Page 94 of No Place in Time

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.

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CECILY

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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.