46
CECILY
The woman in the bed was looking at her with Cecily’s own eyes, but dark circles ringed Lady Veyron’s eyes, and the vibrant blue had dulled to gray. Her parched lips opened, but no words came. Just that stare, full of confusion, wonder, and recognition.
Cecily couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She felt as if her heart had been pierced.
This was the other path. The girl who had married Julian. The thought was a physical blow, a gasp of stolen air. This frail, broken woman wasn’t just a stranger; she was the ghost Cecily had created with her own escape, the price of her freedom.
Lady Veyron was dying. It was clear for anyone to see.
Cecily’s hands were shaking. She pressed them together, trying to still them, but it didn’t help.
“Finn,” Lady Veyron whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes moved to him, shining with tears. “Am I seeing things? They said you were dead.”
Finn moved closer to the bed. “I’m alive.”
“You came back.” A tear slid down her hollow cheek. She tried to lift her hand toward him, but the effort seemed too much. Her arm trembled and fell back to the blanket.
This woman—this other self—looked at Finn with a longing so deep it ached inside Cecily’s own ribs. Of course. In any life, in any version of the world, she would love him.
Lady Veyron’s gaze shifted back to Cecily. The confusion in her eyes was painful to see. “I don’t understand,” she breathed. “How…?”
Her voice trailed off. She was too weak to finish the thought, too exhausted to make sense of what she was seeing.
Cecily stepped forward, though her legs felt unsteady. She stood beside the bed, looking down at this woman who was and wasn’t her.
“I know this is hard to understand,” Cecily said softly. “We don’t understand it ourselves.” Her own voice sounded strange to her ears, thick with emotion. “But we’re here to help you.”
“Help?” Lady Veyron’s eyes closed briefly, as if even keeping them open required too much strength. When she opened them again, she asked, “How? They’re poisoning me. Benedict and Julian, my own husband.”
Finn and Cecily exchanged a glance. That would explain the illness, Cecily thought. Lady Veyron looked like the life was being slowly siphoned from her.
A bitter smile crossed Lady Veyron’s lips.
“I’ve known for weeks.” Her voice was so faint Cecily had to lean closer to hear.
“The wine. It tastes bitter, and I keep getting weaker. At first, I thought I was imagining it. That my illness was making everything taste strange. But then…” she paused.
“Then I saw the way Benedict watches me when I drink. The way Julian looks away. They think I don’t notice. But I do.”
Her eyes closed, and for a moment Cecily thought she’d fallen asleep or fainted. When she spoke again, her voice was even softer.
“I’ve tried to refuse the wine. The food. But they force it.” Another tear slid down her gaunt cheek.
“We’re going to stop them,” Cecily said. Her words came out fierce and desperate. “We’re going to fix this.”
Lady Veyron looked at Cecily again. Really looked at her. Her eyes moved over Cecily’s face, her clothes, the way she stood straight and strong.
“You look…” Lady Veyron paused, searching for words. “You look free.”
Cecily felt tears burning her eyes. “I am,” she sobbed. “You will be too. Soon.”
Lady Veyron shook her head, then reached for Cecily’s hand. “I’m glad… I’m glad one of us got away.”
Cecily took her hand. It was cold. So cold. The bones felt fragile beneath translucent skin.
“I don’t understand how,” Lady Veyron whispered, still looking at Cecily with those confused, wondering eyes. “But I’m glad you’re free. That you escaped.”
“We’re going to make sure you’re free too,” Finn said.
Lady Veyron shook her head slightly. “It’s too late. I’m dying. I know I am.”
“No,” Cecily said, her voice breaking. “We’re going to—”
“It’s alright.” Lady Veyron squeezed Cecily’s hand with what little strength she had. “If one of us can live…”
She took a shaky breath. “Live. For both of us. Please.”
Cecily was weeping openly now, tears streaming down her face. “I will. I promise.”
Lady Veyron’s eyes were closing.
Footsteps sounded nearby. Cecily heard heavy boots.
Isabel appeared at the door, her face tight with fear. “Someone’s coming. We must go now.”
Cecily didn’t want to leave. She held Lady Veyron’s icy hand, looking down at this woman who was somehow her, who was dying in her place.
