Map of Fates

by Maggie Hall

  “Do you actually need something, or are you just here to bother us?” I said over my shoulder.

  “Have you actually made any progress, or did your fake passport idea not go as intended?” he retorted.

  My chest squeezed painfully. “I guess I missed the part where you had a better idea. Or where you were willing to search the continent for the second bracelet on your own.”

  Stellan drummed his fingers on the back of the couch. “You know very well that I do have a better idea . . .”

  I shook my head and retrieved a newspaper article we’d found earlier from my bag. Another item for the crazy clue wall.

  “Just tell me one thing,” Stellan said after a minute. I could feel him watching me as I tacked up the article. “Is it because of him?”

  “What?” I knew exactly what he was talking about.

  “I mean, kuklachka, do you refuse to fulfill the mandate because of your feelings for someone you’ve only just met?”

  I rubbed my face. “I think the real question is, why do you want to marry me? The tomb of Alexander the Great has been lost for centuries. I’m not denying that us getting married might mean something in the world of the Circle, but a church and a white dress isn’t magic.” He started to protest, but I cut him off. “‘Union’ could mean something besides marriage—something that would actually help us find the tomb—but until we figure out if that’s true and what it is, we have a better chance of finding it by following actual clues left by someone who’s been there than by pledging our eternal love. And we have those clues. There’s a second bracelet out there that we need to find. And then we’ll find the password, and it’ll tell us how to get to the tomb. I hope,” I finished under my breath.

  That was another thing. It wasn’t just the twin bracelet we had to find. I slipped a thumb between the bracelet and my wrist. The outside of it just had the inscription and decorations. But once we’d inspected it more, we’d realized the inside was a whole separate layer. Its width was divided into five equal bands I could spin around my wrist independently, each with a long string of letters etched into it. We assumed it would work like a combination lock: if we rotated the rings so the letters were arranged in the correct password along the indicated line, something would happen. We hoped the rest of the letters might line up to form more words—like, for instance, the location of the tomb.

  Stellan sat forward, fingers steepled under his chin. The backlight from the window made him look like he was glowing at the edges. “First off, let me remind you that I’ve got fireproof skin.”

  His hand drifted to the translucent scars that showed above his collar. It was true. When he’d held a lighter to his skin in the Dauphins’ basement, his skin hadn’t even singed. The One who walks through fire and does not burn, the mandate said. The Circle didn’t realize it was so literal.

  “I’m not going to say the word magic, because if it is a trait in my bloodline, there must be a scientific explanation,” he went on, “but there’s more going on here than we understand.”

  I pressed my lips together and turned back to the clue wall.

  “And second,” he went on, “if anyone in the Circle finds out about the thirteenth bloodline—which you uncovered, by the way, so thank you for that—and you don’t back me, I’m dead. They’ll assume I’m planning a coup. If I did manage to get away, I’d be running my whole life, and so would my sister.”

  Stellan’s accent got a little thicker on the last words. I pictured the little blond girl he’d showed me a picture of. Anya. Just after we’d escaped the wedding, he arranged for someone in Russia to hide her away, just in case, but I knew he still worried.

  “But if I did have you on my side,” he continued, “if I was bound to the girl they believe to be their savior? The Circle might not have a single leader, but the closest to it is you. And if we were together, us. Then I could sleep at night no more worried someone was going to kill me than I am right now. That’s why I want to do it.”

  Somehow, through all of this, I hadn’t thought of it that way. The leader of the Circle? I twisted a pushpin deeper into the wall. “You think someone’s planning to kill you?”

  Stellan sank back into the stiff green couch, and it creaked in the quiet. “In this world, there’s always someone planning to kill you.”

  At that, we both glanced out the window, then at the door. “And besides,” he said, “how do you know the union is not marriage?”

  “Napoleon’s diary—”

  “Didn’t say specifically that it’s not.”

  “I know what the Circle believes, but why would Napoleon have left clues if marrying two people created some kind of North Star that pointed the way?” I repeated, gesturing to the wall.

  “I am only saying.” Stellan stood up from the couch. “You claim you’ll do anything to help your mother, but even with this new very short time line, you’re not willing to consider the union. Or going to the Saxons, for that matter.”

  I stiffened. “You too? They’re my family. I should be the one to decide what I want to do or not do with them.”

  He raised a finger to stop me. “They’re your blood. They don’t have to be your family unless you want them to be. Maybe you don’t.”

  I shivered. It was warm outside, but these old stone buildings retained the cold. “What does that even mean? Of course I want them to be my family.” I only wished it was as easy as that; that wanting made things true. My fingers tightened around my locket, which contained the only picture I had of the person who had always been my family. The person who had to be my first priority now.

  If my mom were here, what would she do? Would she trust the Saxons? Would she try to find another way? My mom had never been the pro-and-con-list type. Whenever I was trying to make a decision, she’d tell me my heart knew what it wanted, and if I followed it, I wouldn’t go wrong. And then I’d remind her that my heart would probably never want to take three AP classes in one semester, but that my college applications would. And it wasn’t like that helped me now. All my heart wanted was to save her, but I didn’t know how.

  Stellan raised his eyebrows.

