Page 17

“You told Father Simon about me? Did he think you were crazy? What did he say?”

Rowan looked into my eyes, saying nothing at first. I’d seen that look before, somehow. As if he were peering into my soul.

And liked what he saw.

“He said the world does not unravel, only folds. That those meant to meet will find the seam, even if it lies between lifetimes.”

The corners of Rowan’s eyes crinkled as he smiled again. “He also told me you’d ask that question. I would take you to him, but he is a two-day ride from here.”

I startled at that. “You don’t live here? Like close by?”

He shook his head, thumbs still circling my palm. “Nay, I do not.”

“Then why⁠—”

“The reason I was compelled here tells me that what you say, about coming from another time, is true. Perhaps someday I will share the story with you. For now, ‘tis time for you to return. Also,” he added, as if remembering something. “Father Simon asked for me to tell you that the heart also seeks balance. Light cannot love what it doesn’t understand of shadow.”

I’d have asked Rowan what he meant by that, but before I could respond, voices echoed from below. Harsh. Angry. Rowan's expression shifted instantly, his hand moving to the sword I only now noticed leaning against the stable wall.

"Derricksons," he breathed. He pressed a finger to my lips, eyes locked on the ladder. "If they find you here, dressed as you are, they will assume you are a Waryn.”

My pulse hammered. This wasn't a romantic fantasy anymore. It was real danger.

"How do I get back?" I whispered urgently.

"I know not. But you must try. Now." His hand found mine, squeezed once. "Close your eyes. Think of your time." The voices grew louder. I squeezed my eyes shut, heart screaming, desperate to be anywhere but here.

The smell of hay vanished, but something felt wrong. My hand was warm from where Rowan had held it. The barn had dissolved, but I wasn’t in my back room but in the seat of an empty train car. A caboose, maybe? It was raining outside so I couldn’t see much. The darkness was almost … too dark. Unsafe.

When I looked down, there was dirt under my fingernails. Stable dirt. It was impossible. I shouldn't be able to bring anything back. Not warmth, not dirt. Not … hay? I picked up the small piece from my leg and inspected it.

"No, no, no," I whispered.

The thin golden strand sat in my palm, utterly real. The boundaries were thinning. Each time I went back, I brought a little more with me. First warmth. Then dirt. Now physical objects.

My hands shook as I turned the hay over in my palm. If I could bring things back, could I bring ... people? Could someone follow me through?

The thought sent ice through my veins. I'd been treating this like a game, like living out my favorite books. But Father Simon's chronicle was called The Keeping of Blood for a reason. Not preserving. Binding. Holding things across time.

And then I heard it. A heartbeat. Not my own.

It pulsed through me, steady and dark, calling to something inside me I didn’t want to name.

When I turned back around to inspect my surroundings, Riven was there, leaning against the doorway. A half-smile curved his mouth.

“Took you long enough, chérie.”