Into the Dim (Into the Dim, #1)(72)

“Barbaric? Hmm, perhaps,” Bran teased. “But they’re tasty little buggers. And afterward you can pick your teeth with the beaks.”

Phoebe’s brows shot up. I could see Bran’s charm beginning to work on her. She snorted, choking back the laugh when she saw her brother frown.

Eyeing the bowl before me, I wondered at the origins of the meat chunks floating in this thick brown sauce. I wasn’t hungry. Or so I thought, until the first tender bite passed my lips and I groaned. It could’ve used some salt, and for a second I actually looked around for a salt shaker.

Stupid. Only the rich could afford salt at table, and even then only for the most important guests. We definitely did not fit either category.

Salt or no salt, we all scarfed it down. Soon, I was sopping up the remnants with a crust of coarse bread.

Before I could ask, the innkeeper ladled another helping into all our wooden bowls. That one I savored, slurping it in long, delicious mouthfuls and washing it down with a crisp ale that sparkled on my tongue.

When we were done and the table cleared, Bran stood.

“I’d like to say something,” he announced quietly. “If I may?” All humor erased, Bran’s voice sounded grave and almost fragile as he glanced nervously at each of us in turn. “In my life, I’ve done many things I regret.” He cleared his throat and glanced up toward the ceiling.

When Bran’s gaze dropped back to mine, the huge knot in my chest began to unravel.

“But I swear, I never wanted any harm to come to you. And if you could try to trust me, I’ll do everything in my power to see you safely home.” His blue and green eyes flicked to Phoebe, then Collum. “All of you.”

Phoebe, Collum, and I exchanged looks. “He did help us, Coll,” Phoebe said. “I say we give him a chance.”

Collum’s tawny head tilted as he studied Bran. “Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “But if you play us false, boy, I will kill you, aye?”

Bran’s own jaw tensed in reflex, but he nodded. “Agreed.”

Slowly, Phoebe and I filled them in on what had happened in their absence. Sister Hectare’s tale of seeing Celia Alvarez at her convent, fifty years earlier. How the small nun somehow knew if not exactly who we were at least that we did not belong in that time. We told them of the queen’s invitation to meet with her before the celebration that night, and how she’d make sure my mom was there.

When we explained how the lodestone we’d brought for my mother was stolen by the guards at Mabray House, Collum’s head dropped into his hands.

“With Sarah’s bracelet gone, there’s no option, then,” he said as he raised bleary eyes to mine. “We have to get the Nonius.”

To Bran’s credit, when we spoke of Celia and the stone, he didn’t flinch.

“You must understand,” he said, “my mother is obsessed with the Nonius Stone. She and Do?a Maria—her grandmother, and the most twisted old bat you’ll ever meet—have a master plan. I, however, am most definitely not part of their inner circle.”

He held up a hand as Collum made to protest. “No, mate, I admit I knew about the visit to the convent. It happened a year or so ago, and Mother was furious. I find it both amusing and ironic that the good sister is here.” Bran took a deep breath, visibly bracing himself as he went on. “There is something you should know, however. Recently, my mother and Do?a Maria recruited a new chap, a genius, who’s been tinkering with Tesla’s design. When they noticed the timeline to this place was relatively stable, he conceived a way to incorporate the Nonius Stone directly into the electrical components. Something about encasing the gem inside copper housing. Or at least that is what he claims. I don’t know the details, but apparently, the stone would allow us—allow them—to open and close the Dim at will, and go anywhere, to any time, they wish.”

“Bran’s telling the truth,” Phoebe said to Collum. “That matches with what Sarah told us.”

Collum nodded, his poor, wrecked face solemn as he murmured, “And with that kind of control, there’d be no stopping them.”

“The only thing of which I’m absolutely certain,” Bran finished, “is that the Timeslippers will go after the stone tonight. The exit point we came through will close about midmorning tomorrow. As for the rest, believe me or not. But my mother has never confided in me.”

I noticed an almost imperceptible tightening around his eyes when he spoke of Celia. Sure, she was a murderous lunatic, but she was still his mom, and he’d openly defied her to—

Save me.

“Bran?” I had to ask it. The answer might mean everything. “Back at Mabray House, did you push Celia out of our way on purpose?”

When his hand landed lightly on top of mine—warm, callused, strong—I looked up. Our eyes met.

“Do you truly have to ask?”

He said it so simply, so sincerely, that I could only swallow.

At the corner of my vision, I saw Collum lean in, hazel eyes hooded, fixed on the spot where Bran’s slender, tanned hand covered mine.

“Well, then.” I eased my hand back, ignoring the way the warmth lingered even as I picked up my horn cup. “I think—”

“Hold that.” Collum raised a hand, shutting me down as he spun on the bench to face Bran. “Aye, you may’ve helped us today.” He shrugged, mouth pursed, as if the words tasted bitter. “But you’re still a bloody Timeslipper.”