Page 81 of No Place in Time

Beside him, Cecily made a small sound. Not quite a sob. Just a sharp breath in.

He took her hand and thought of the other Cecily sitting in her chair by the window, alone and ill. If he could hold on to this Cecily, was he also holding on to the other one?

Finn thought about Anton’s warning.

“One of them has to win out.”

He looked at Cecily beside him, alive, here, safe for now. Then at the woman in the window, pale, weak, trapped.

Both real. Both her.

A servant entered the solar, spoke to the other Cecily, Lady de Veyron. She rose slowly, unsteadily, swaying for a moment, then followed the servant out. The room was empty again.

“We have to help her,” Cecily said. Finn saw there were tears in her eyes, and something tightened in his chest at the raw anguish on her face.

Finn didn’t answer immediately. If the timelines couldn’t stay split, what happened to whichever version lost? When had the timeline split?

Finn said, “If she’s real, if this is another version of events that actually happened, or happen, I don’t know how we help her without…” He struggled to find the words. “Without changing everything all over again.”

“Then what do we do?”

Finn looked at the empty solar. “We need to understand what’s happening here first,” he said. “Why things are so different in this timeline. Then we’ll know what we’re trying to fix.”

Cecily did not speak.

“We should go,” Finn said. “It will be dark soon.”

They climbed down as twilight deepened. Finally, as the lights of the town appeared ahead, Cecily said quietly, “We must know what happened to her. To me. Why she’s so sick. Why she married him when I was able to escape.”

“Tomorrow,” Finn said. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

Then Cecily said, “If we wait too long, I’ll be dead.”

41

LADY CECILY DE VEYRON

1301

Today she would learn where the money was coming from.

Julian and Benedict left before dawn. Lady Cecily de Veyron had heard them in the corridor. They had spoken in low voices, something about business in Dover. They wouldn’t return until evening. She prayed her strength would hold out.

After dismissing the maid, Cecily moved through the quiet corridors, one hand braced against the wall for support. Her legs felt like lead, but she pushed onward.

The study door was locked. She drew the chatelaine from her belt—the ring of household keys that marked her as lady of this hall—and tried each one until the lock turned. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

She was told never to enter Julian’s study, but here she was. It was richly furnished with dark wood panels, shelves lined with books and ledgers, and a large desk covered in rolled parchments. Everything spoke of wealth and authority. She closed the door behind her and moved to the desk.

She felt her pulse pounding in her throat as she began searching through the parchments. Letters, contracts, accounts. Most of it seemed like ordinary business. But Julian spent hours here, usually with Benedict. There had to be more.

She pulled the wide center drawer free and set it on the desk. She ran her fingers along the inside, the joints, the underside, then along the back panel of the cavity where the drawer had been. There—a thin seam in the wood, almost invisible, and a faint sheen where fingers had worn the grain smooth from use.

She pressed. A panel sprang loose. Behind it was a recessed compartment. She drew out a stack of ledgers, bound in plain calfskin with no markings. She opened the first.

Columns of numbers, dates, and locations. Income from sources she didn’t recognize. The amounts were staggering.

“Calais, 1285.” But that was sixteen years ago, before Julian was even baron. He was just a boy then. How could he have income from then?