Into the Dim (31 page)

“Hilde,” Phoebe murmured in a drowsy voice. “I almost miss that moldy old hag.”

“The innkeeper's wife will tend to MacPherson's injuries and give him a tincture to help with the pain. He'll sleep for a while.” Bran set the trunk down with a bang. “Get some rest.” He winked at me as he sauntered out. “I'll see you soon.”

Phoebe's eyes narrowed as he closed the door behind him. She wheeled on me.

“What?” I asked, suddenly finding great interest in a row of wooden clothing pegs that protruded from the wall.

“You know very well what,” she said as she began unlacing the sides of her filth-spattered gown. “And I get it, I do. The lad's charming and no mistake. And he did help us today. I want to trust him too. I do, but.” She paused, until I reluctantly met her gaze. “Just be mindful, Hope. Remember, he's still Celia's son.”

As if I could ever forget.

Seconds after her bath, Phoebe was snoring in the narrow bed. I took my time, even though the water was barely tepid. Despite the small, red-hot brazier in the corner, I was shivering by the time I'd dried off and pulled the clean shift over my head.

A soft knock startled me. Dust motes danced in strips of late-morning light as I opened the door to find Bran Cameron staring at me. His eyes ranged from my face down to my bare feet. My toes curled when I realized I was standing there before him in only a threadbare shift.

I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to ignore the way that—even in the chill—I felt his gaze burn like a trail of coals.

“It can't be time to go already?”

“What?” His Adam's apple bobbed. “Oh. No. There's plenty of time. But I thought . . . maybe . . . you might care to see the coronation?” His eyes scanned my face.

I darted a glance at Phoebe, still dead-asleep beneath the covers. “I don't know about that. Collum might be recognized. We haven't even dyed his hair yet.”

Bran studied the toe of his boot as it scuffed the floor. “Well, you see, I know a place we can watch the entire event without being seen. The abbey isn't far if we use a shortcut, but there's only room for two. Of course, if you don't want to go without them,” he hurried to add, “I'd understand.”

I nipped at a cuticle as I studied him. The thought of witnessing one of the most remarkable events in history sent a thrill through me. But though Bran had risked his life to help us, he had still lied to me. About everything.

Yet nearly all the nobility in England would be there. What if Mom was among them?

“I heard you say you wished,” he started to turn away. “Never mind. It was just a thought.”

“Wait.” I reached a hand out to stop him. “I'll go.”

T
HE STONECUTTER
'
S SCAFFOLDING WAS DRAPED IN YARDS
of scarlet silk, disguising our climb.

“Are you sure this thing will hold us?” I whispered as the wobbly wooden structure creaked beneath our weight.

Bran's ash-colored tunic blended with the dappled stone of Westminster Abbey as he spoke from a few rungs above me. “It better,” he said. “I paid the mason a fortune to let us have his spot.” He frowned, letting his gaze drift down my simple gray gown. “Unless you weigh more than a half ton of granite?”

I punched him in the leg.

He was still chuckling as we emerged onto a narrow platform that butted up against the ceiling. Crouching, we eased over to the edge and settled, arms propped on a rickety wooden railing. Our boots dangled a hundred feet above the floor.

Even at this great height, the sweet melange of melting beeswax and incense wafted up in waves, mixing with the lilting voices of a hundred choir boys. Carefully, Bran parted the rippling silk. I sucked in a sharp breath.

Our bird's-eye view was perfect. Far beneath, the new king and queen of England knelt on the steps of the altar, upon which sat two thrones. One large and sturdy. The other smaller, delicate. As the song faded, the magnificently robed archbishop of Canterbury raised his arms before them. I shivered when the king and queen made sacred vows that echoed up to us, as clear as if we stood at their side.

The priest took a small bottle and anointed the royals with holy oil, then placed the crowns of England on their heads.

Henry helped Eleanor rise. Once they were seated on their thrones, the archbishop lay the scepter and orb in Henry's waiting arms. He turned and threw up his hands as he called, “God save the king. God save the queen.”

The roar blew the roof off the place. The reverberation rocked the scaffolding beneath us.

“Can you believe we're actually seeing this?” I elbowed Bran in my excitement. “It's so surreal.”

I glanced over to see if he felt it. The sense of wonder at witnessing this incredible piece of history. But Bran wasn't watching what played out below. No. He was looking at me. Watching
my
face,
my
reactions. A fluttery heat skittered across my skin, like butterflies on fire.

“Thank you for this,” I whispered.

The smile that lit his eyes left me breathless.

He leaned in, and I could almost taste his scent on my tongue. Salt and wood shavings. Snow and smoke. And somehow . . . the winey tang of overripe apples.

“Hope,” he whispered. His eyes darted from my eyes to my lips and back, as if he couldn't see everything at once. “There's something I need to tell—”

A furious cheer erupted. We both turned to see the royals marching down the central aisle, a long trail of nobles in their wake. I leaned forward, thrilled to see the crabbed, dark figure of Sister Hectare take her place behind her queen.

Standing, I leaned over the waist-high railing, scanning the top of each head to see if I could recognize my mother. There were too many, crowded in too close. Agitated, I huffed and stretched out a little more.

“Come on,” Bran scrambled to his feet. “We should probably get—”

The flimsy barrier gave beneath my weight. As if in slow motion, I watched it tumble, snagging against the silk drapes as it plummeted to the abbey floor, the crash lost in the tumult of cheers and song. I had time for one, oddly calm thought before I pitched headfirst off the edge of the platform.

I'm sorry, Mom.

A rip of pain knifed through my hip as I jolted to a gut-wrenching halt. Above me, Bran crouched at the platform's edge, straining as he gripped the gray hem of my skirt and one, booted foot. Blood flooded my brain, filling my ears with the pounding of my own heartbeat.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

“Hold on,” he growled. “I won't let you go. I swear it.”

