt them clearly, the magic begging to be used—but that was just raw instinct, his body trying to protect itself.

The Royal Timekeeper knew that there would be no protecting the boy who cast the curse if the White Queen woke up and found him there against the tree, one foot in the Everstill.

It was a fast decision, one of the fastest he’d ever made.

He was on his feet somehow, though he could have sworn his limbs were mere ghosts of what they had been before that blast. He made it to the boy, limping, turning his head back to see the white fabric of the queen’s dress bundled on the ground, to make sure she hadn’t awakened. And the other Hands…

They were everywhere, sprawled all over the ground. Alive, he hoped.

He very much hoped, and he battled the guilt quickly—as their warden it had been his job to keep them safe. His job.

But what could a Royal Timekeeper do against a queen of the Clockrealm?

Very little.

He could outrun her when she was unconscious, at least.

That’s exactly what he did. Swallowing the guilt and convincing himself that he was strong enough to carry the boy who cast the curse over his shoulder, he did just that.

Stubborn beast, indeed. His knees shook but didn’t give.

Before he wholly understood what was happening, he was carrying the boy—the tall boy, heavy, even if he looked skinny to the eye.

So heavy that his feet sank into the soil a little bit, and the boy mumbled something about curses and truths and theft—yet the Royal Timekeeper kept going.

He kept moving and he didn’t know where he was going, but his feet did.

He no longer could turn to make sure the queen wasn’t following, but he hoped it with all his seconds.

Then there was a building, wide and white and tall—The Ever.

It was dark outside, the sky angry, but he didn’t really need light to see as he stumbled forward, through doors, down hallways, a single thought in his head: don’t stop.

Whatever happened, he knew that if he stopped, he’d have lost. The only way this ended well was if he continued onward until his legs gave.

They didn’t, though.

They had picked their way and taken him down stairs, and he’d been about to fall so many times it had become his normal now. The weight over his right shoulder had become part of him, the boy’s body his own.

Then he heard the noise—somewhere upstairs.

A scream.

The queen’s scream.

His legs continued to guide him, took him deeper into dark corridors, empty, the faded lights on the lanterns flickering as if they were afraid of what was coming, too.

Hide—hide—hide, went his thoughts, and he was planning to, if only he knew where. He was planning to, and—

He came to a halt.

Held his breath.

Refused to blink as he looked toward the corner at the far end of the round room he was in.

The Royal Timekeeper then looked down at his legs. They had known where to bring him all along for real, even if his mind had been too busy to catch up.

See, the Labyrinth was a very…interesting place—if you could even call it a place.

It was more a living machine, almost sentient, built over a century ago.

And so, like all machines, the years had worn it down.

There were cracks all over the Labyrinth, if you knew where to look—corridors without shadows, rooms where no two clocks showed the same time, doors that opened before you touched them, and…

Whole rooms that had fallen off the temporal grid entirely over the decades—what the Timekeepers called pockets, where time pooled instead of flowing, stuttered, sometimes even forgot to move at all.

Pockets—and the Royal Timekeeper’s feet had brought him to one he’d known about since he first entered the Labyrinth.

It was a room that wasn’t a room, a corridor that wasn’t a corridor, with shifting walls and a ceiling that was higher and lower depending on which step you took.

His heart hammered in his chest as he carried the mumbling boy on his shoulder still, moving deeper and deeper into the narrow corridor, at the end of which was the pocket.

The far wall was made of forever-falling, perfectly silent, dark waters.

There was a metal hook extending from the middle of the floor, sprouting from soil as if it thought itself a flower or a tree.

One foot fell on water, another on tiles, another on grass—and then the Royal Timekeeper bent over as slowly as he could and dropped the boy on the floor with his back against the metal hook.

The next second, his knee gave.

His hand was on the boy’s shoulder, his breathing heavy, his eyes not quite able to focus yet.

“Silas,” breathed the Royal Timekeeper. “Silas, can you hear me?”

Wide, gray eyes met his own. Blood had dried under both his nostrils and on his upper lip.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” the boy choked.

“You should have waited, Silas. You shouldn’t have…you…you don’t know…”

But that was the thing, though—nobody knew. Not even the Royal Timekeeper was certain of it himself.

“They made us…they made us kill…” said the boy through gritted teeth, his Timekeeper Clock in his bloody fist still, the hand on it spinning and spinning without stop…

A noise somewhere far away—but the Royal Timekeeper heard it. His eyes opened wide.

He grabbed the boy’s face in his hands, went closer until his eyes were wide again, focused. “Do not try to come out there no matter what. You hear me? Do not move from here until I come to get you. Do you understand?”

The boy’s eyes fell closed.

“Silas!” A slap and two and three, and his eyes opened once more. “Do you understand me?!”

The boy did not answer.

The noise came closer.

The Royal Timekeeper squeezed his eyes shut but caught a frustrated scream before it left him. “Just…just don’t move. Don’t move!”

And he ran.

