Chapter 33
AUGUST
My pulse misstepped. Lily hadn’t spun lies—she’d quoted the minutes of an empire already in motion. She had been telling the truth. She was from the future.
“Thank you, Constance.”
Her finger hovered as though she might reclaim the book. “Anything for you.”
I drained the rest of my drink, setting the glass down with deliberate calm.
Constance’s slippers scraped the flagstones as I left her behind the column, breath fogging in the draught. I tucked the ledger inside my jacket.
I moved back to the table where Lily sat. “Walk with me.” Not a question; pitched low so only she could hear.
We threaded past chandeliers and murmured politics. Our footsteps echoed off stone, steady as a heartbeat, until the gallery opened onto the terrace and night air knifed between us and the revelry.
Only then did we stop, frost-bright moonlight hemming the silence.
“Your father. The Unraveler. You never told me.”
I'd known this would come eventually.
“Would it have changed anything?” I asked quietly.
“Changed—” She turned on me, eyes blazing. “I've been living in his house. Under his roof. While—” Her words caught.
“You're not living in his house. You're living in mine.”
“Don't.” Her hands trembled. “Don't pretend there's a difference. You're his son. His hunter. He built you piece by piece.”
The words landed like blows, each one true enough to sting.
“Yes,” I said. “He made me. Raised me. Trained me to hunt Weavers without question.” I stepped closer. “And for weeks, I've been lying to him. About you.”
She stilled.
“Why?” The question was barely a whisper.
“Because—” I stopped, the words caught in my throat. Because she intrigued me. Because I couldn't watch her be erased. Because she'd gotten under my skin in ways I couldn't explain. Because choosing her over my father's expectations was the first real choice I'd ever made.
But I couldn't say any of that. Not here. Not with my father's eyes somewhere in that ballroom.
Instead, I reached into my coat and withdrew the ledger. “A document surfaced tonight. From a London engineering firm. Plans to bring electricity to Oxford by summer.”
Her breath caught.
“You were right,” I said, holding it out to her. “About the electricity. About the changes coming.”
She stared at the ledger like it might bite her.
“So now you believe me.”
“Now I have proof you were telling the truth.” I set it on the balustrade between us.
“Which means everything else you've said—about being from the future, about the pendant, about not being a Weaver—”
“Is also true,” she finished, lifting her chin. “But you needed proof. Needed it written down in ink before you could trust me.”
“I'm a hunter, Lily. I'm trained not to trust.”
“And I'm the woman you've been investigating.” She looked away. “The one you dance with while your father watches. While you decide whether I'm worth the lies you're telling.”
“You are.” The words came out rougher than I intended. “Worth every lie. Every risk.”
She met my gaze, searching for something.
“Why? Why risk everything for someone you don't even trust?”
Because I did trust her. Had trusted her from the moment she'd threatened to hit me with a pitcher, looked me in the eye and refused to cower. Had trusted her when the voice of my upbringing screamed that she was dangerous.
But saying that would be crossing a line I couldn't uncross. So I said nothing.
Instead, I slipped a chain from beneath my shirt. A pendant swung free—golden casing, an hourglass no larger than a tear. Sand inside shimmered but never fell.
Lily's face went white.
“Where did you get that?” Her hand reached toward it, then froze.