“I saw Mullo in Razrothia,” I said. “He was on his way to meet the Oracle of Asmira. I didn’t stop him.”
“Good,” the chronomancer said.
“Good?” My voice cracked. “He’s going to kill every female dragon for a thousand years!”
“He already did.” The chronomancer’s expression softened, his face almost kind. “You can’t change what’s already happened, Portia. You can only make sure it happens the way it’s supposed to.”
“But that’s—” I shook my head, trying to untangle his words. “So we were meant to be there when Mullo set off to create the Curse? We were supposed to let it happen?”
“Yes.” The chronomancer checked another watch. “The timeline must be preserved.”
I felt sick. “So what was the point of all this? Why send me back in time if I can’t change anything?”
“I never said you didn’t change anything.” His eyes gleamed behind his glasses. “You changed exactly what you were supposed to change. You saved Mistress Drexel from burning, which allowed her to pass her talent for borrowing power onto her descendant. You ensured Halina wasn’t smothered in her sleep by a vampire princess jealous of her husband’s mistress. You argued with your mates loudly enough to distract the demon authorities on their way to stop Mullo from setting sail. You made sure the Curse happened, and by doing so, you made sure Chloe Drexel was alive to break it a thousand years later.”
My brain was going to explode. “Wouldn’t it have just been easier to make sure the Curse didn’t happen in the first place?”
The chronomancer gave me a sympathetic look. “It’s best not to think too hard about these things.”
“And Georgie?” I asked. “The little girl with the purple eyes?”
“Is just late enough for a meeting to ensure her father makes a different choice,” the chronomancer finished. “It’s a small change, but the ripples are significant. Without your distraction, she would have arrived on it, and the rest…” He waved ahand. “Well, let’s just say it wouldn’t have worked out well for dragonkind.”
My head spun. Every moment that had seemed like a mistake, every situation where I thought I’d interfered when I shouldn’t have, had all been orchestrated.
“So what happens now?” I asked. “I can go home?”
“I’m afraid not.” He messed with the thread on his coat again, and I wanted to scream.
“Why not?” I asked through clenched teeth.
He kept his head down. “Ah, here we go.” The thread wrapped tightly around his finger like it had a mind of its own. The chronomancer tugged, and the fabric of his coat rippled like water until it became tartan. He snapped the thread, leaving a tiny hole in the cloth, and his next words echoed as if he spoke from very far away.
“Fate is a fluid thing.”
My breath caught. For a moment, the ground under my feet was unsteady. Or maybe I was unsteady.
Then the moment passed, and the chronomancer stood before me in his velvet green coat, the fabric whole once more.
“Time isn’t a straight line,” he said. “It’s millions of lines spreading in every direction. One loose thread, and the whole pattern can unravel.”
I was never going to understand. So I squared my shoulders. “What do the gods want from me now?”
“Choose.” He pulled the plum-colored velvet bag from his coat and held it out. “You have one jump left. You can go back to the beginning and find your mates. Or you can go forward and complete the mission.”
Dread tightened my chest. Was he saying I had to choose between pleasing the gods and finding Tavish and Albie?
“What do you mean?” I asked.
The chronomancer’s stare turned serious. “The gods chose you to ensure certain events get put into motion. Time never unfolds the same way twice. If you go back, everything could change. Chloe’s ancestor might burn. The vampire princess might live. Mullo might never gather his elements.” He paused. “Or you can go forward and finish what the gods started.”
The dread climbed into my throat. “But I can’t do both,” I guessed.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid there’s no time for that.”
I waited to scream and rage. Instead, a strange numbness settled over me, and my voice was steady as I said, “It’s not fair.”
The chronomancer didn’t move. Just held the bag outstretched, my choice in the palm of his hand. “The gods rarely are.”