  “I just think I should be the one to choose who I want to marry and when. And for all I know, the Saxons could marry me off to someone who might—maybe—be even worse than you,” I said flippantly.

  “Now, that is just rude.” Stellan crossed the room and pulled aside the heavy front drapes that we usually kept closed and peered into the street, letting in the soft glow of sunset.

  I brushed a stray bread crumb off the counter. “If I went to the Saxons, they might help . . . or they might lock me up in their basement and force me to marry the highest bidder. Which means the safest thing for me to do is find the tomb on my own.”

  “If you find it.”

  I huffed out a breath. “Don’t the Dauphins need you for . . . something? Anything?”

  “That’s code for she doesn’t want you here.” Jack came inside, tossing a bag of espresso beans on the counter.

  “Fine.” Stellan let the curtains fall, and the light in the room dimmed. “Lovely to see you both, as always. Talk tomorrow.”

  He left, but everything he’d said had brought my worries rushing back even stronger. My plan—to figure out and follow these clues on our own—wasn’t working. Something was going to have to change.

  • • •

  After dinner, I sat on the couch and Jack stood in front of the clue wall, reading over the new article I’d pinned up earlier. It was about a cache of Napoleon artifacts found at a site near New Delhi, India.

  “So what this means is that Napoleon’s been everywhere,” he said.

  I shrugged. We knew we had to search places other than Paris—if we could ever get passports—but the list of where to search just kept growing.

  I buried my face in my hands, and after a second, I felt the couch
dip as Jack sat beside me.

  “Yes, there are lots of possibilities,” he said. “But we’ve already determined that he’d likely have left the second bracelet, or any other clues, in places important to him or the Circle or Alexander, right?”

  I nodded. If he wanted someone to find the clues, he wouldn’t bury them in a random field somewhere.

  “So we’ll figure out how to get out of here, then we’ll do a methodical search of Circle headquarters cities, Alexander monuments . . . every place we can in the time we have,” he said.

  He always sounded so calm. So logical. He stood up and put a hand on my shoulder, then pulled back and hovered awkwardly. “I’m going to bed.”

  Don’t, I almost said. I don’t want to be alone in my own head right now. I need somebody. I need you.

  “Good night,” I said instead. At least pretending not to care—forcing myself not to care—was something I had plenty of practice with.

  “It’s like I said before,” Jack said after a second. “It’ll be all right, yeah? We’ll figure it out.”

  I nodded and tried to believe him.

  He disappeared into the bedroom, kicking off his shoes as he went. I sighed and pulled a history book from the stack on the coffee table. I read about Napoleon’s campaign through France for the thousandth time. Alexander’s time in Egypt. Napoleon’s outposts in northern France. Alexander’s conquests in India.

  I grabbed my phone. India. Elephants. Bright colors. Bright colors painted onto elephants. The Napoleon treasure they found recently was in Delhi, not Kolkata, where the Circle family based in India lived. I looked up important monuments in Kolkata. Temples. The Indian Museum, which supposedly had both Alexander artifacts and European art and jewelry. It was a pretty building, but too new-looking. Built—hmm. Built in 1814. The year Napoleon was exiled from France.

  I scribbled a note about it on a piece of paper and tacked it to the board. Maybe India could be our first stop, if we ever figured out how to get out of Paris.

  For just a second, I pictured allowing myself to trust the Saxons. With their resources, we could go anywhere. And, whispered a little voice in the back of my head, I’d really be part of their family. My family. I’d been trying not to think about how badly I wanted that, but it was like any craving—the more I denied it, the worse it got.

  No matter what, it wasn’t worth risking my mom’s life, said my logical side. But would it really be that much of a risk?

  I scrubbed my hands over my face. I couldn’t do this anymore today. I had to at least try to sleep.

  I took out the brown contacts disguising my purple eyes and snuck into the dark bedroom.

  Jack had made up my slim, hard bed this morning, tucking the blankets in to form precise corners, the pillow fluffed and centered. Just as perfectly as he made our beds every day, like he washed every dish, like he patrolled the neighborhood for anything out of the ordinary on a down-to-the-minute schedule. Everything was tidy and in its place, including him, a dark lump under the covers in a sliver of moonlight, sleeping. Just like he was supposed to be, just like he was every night while I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Thinking, worrying, trying to shut off my brain long enough to close my eyes without seeing terrible things behind my eyelids.

  I was mentally preparing myself for another long, restless night when Jack stirred. In the dim light, the whites of his eyes glowed as he blinked once, twice. His covers lifted, and he moved to the edge of the mattress, leaving a me-sized space next to him on the bed that was barely big enough for one person.

  I hesitated only a second before bypassing my own bed and crawling gratefully into his, my head on his chest and his arm tight around me. That night, I didn’t have to stare at the ceiling long at all.

  The next morning, on the first day of the third week, I woke up still in Jack’s arms. He opened his eyes when I sat up. “G’morning,” he said sleepily, his hair matted down on one side. I fought the urge to pull my fingers through it.

