“Is the king truly well in the future?” Albie asked, something tentative in the question, as if he dared to hope I’d told the truth about my dad’s recovery.
“He is,” I said. And a sudden realization made me gasp. “My fathers are alive right now. They’re in this timeline. I could go speak to them?—”
“No,” Albie said sharply. “That’s a terrible idea.”
“Why?”
“Disturbing the past can have disastrous consequences for the future.” Obvious worry creased his brow. “I’ve read accounts of chronomancers who tried to change events to suit their own purposes. The results were catastrophic.”
My heart sank. Then a new kind of panic gripped me. “What if I’ve already disturbed it too much just by being here?” A chicken wandered close, clucking as it brushed the hem of my skirts. Oh gods, what if every step I took rippled into the future? A sneeze could erase my mother. One wrong move could jeopardize my own existence.
“That’s why we need to see the chronomancer,” Albie said. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
He rushed up the Great Hall’s steps, leaving me alone with Tavish. The latter folded his arms over his broad chest. He’d rolled his sleeves to the elbow, exposing more of his tattoos.
“You look worried,” he said.
I didn’t try hiding my anger. “Wouldn’t you be?”
“No. Maybe.”
“No or maybe?”
He lifted massive shoulders. “The future is never set in stone, lass. The past, however…” He shrugged again. “Whatever happened has already happened, even if you don’t know it yet.”
I tried to follow his logic. “But if I’m from the future, and I’m here now, wouldn’t anything I do change my timeline?”
“Or perhaps you were always meant to come back.” Unfolding his arms, he took a step closer, and the scent of leather and something herbal drifted with him. “Perhaps everything you do here has already been accounted for in your time.” He took another step, his blue eyes gleaming. “Maybe you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, hmm?”
“No,” I said, taking a step back.
“Running from it won’t change it.”
“I’m not supposed to be here,” I insisted. “You don’t have running water.” I’d learned that the hard way when Albie showed me the chamber pot under my bed. “Or Wi-Fi,” I said.
Tavish looked bemused. “Why-what?”
“Don’t worry about it. The water is already a dealbreaker.”
He gave me one of his lazy smiles as he continued toward me. “I like the way you talk, Portia.”
Desire pulsed between my thighs. Cursing my dragon, I kept backing up. “Well, don’t get used to it.”
Albie emerged from the castle with a leather satchel in his hand. His kilt swung around his thighs as he ran lightly down the steps.
Tavish stopped, giving me a look that saidto be continued.
“You can store your clothes in here while we fly,” Albie said, opening the satchel. He looked between Tavish and me. “Did I miss something?”
“Nothing that can’t keep,” Tavish said, taking the satchel from him. He turned to me.
I grabbed the satchel and hugged it to my chest. “You shift first.”
Tavish frowned. “I don’t think?—”
“All right,” Albie said. He looked at Tavish, whose frowned turned into a glower. “Tavish?” Albie prompted.
For a moment, Tavish looked like he’d argue. Then he spun in a whirl of tartan, strode a few dozen steps away, andtwisted into smoke. The black cloud streamed into the air before bursting into an enormous dragon.
