45
FINN
Finn had been working at the ropes since the door slammed shut. The hemp had cut through the skin of his wrists. He could feel the sticky slip of blood, but the knots were no looser than they had been an hour ago.
Beside him, Cecily’s breathing was short and shallow in the blackness.
“Finn.” Her voice was thin. “How long do we have?”
He didn’t know. The cell was so dark that he couldn’t see his own hands. Benedict had said the machine would arrive by midday. That could be hours from now or any moment.
“I don’t know,” he said.
The silence stretched between them. He could hear her breathing, short and labored.
He thought of the things he had not said to her.
The things he had been waiting to say in the proper place, with the proper words.
But there was no proper time. There was only this dark cell and the footsteps that might come at any moment.
He swallowed. “Cecily.”
“Yes, Finn.”
“I have nothing to offer you. No ring. No land that’s mine.
No promise that we will live through this hour, let alone the rest of our lives.
” He paused. “But I would marry you, if we walk out of this cell alive. I would ask your father for your hand, and I would always stay by your side. I would love you and protect you all my days. Will you… will you have me?”
She did not answer right away. He could not see her face. He could only hear the soft sound of her trying not to cry.
She leaned her head on his shoulder and said, “Yes, Finn, of course I will.”
He turned his face toward hers in the dark and kissed her.
Then she drew a breath. He could hear the smile coming back into her voice.
“If we live, we’ll live at Veyron Hall,” she whispered, her voice light. “I’ll hold a feast for everyone. We’ll have music that shakes the floors and so much food no one goes hungry.” She leaned into him closer. “And I’ll wear a dress of the deepest blue.”
“You’ll be the most beautiful woman there.”
“I’ll be the only woman you’re allowed to look at.” Her attempt at a laugh was shaky. “You dance with me first, and last. That is the rule.”
“Only you?”
“Only me.”
“And what about you? Will you be dancing with anyone else?”
“Of course not. I will be a married woman, Finn. It would be inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate?”
“Entirely.” Her voice broke, and the fantasy dissolved back into the cold reality of the cell.
He leaned his head back against the stone wall and closed his eyes. He had just become engaged to her in a black cell, while bound and bleeding, with no witnesses and no ring and no promise of tomorrow. It was the only proposal he would ever make in his life.
If they did not survive the day, none of it would happen. The blue dress. The feast. The dance she would not let him share with anyone else. All of it sat in the dark with them, fragile as a candle in the wind.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Finn was on his feet before he could think.
He turned his shoulder and pushed Cecily behind him, putting himself between her and the door.
He had no weapon. He had no hands. He had only his body, and if it came to it, he would put himself in the path of whatever came through that door so she would have a few seconds more.
The bar lifted with a scrape of wood and metal. The door swung open. Light flooded in, blinding them for a moment. Finn squeezed his eyes shut against the glare, then forced them open again, squinting. A figure stood in the doorway. Not tall enough to be Benedict. Not broad enough to be a guard.
A woman.
“Thank God I found you,” the woman breathed, and Finn recognized her.
Lady Isabel.
She hurried into the cell, carrying a candle set in a large brass candlestick. Finn could see her face properly now. She looked pale, frightened, but determined. She had a small knife in her free hand and a satchel slung over her arm.
Then she saw Cecily.
Isabel stopped, the knife lowering slightly. Her gaze moved from Cecily back to Finn.
“Saints above,” she whispered, her voice catching. “Finn, you’re… and she…” Her gaze flicked between them, wide with terror and confusion. She stared at Cecily—healthy, whole, and so unlike the dying woman in the manor. “How can this be?”
“There’s no time to explain,” Cecily said. “Please, Isabel.”
Isabel shook her head, as if trying to force the pieces into place.
“I heard them talking,” she said. “Benedict said something about two versions of Cecily. A machine that travels through time. I thought he was mad, or I’d misheard, but…
” She looked at Cecily again. “You’re her.
But you’re not. You’re… the right Cecily. ”
“I know it makes no sense, Isabel,” Cecily said softly.
“None of this makes sense.” Isabel’s hands were shaking as she moved toward Finn. “But right now, we have to go.”
She sawed at the ropes binding Finn’s wrists. Finn held as still as he could.
“How did you find us?” Cecily’s voice was a hoarse whisper.
“I overheard them in the study.” Her words came in a frantic rush as she sawed at Finn’s ropes. “They’re bringing the machine to this tower. When I left, they were calling for guards and a cart. We have to go. Now.”
The ropes parted. Finn pulled his raw wrists free as Isabel rushed to cut Cecily’s bonds.