High above the marble floor, Bran cursed under his breath. His fingers dug desperately into my ankle as I swayed upside down. If anyone looked up, they'd see me, a gray pendulum against scarlet silk. My heart boomed, missing beats. Blood swelled my face as Bran began to haul me up, inch by painful inch. He reached out and grabbed my flailing hand. With a great heave, he jerked. I flew up and landed smack on top of him, nose to nose on the splintery platform.

Quaking with shock, I tried to form a coherent word. “I . . . I didn't . . .”

“You know,” Bran panted as he stared up into my face, “If you wanted to get on top of me, you could've just said. No need for such dramatics.” The flippant words were all Bran. But he negated them by wrapping me in his arms.

Electric flicks of adrenaline sparked across the back of my tongue, making my teeth chatter. Bran squeezed tighter, and despite what had nearly happened, I began to feel safe. To feel
alive
, as if up until that second, I'd only been pretending to live.

After a long moment, while our breaths synced and Bran's arms trembled with strain and something else, I became acutely aware of the long lines of his body pressed beneath mine.

“So,” I answered him, teeth still clacking as I rolled off and rose on jittery legs. “Yeah, the next time you save me from diving off a hundred-foot drop, I'll remember to ask.”

I knew immediately I was in a lot of trouble. At the tavern, Collum and Phoebe were embroiled in a fierce argument. Phoebe whirled away from her brother and rushed to me, enveloping me in one of her spine-cracking hugs.

“Crap on a cracker, I'm glad to see you,” she whispered. “Collum's pure furious you left.”

When I had extricated myself, I turned to face Collum. In the dusk of evening, only a small fire pit lit the empty tavern. It shadowed his features, though I could tell by his stance that he was livid.

“Well,” he asked in a deceptively calm voice, “if you don't mind my asking, where in blazes did you go?”

“Bran took me to the coronation,” I said. “We—”

“I told you they'd be back, Coll,” Phoebe hurried to intervene. “See? Everything's fine, so don't get your breeches in a knot.”

Collum brushed his sister aside and moved across the three feet that separated us. Bran started forward, but Collum stopped him with a raised hand as he stared down at me.

“So,” he said in a deadly voice, “without a word, you just run off with some stranger?” His upper lip curled as his gaze darted to Bran. “This Timeslipper boy whose own mother wants to give you to Becket? What if it had been a trap?”

“It wasn't—”

“Do you have no thought for your own safety? Or at least for the mission we've come to carry out?”

“Nothing happened,” I lied. “Look, Collum, I know we shouldn't have gone. It was stupid, but Mom—”

“‘Stupid' doesn't begin to cover it,” he roared. “You are my responsibility. I swore an oath to Lu to keep the both of you safe, and I plan on keeping that promise.”

Bran grunted at that, but I ignored him as Collum raged. “I cannot believe you'd take a chance like that. Not when we're going after Sarah tonight.”

“Oh,
you
have a lot of room to talk,” I shouted back. “You're a hypocrite, going all superhero, trying to steal that freaking dagger. Talk about stupid?” I was shaking, all geared up to say a whole lot more. But the words dried in my throat when I saw anguish pinch the skin between his earnest hazel eyes.

“You're right,” he said, nodding. “Aye. I betrayed this mission. Lost my wits when I learned the Nonius might be near. It's just that I—I've wanted to find it for so long.” Collum dropped onto a three-legged stool, head in his hands as he mumbled. “But look what happened. I failed, and endangered everyone in the process. What do you think would happen to Sarah . . . to Lu . . . if I lost the two of you?”

My cheeks burned as shame wormed through me. After the stunt Collum pulled, how could I have been so selfish? All that mattered was stealing Mom away from that monster, and getting us all home safe.

“I'm sorry, Collum,” I said, meaning it. “It won't happen again. I swear.”

Standing, he raked his hands through his short hair. “As do I,” he said. “So let's put all the nonsense behind us and focus on the mission, yeah?” He looked from me to Phoebe, and finally to Bran.

Bran gave a mock salute. “Aye, sir,” he said. “I'm always up for an adventure.”

W
E REACHED THE
P
ALACE OF
W
ESTMINSTER IN AN EARLY WINTER DUSK
. Fat flakes lazed down to rest on our hair and shoulders as our horses' hooves crunched and squeaked on the new crust. The moon peeked out intermittently from behind high, racing clouds, transforming the falling snow into a silver rain. From the lights and sounds coming from inside the enormous building, it appeared the place was already in full-out party mode.

After dropping our horses with the groomsmen, I shivered inside my thick cloak. Admittedly, the deep plum skirts and ash bodice of my gown were lovely, though the raw silk was little protection against the cold.

“You realize this is completely insane,” Bran whispered at my side. “Bringing him with us.”

I glanced back at my friends following close behind. The walnut juice we'd used to dye Collum's blond hair and stain his freckled skin gave him an odd, monochromatic look. But if they were looking for him at all, on this night of celebration, it would be as a blond, not a brunet. The masks everyone wore also covered eyes and noses, leaving only the lower half of the face exposed.

Plus, who would imagine someone who'd tried to steal from the king would be idiotic enough to return to the scene of the crime?

I kept stealing glimpses of Bran. Dressed all in black, with whorls of silver threaded throughout his tunic, he looked like a finely made sheath. Slim and supple. Lethal. A circular pin secured his dark cloak at the throat. Crafted of beaten silver, it held an opal the size of my fingernail.

I realized with a little jolt that it must be his lodestone. I hadn't seen it before. I frowned, wondering then when he'd have to get back to his own entrance point. If his mother would be there. If she would try to block him. The thoughts fizzled away when his eyes behind a leather mask fixated on my mouth.