“Cecily,” Finn said gently, touching her shoulder. “We have to move.”
Cecily leaned down and kissed Lady Veyron’s forehead. The skin was cool.
Lady Veyron’s eyes opened one more time, a shadow of a smile on her lips.
“Live,” she said once more, then her eyes closed.
Finn pulled Cecily away. She stumbled, still looking back at the bed, at the woman who would die so she could live.
They slipped out of the chamber just as voices echoed closer in the corridor. Isabel led them in the opposite direction, moving quickly along passages Cecily barely saw through her tears.
Cecily couldn’t stop crying. The sobs kept coming, tearing from her throat. She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but she couldn’t stop seeing Lady Veyron’s face—dying, accepting, telling her to live.
Finn put his arm around her shoulders. “I know what you must be feeling,” he murmured. “But we’re going to fix it. We have to keep moving.”
“This way,” Isabel whispered urgently, glancing back. “The chapel.”
They hurried through another corridor, then down a narrow staircase. The chapel was ahead. Its heavy wooden door stood open. Inside, the space was cold and quiet. Their footsteps echoed on the stone floor. Afternoon light filtered through the narrow windows, casting long shadows across the pews.
“The crypt,” Isabel said, pointing to a door half hidden behind a faded tapestry near the altar. “The entrance is there.”
Finn pushed the tapestry aside and pulled the door open. Stone steps led down into the darkness. The air that rose from below had a stale, earthy smell.
They descended carefully, Isabel leading the way with only a candle to light their path. At the bottom, the crypt stretched before them, low-ceilinged and shadowed.
Old stone coffins lined the walls. At the far end stood another altar, smaller than the one above.
“Behind there,” Isabel said, holding her candle up. “That’s where I heard them say they’d hidden the device.”
Finn moved forward quickly, with Cecily right behind him. They rounded the altar stone and looked into the alcove behind it.
Empty.
They were too late. There was nothing but disturbed dust on the floor and drag marks where something heavy had been moved.
“No,” Cecily breathed. “No, no, no.”
“They’ve already got it,” Finn said. His voice sounded tight.
“What do we do?” Isabel asked.
Finn was already moving back toward the stairs. “Come. We have to find them.”
They climbed back up to the chapel. Through one of the narrow windows, Cecily could see the courtyard.
She drew in a quick breath. Julian and Benedict stood beside a wooden cart.
Two guards were heaving the machine onto it, struggling with its weight.
The device gleamed dully in the afternoon light.
“They’re loading it now,” Finn whispered, coming to stand beside her. “We’ve got to get it from them.”
Isabel was quiet for a moment, then she straightened. “I’m heading for the stables. I’ll create a distraction. It will give you a chance to get to it.”
“Isabel—” Cecily started.
“It’s the only way.” Isabel looked back at them, her face set with determination. “Wait until you hear shouting. Then grab it and go.”
She slipped out of the chapel before either of them could argue.
Finn and Cecily pressed close to the window, watching. The guards had lifted the machine onto the cart. Julian was securing it with ropes. Benedict stood nearby, giving orders.
Then they saw smoke.
It was rising from the direction of the stables, thin at first, then thicker. Isabel had started a fire to distract them.
Someone shouted. “Fire!”
The effect was immediate. Servants came running from all directions.
“Fire! FIRE in the stables!”
More people were running. Chaos spread through the courtyard.
Benedict and Julian, still with the cart, sent the guards away to the stables.
“Now,” Finn said. “Come on.”
They burst from the chapel entrance, sprinting across the courtyard. Julian and Benedict were still beside the cart, the machine tied down with ropes.
Julian saw them first. “You!” he shouted, eyes widening.
Benedict’s gaze snapped to Finn and Cecily. His hand went straight to the dagger at his belt.
Finn didn’t slow. He slammed into Benedict before the blade cleared the sheath, his fist connecting hard with Benedict’s jaw. Benedict staggered back, crashing against the cart.
Julian lunged at Finn. They grappled, boots slipping on the cobblestones, the machine rocking on the cart with the force of their struggle.
Cecily was already at the cart. She clawed at the knots.