  “Good morning.” I don’t know whether it was finally getting a little sleep or being reminded that, even if we weren’t technically in a relationship, Jack really did care about me and would never suggest anything he thought was dangerous, but all of a sudden, I knew what I had to do. There was only one thing that made sense. “We have to go to the Saxons,” I said.

  CHAPTER 2

  My father must have had a jet on standby. By early afternoon, just hours after I’d called him, Jack and I were at Heathrow Airport, and my stomach was churning from more than the plane ride. We disembarked to find a sleek black helicopter waiting for us on the tarmac.

  “Miss West, I presume. And Jack Bishop.” The pilot gave Jack a quick once-over, and I could see in his eyes that it wasn’t just the Saxons who disapproved of Jack running off with me. Everyone who worked for them was so loyal—what Jack had done was unthinkable.

  I glanced at Jack, who, for the first time, looked a little uncertain about this plan.

  A Keeper—which was what Jack and Stellan were to the Saxons and the Dauphins respectively—were more than employees. A Keeper was a combination of security director, adviser, and personal assistant. As close to a family member as an employee could get. There were only two Keepers per family—one older and established, and one second-in-command, an apprentice who was preparing to take over when the older Keeper could do longer do his job . . . or if anything happened to him. That was Jack and Stellan. Both Keepers did the jobs the family didn’t trust to anyone else. When a family’s Keeper suddenly disappeared with one of those jobs—in this case, me—it wasn’t taken lightly.

  Not to mention the fact that anything romantic between employees and family members was taboo enough to warrant termination—the Circle’s euphemism for killing rule breakers. Even though Jack and I should be safe on that front now, the pilot’s glare made me fidget.

  But his gaze slid to me. “There’s been a last-minute change of plans. You’ll be meeting Miss Lydia in the city before returning to the estate.” He handed me huge yellow earphones. “Please, Miss West, make yourself comfortable.”

  A moment later, I was gripping the arms of the seat as I watched the ground shrink away below. We rose quickly over fields of green and yellow toward the city of London, which grew closer by the minute. Though it had a river running through its center like Paris, London looked newer and more metropolitan. More gleaming skyscrapers, wider streets, bigger boats sailing down the wide river. The city stretched away as far as I could see.

  We zipped over squares of bright green parks, a white Ferris wheel that looked small enough to scoop up with my ring finger—“That’s the London Eye,” came Jack’s voice through my headset—then a bridge straight out of a Dickens novel—“Tower Bridge,” Jack said as it hinged open from the center to let a cruise ship pass beneath.

  Paris had come to feel so familiar that being in this new city was more of a shock to my senses than I expected. We passed over Big Ben, Parliament, the British Museum, all names I’d heard a thousand times. My mom would have loved this. One of her favorite things was touring each new city we lived in. And then I remembered with a start that she’d lived in London, too. This was where she’d met my dad.

  After what seemed like no time, we dropped onto a rooftop in the city’s center. The rotors were still spinning when Jack swung open the door and helped me down, and I clung to him a little longer than I should have while I got my shaky legs underneath me.

  He let go of me abruptly, and I turned to see why. Lydia Saxon was walking across the landing pad. My sister.

  I’d only met Lydia once, at the Eiffel Tower ball, where I first realized the Saxons were my family. In the past two weeks, though, I’d taken every opportunity to look her up online. The Saxons’ cover story for being so rich and well connected was that they were minor British royalty, and the tabloids reported on their exploits as such. Lydia dragging her twin broth
er, Cole, away from a fight at a bar. The two of them, him in a proper waistcoat and her in a hat, attending the christening of a new royal baby. Every time I saw a picture of her, it seemed more and more surreal. Seeing her in person was stranger still.

  Lydia was wearing a classic khaki trench over a blue summer dress, her dark hair in a bun. Her eyes were like mine, minus the color. A little too big, a little too wide set under dark brows. Where I was so pale I was almost translucent, she had olive skin, and when she got close, I saw that without her towering heels we’d be just the same height.

  Lydia stopped in front of us. “Hi,” she said, twirling a long pendant necklace around her fingers.

  “Lydia.” I realized I was twisting my own necklace, and forced myself to stop. Was I supposed to hug her? Shake her hand? I did neither. “Hi. Thanks for picking me up. Is everything okay? I thought we were going to your house.” I was rambling, one doomsday scenario after another running through my mind. She had security waiting to toss me in a cell. They had a wedding ceremony already set up at a nearby church, and I wouldn’t have time to run.

  But she shook her head. “Father’s meeting at Parliament ran over. He was going to come get you, but now I’m meant to show you around until he’s finished and then we’ll meet at home.” Her eyes got wide. “Are you okay with the helicopter? I wasn’t sure since you might not be used to them, but Father said it would be fastest, and—”

  “It’s fine,” I said, the tension draining out of me. A helicopter was the least of my worries.

  Lydia was shifting back and forth on her heels. Could she possibly be acting so weird because she was nervous, too?

  As if in answer to my unasked question, she looked up. “When we first met, I didn’t even realize you were my sister,” she said. “I’m so happy you’re here now.”

  My heart exploded into a thousand relieved, ecstatic pieces. I had to force myself not to throw my arms around her. This feeling—happiness?—was foreign after the past few weeks.