Once more his limbs did all the work for him, moved as fast as they needed to move, until he was outside in the hallway again, no longer in the pocket.

Until he turned to the opening on the wall and raised his hands, and the minutes from his own Timekeeper Clock stretched and flowed and turned to a bright teal that burst from his palms. His magic was furious, eager to be let out, to do something, make itself useful—and it did.

It spread onto the edges of the wall and extended them until they met in the middle, became solid concrete with not a single crack or line in the middle—but that wasn’t what would keep the boy safe.

That’s why the Royal Timekeeper then closed his eyes and poured twice as many seconds and minutes into the lock—a large lock made out of vibrant teal against the concrete wall, a lock that turned with the Royal Timekeeper’s magic, with his signature, with his blood.

Sealed. The pocket was perfectly sealed, and it would remain so for now.

Then the Royal Timekeeper turned and ran.

He didn’t know where, and this time his feet had no direction. That’s because it no longer mattered. He knew he couldn’t get far, and that was okay. He’d accepted it. He’d accepted that he was going to get caught.

His only hope was that he’d remain alive—not for himself, no, but for the boy. Half Spade, half Timekeeper—not just unheard of, or a wonder (maybe a horror to some people)—but proof.

Proof that a different life from what the people knew was possible.

So, he ran and ran as well as he could, exhausted, dragging his feet behind—for without purpose now his legs didn’t much care about being strong. He held onto walls as well as he could, and he made it all the way to the top of the stairs that brought him to the ground floor.

From there, he was only able to take two steps before his knees buckled and his body slammed against the wall just to keep upright. Sheer will kept him standing for another moment, and he knew there was no running.

She’d find him eventually.

And she did.

Everything came to a halt when he saw the movement from his peripheral. When he saw white.

He no longer breathed as heavily, and his legs no longer shook.

His eyes were on the floor, but he saw her just fine. Saw the way she moved her hands, the way her dress flowed with every step she took.

“Where do you think you’re going, Timekeeper?”

Eyes closed, the Royal Timekeeper took in a deep breath and pushed himself off the wall to face her.

“Your Excellency—”

“You thought you could run from me?” The White Queen’s voice was ice cold as she came closer. “You thought you could hide in the Labyrinth from me?”

The Royal Timekeeper paused for a good tick.

If the queen thought he was trying to run from her still, to hide from her…

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No, Your Excellency—you don’t understand.”

Laughter, cold and sharp, and she was halfway to him now. “Oh, I understand plenty. I understand you’re a traitor. I understand you’re nothing but a useless piece of gear, rustblood.” The hatred in her was evident, but the Royal Timekeeper wasn’t surprised.

He hadn’t heard that word since elementary school, since the Clockfolk children in the city whispered it to him as he passed them by.

Rustblood—because they wanted the Timekeepers to believe they were less, that their blood was oxidized just like the color of their hair, that it was corrupted, not pure Clockrealm blood. Decayed.

It was a word people no longer used, at least not in the open. Not adults. But the fact that the children had known to whisper it in secret meant adults did use the word in their homes still. Some might even still believe they were better than the Timekeepers. Superior in some way. Not thieves.

Which was almost funny because the greatest thief to have ever existed since the Great White Rabbit was standing right in front of the Royal Timekeeper now.

Smiling with those bloody lips.

“It’s over,” she told him. “There’s nowhere to go.”

“You don’t…you don’t understand. You don’t know—” the Royal Timekeeper tried again, but the White Queen didn’t want to hear it.

“I win,” she spat. “I win—tomorrow, and today, and always! I don’t care where the boy hides. He’s half-dead already with my magic latched onto him. I won’t even need to bother to try to find wherever he’s gone.”

She doesn’t know, thought the Royal Timekeeper.

The queen didn’t know he’d taken the boy, but…

The Royal Timekeeper hadn’t known something, either—that the White Queen’s magic had touched him. That it was on the boy even now.

If left unattended, without a healer, he would indeed die in just a few days.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head as the queen came closer.

“Oh yes,” she said, grinning ear to ear.

“No, no, Your Majesty, you don’t know who he is. You—”

“Oh, stop it!” she shouted, her voice sharp enough to make him want to cover his ears. “I know who he is just fine! I saw the clock in his hands—and you knew, too! You knew, didn’t you?!”

She was mad now. Completely mad, and the Royal Timekeeper moved back, shocked, terrified, trying but failing to get his jaw to move so he could speak fast enough—because her hands had lit up. White magic hung to her fingertips, waiting…

“Please, you have to listen to me—you don’t know who Silas is,” he said as her hands rose, and her smile spread, and her eyes darkened.

“Actually, I think I’ve heard quite enough, rustblood.”

In that split second, the Royal Timekeeper knew he’d already lost. There was no talking to the White Queen. She wasn’t going to wait or to listen.

Even so, he still tried.

“He’s—”

That single word managed to leave his lips.

Then the world turned white once more.