“I came as fast as I could once I heard them,” Isabel said. She helped Cecily to her feet. “There is something wrong, something ominous, about those two. They are always plotting, always scheming.” She shook her head.
“How did you get past the guard outside our cell?” Cecily asked. She swayed, and Finn caught her elbow.
“I told him Lord Julian sent me with food for the prisoners. He believed me.” Isabel patted her satchel and moved toward the door, glancing nervously up the stairs.
“But he’ll realize soon that no one sent me, that I lied.
I don’t know how we’re going to get past him outside.
I didn’t think that far ahead. But here, Finn, take the knife. ”
Finn nodded and took the knife. His legs were stiff from sitting in the cold cell, but he forced himself to move. He and Cecily quietly followed Isabel out the door and crept up the narrow stone staircase.
At the top, the guard stood with his back to them, looking out at the forest. He turned at the sound of their footsteps. Finn was already moving, knife up, closing the distance fast, giving the man something to focus on.
“Ho there. What’s tak—” The iron candlestick connected with the guard’s head with a dull thud. He crumpled without a sound.
Finn whirled around and realized Cecily, now holding the candlestick, had struck the blow. She was breathing hard. “What?” she said, meeting his eyes. “You were taking too long.”
A smile tugged at Finn’s mouth despite everything. “Well done.”
They dragged the guard inside and pulled the door shut behind them, latching it.
Outside, Isabel’s horse was tethered to a tree. Near it, the guard’s mount stamped restlessly, still saddled from his ride to the tower.
“His horse,” Finn said, relief cutting through him. “Isabel, take yours. We’ll take the guard’s.”
Isabel mounted her horse. Finn helped Cecily onto the guard’s horse, then swung up behind her.
“Where is the machine hidden?” Finn asked.
“I heard them say the old chapel,” Isabel said. “In the crypt beneath it.”
Finn knew the place. He kicked the horse into motion. Isabel did the same. They rode hard through the forest, branches whipping past.
“What if we’re too late?” Cecily hollered back to him.
Finn calculated. Isabel had left Veyron, ridden here, freed them. Meanwhile, Julian and Benedict had gone back to gather guards and a cart to move the machine. That would slow them.
The towers of Veyron appeared ahead, Finn’s childhood home. It seemed a foreign land to him under the rule of Julian and Benedict. They slowed as they approached, dismounting in the cover of the trees.
Cecily touched Finn’s arm. “I need to see her. Me. I mean the other Cecily. Before we head to the old chapel.”
Finn looked at her. Her face was pale but determined.
“It’s too dangerous,” Finn said.
“I have to, Finn. Please. She’s… I’m… dying. She needs to know we’re trying to help her.”
Isabel spoke up. “Her chamber is in the east wing. Second floor. But hurry.”
Finn studied Cecily’s face. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go. Quickly.”
They left the horses hidden in the trees and approached the manor on foot. Isabel led them along the wall to a small wooden door. She pressed her ear against it, listening, then lifted the latch carefully.
The corridor beyond was dim and empty. They slipped inside.
Isabel moved confidently ahead, but at the second junction, Finn touched her arm and shook his head, steering them left instead of right.
The servants’ passage appeared, narrower, darker, and invisible to anyone who hadn’t grown up running through it as a boy.
It added time but avoided the main corridor where they could be seen.
Voices sounded ahead. Footsteps.
Finn grabbed Cecily’s arm and pulled her into an alcove. Isabel pressed herself against the wall beside them.
When the footsteps had passed, they moved on along the corridor until they reached a closed door on the right.
“In here,” whispered Isabel. “Quickly.”
Finn and Cecily crept into the room. Only a single candle burned on the table beside the bed, and all the draperies were closed.
Lady Veyron lay in her bed, covered with an embroidered velvet blanket. Her once golden hair was dull and lifeless, lying in thin wisps across her pillow. Her eyes were closed. Even in the dim light, Finn could see how pale she’d become, how thin.
Beside him, Cecily went rigid. Her breathing stopped. Her grip on his hand became a vise, her knuckles pressing hard against his. Finn kept his eyes on the woman in the bed. He could not bring himself to look at Cecily’s face, certain he could not bear what he would see there.
Lady Veyron’s translucent eyelids began to flutter.
“Is someone there?” she asked. Her voice held an unsettling rattle.
Slowly, with obvious effort, she turned her head toward Finn and Cecily, blinking as she tried to see the two figures in the shadows. They took a step forward. Her eyes widened.
“Finn!”
Then Cecily stepped forward. Lady de Veyron’s gaze shifted to her, and she gasped.