“Crisis averted, this time. That was a helluva job, kid,” she says. “And that was quite a your little speech was quite a bluff.”
“I wasn’t kidding.” I say. “I’m not living through the rest of this mission with Trevor’s brand of torture. I can’t do it, Fagin.”
She gives me a look. “I know.” She nods at Nico, then drifts toward her own quarters. “Get some sleep. We’ve got a long way to go yet.”
Nico settles on the small sofa catty-corner to the dining booth and gestures to the space on the floor in front of him. “I could help you get out of that costume if you want.”
I give him a cock-eyed smile and plop myself down on the floor in front of him, my gown pooling around my crossed legs in ripples of green silk. “I’ll settle for one of your infamous massages, if you don’t mind.”
His fingers are magic, and that’s not an overstatement. Within minutes, he has worked his will on the knots in my shoulders and neck until they melt beneath the heat and pressure of his hands. I groan and roll my head forward, eager for this delicious release to flow further up the back of my neck.
“Not to spoil the mood, but,” Nico says, the hesitation obvious in his voice, “what Trevor said. I’ll listen if you want to talk about it.”
“I know.”
“It’s just—and don’t take this the wrong way, I’m not pressuring you into talking about what happened to your parents—but, I don’t understand why she would go after you so vehemently about something so painful and personal from your past. I mean, that kind of fuck-with-your-head bullshit is more likely to make you screw up than encourage high performance. Why would she do something like that?”
“She a narcissistic freak who likes messing with people’s heads.” I say, leaning forward so he can reach further down my back. “She’s not living rent-free in mine anymore.”
“Just tell me there’s nothing else going on here.” He stops massaging, lets his fingertips rest on my shoulder blades. “There was a whole lot more beneath the surface of her tirade.”
I glance back at him. “Like what?”
“I dunno. All that talk about not being able to save your parents. Just tell me you’re not thinking anything crazy.”
Oh God. Does he know something? “Define crazy.”
“Crazy like, changing a fixed point in time that could impact the future.”
Nervous, now, that he actually can read minds, I scoot forward out of his reach and struggle with my gown. “What the hell gave you that idea?”
“I don’t know, it was weird how she kept pushing you to say there’s nothing you can do. It sounded like she was goading you into something.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I turn away, but he catches my arm and pulls me close to him.
“You know the penalty for meddling with history. At best, your memory is wiped, and you get a one-way ticket to the Hotel Prison Planet. At worst, you’re executed. Clémence, please.” He takes my face in his hands, again, but this time instead of a kiss, I get eyes that are sober and pensive. “Promise me you’re not going to fuck with the timeline.”
I blow off his concern with a soft pffft, but he knows it’s not agreement.
“Dodger!”
“I’m not going to fuck with the timeline,” I say, more forcefully than intended. “Yes, I hate colonizers. I want them to pay for decimating my family two hundred years from now. But I’m not stupid enough to risk a memory wipe or death. I just want to finish this damn job and go home, okay?”
“Okay,” he replies. He chews his lower lip, then gestures at my neck. “I can finish the massage.”
“Later,” I say, suddenly exhausted from the stress. I don’t like lying to Nico about something between the two of us. It makes my stomach queasy.
“I’m gonna turn in, too.”
Once in my cabin, I sit in the dark staring at a blinking cursor on a blank computer screen. The replicator will create the aged parchment and replicate quill strokes to perfection. My fingers tremble as I type the words that will change everything; an incantation that will speak into a different world into existence. It will restore what I’ve lost. It will set things right.
My Dearest Thomas,
I weep for our lost love as I prepare to marry the king. I beg you, do not exile me from your heart. I could not bear it if you do. Please, my dearest, do not abandon me in my hour of need.
Your Faithful and Loving Servant,
Anne
Chapter 20
Like living in the pit of hell, Beelzebub’s fire roasting my immortal soul for all eternity: That’s the best way to describe every moment I’ve endured since the day this mission bomb dropped. After all of Fagin’s scolding about keeping the tightest rein on my temper, I’m livid to discover that keeping even the tiniest embers of a revenge quest smoldering is a laborious, patience-defying task.
It’s been several weeks since I stole the limning, which caused quite a commotion at court when Henry ordered an extensive search of courtiers’ chambers. Given that the locket is safely stowed on our ship, it will remain an unsolved mystery. The king has already commissioned another limning of Anne from Master Holbein.
Things have settled somewhat since.
Except that I’ve been unable to plant the letter in the king’s apartments.
Christmas is a few days away. With the flurry of activity, and the increase in courtiers arriving at court for the holiday, there has been time to sneak back into Henry’s chambers.
It’s risky. I got lucky the last time I snuck into Henry’s apartments. I’m not so sure I’d get a merciful response from the king if I infiltrated his inner sanctum a second time.
Implementing Plan B—getting the fake letter into the hands of Anne’s enemies, so one of them can deliver it to the king—is riskier. If it falls into the wrong hands and it’s traced back to me, I could find myself locked up in