Benedict shook his head. Blood ran from his split lip. He grabbed for Finn, hauling him away from Julian.
“Finn!” Cecily cried. The last knot gave under her hands. The rope fell loose.
Finn drove his elbow into Benedict’s ribs, then twisted free and swung. His punch caught Benedict on the temple. Benedict went down hard.
Julian lunged for Cecily instead, seizing her arm. Pain shot up to her shoulder as he yanked her back from the cart.
Finn was there a heartbeat later. He struck Julian once, hard and brutal, then caught him with a kick that sent him sprawling beside Benedict.
Both men were on the ground, dazed.
“Now,” Finn panted. “Let’s get it off.”
Cecily and Finn grabbed opposite sides of the machine. It was heavier than she remembered. Her arms trembled as they lifted it off the cart and lowered it to the ground.
“Come on,” Finn gasped. “Move it.”
They hauled the machine away from the cart, muscles screaming as they put twenty paces between them and their enemies, their ragged breaths loud in the courtyard.
Behind them, Benedict groaned. Julian pushed himself up on one elbow.
“Set it down,” Finn said. “Here. Now.”
They dropped to their knees beside the machine. Cecily’s arms shook with exhaustion.
Finn’s hands flew to the dials. “Just a second,” he muttered. “I’ve got to get it right this time. Just—”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Benedict said. His voice sounded like a growl.
Cecily looked up. Benedict was on his feet, blood on his lip, his face pulled into something ugly and fixed.
Then Isabel appeared, running from the direction of the stables. “Stop!” she cried.
Benedict whirled. In one swift motion, he grabbed her and yanked her against him. The dagger was in his hand. Benedict pressed the blade to Isabel’s throat.
“Stop,” Benedict said again. “Or she dies.”
Isabel’s eyes were wide with terror. The knife cut into her skin. A thin line of blood welled at her throat.
Julian’s face went white. “Benedict, no! She’s my sister. Your wife!”
“Then they’d better stop what they’re doing,” Benedict said.
Cecily’s fingers froze on the machine. Finn kept working the dials, but slower now, every movement deliberate.
“I mean it,” Benedict said. He pressed the blade harder. Isabel whimpered.
“Benedict!” Julian took a step toward him. “Let her go. You can’t—”
“Watch me.”
The machine began to hum. A low vibration shivered through the stone beneath Cecily’s knees, growing stronger.
Benedict’s gaze snapped back to Finn’s hands, still moving over the dials.
With a curse, he shoved Isabel away. She stumbled. Julian caught her, pulling her into his arms, shielding her with his body.
Benedict was already running toward Finn and Cecily, his face twisted.
Benedict closed the distance. Ten paces. Eight.
Finn grabbed Cecily and pulled her inside the machine’s frame. The hum deepened to a roar.
Benedict was six paces away. Four.
Finn slammed the final dial into place.
Light exploded outward—white, blinding. The roar swallowed Benedict’s shout. He threw up an arm, stumbling back, then vanished in the glare.
Finn wrapped his arms around Cecily, pulling her tight against his chest. One arm locked around her waist; the other braced against the machine.
“Hold on!” he shouted over the roar.
The courtyard tore itself apart around them. The solid cobblestones of Veyron Hall dissolved beneath Cecily’s feet.
Finn’s face was so close she could see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes, the fear and determination burning there.
It felt like they were falling together, flying together.
“Cecily,” he yelled, his voice cutting through the chaos. “When I saw Lady Veyron, the other you, so ill, so frail, it made me realize… I can’t… I won’t…” He stopped, his jaw working.
“Stop talking, Sir Know-It-All,” Cecily said, flinging her arms around his neck.
“Brat,” he choked, and then his mouth was on hers.
His lips were warm and urgent. The roaring light, the tearing world, Benedict’s shouts—everything else fell away. There was only Finn. Only his arms locked around her as if he could anchor her in a universe coming apart.
They were falling, spinning, tumbling through something that wasn’t space or air or anything Cecily had a word for. It felt like being taken apart and put back together all at once.
Finn’s arms around her never loosened. His mouth stayed on hers, and she kissed him back with everything in her, kissed him as time flew away.