“Head timing with Dr. Littlewood? Oh, do you mean FaceTiming?”
Everett’s cheeks flushed. “Yes—face timing. In any case, you would have to stick to a strict schedule, and the early weeks would present the most challenge, as you would have to be gone for additional hours at a stretch.”
Jillian, staring at her hands, nodded. Then she looked up at Everett. “Would you come with me? During the early visits when I’d be in Italy for longer than just the five hours of classes?”
A lazy smile drifted over Everett’s face. “Allow me to consider the options before me. Would I prefer to travel to Italy and entertain myself with sightseeing or studying in order to gain a few hours with you there, or would I prefer to spend the entire time by myself here?” His smile said it all.
Jillian felt tears gathering on her lower lid. “I didn’t see how to make us both happy.”
“And you chose to make me happy, which was very noble of you, but where I come from, such a sacrifice on your part would be unthinkable. I was left with no choice.” He shrugged. “I had to find an alternative.”
A tear spilled onto her cheek. “And you did. Oh, Everett . . .”
He reached for the tear and brushed her cheek dry. “Now, then, how about you tell me one more time about the first time you met me? I want to hear it over and over until I can almost remember it myself.”
Jillian gave a tiny laugh. “Well,” she began, “at twenty-five or so years of age, you were a terrible flirt. And not entirely ignorant of the effect your beautiful eyes have on impressionable young women . . .”
EPILOGUE
· QUINTUS VALERIUS ·
It had become apparent to Quintus Valerius that he was no longer within the provinces of Rome, much less within the great city. He had escaped the vile slave who’d captured him: Julius Canis. It was not a name he would soon forget. He remembered charging the man beside the temple of Vesta, and he remembered passing out and then waking here, wherever here was. He didn’t know of any herbs that would have kept him asleep for the long journey he must have taken to have wandered beyond the reach of Rome. He wondered if some sort of charm had been involved.
Quintus had seen strange things during his months in Gaul and heard of stranger during his brief time in Britannia, but he had never heard tell of a land like this, where chariots without horses roared along straight roads Rome would have been proud to have built. Where strange lights were kindled by night that neither burned nor smoked. He had no idea where this “Florida” was—where he was.
Uncertain of the powers possessed by the barbarians of “Florida,” he had sheltered by day and wandered by night, always seeking the Mare Nostrum, the Mediterranean Sea. The sandy soil proclaimed some sea was nearby. Could he but find the sea, he could make his way back to Rome and complete his mission, a mission that must not fail. He removed the letter from safekeeping only long enough to be certain it was still with him. He had sworn an oath to Gaius Julius Caesar to deliver the message, and only death would prevent him from fulfilling his oath.
On his first night, Quintus had gorged on ripe oranges. This was a temperate land, and groves of the fruit were to be found everywhere. The dense plantings had provided him with cover, too, while he slept by day. On his second night, snares he had set yielded three small birds. They were of a variety unknown to him, but hunger was an excellent seasoning. On his third night it had been more oranges, and on his fourth, eggs stolen from a farmer’s hen. He’d nearly taken the chicken, but the farmer seemed to have no sheep or goats or any other source of meat, so Quintus had left the hen behind, with a prayer that Tellus would increase the family’s resources.
Everywhere he ventured, he saw signs proclaiming things in the letters of Rome, but he could understand only a few of the words. “December” was written in many places, often in combination with a depiction of some god whose flowing white beard covered garb of brightest red, trimmed with white fur. The god’s garments were somewhat in the Gallic fashion, as were the garments of the people of this land. Had the climate not been so warm, he might have imagined himself in an unknown part of Gaul.
But this was not Gaul, and Quintus had gradually begun to conclude he was utterly lost. Near to despair by the seventh night, he offered a plea for direction to Jupiter Terminalus, that aspect of Jupiter who protected boundaries. And then he rose and began his nightly march, always seeking the sea.
Not half an hour later, he saw something that made his breath catch. In front of a small lodging or temple stood a written proclamation. He could not understand what was meant by “OUR LADY OF MERCY,” but one of the two the words below made his heart beat faster: ROMAN CATHOLIC.
Someone in this barbarous land knew of Roma. The spelling was ill—neither “Romanus,” nor “Romana,” nor any other proper variant, but it was something! Quintus settled in to observe the place. He lay in wait all day in an orange grove across the smooth road. That night, a man dressed in garb not unlike that of the men of Numidia came to the proclamation and placed new letters upon it: “CHRISTMAS EVE MIDNIGHT MASS IN LATIN.” Quintus gasped. He understood only the final two words, and the spelling was once again uncouth, but no matter how the barbarian before him spelled “Latin,” the man could not be completely ignorant of the lingua latina, the language of Rome.
His short sword drawn, Quintus crossed the road. Only when his sword was tickling the space between the barbarian’s ribs did Quintus ask his question.
“Loquerisne linguam latinam?” Do you speak Latin?
“Sic, amicus, paululum linguae Latinae dico.” Yes, friend, I speak a little Latin.
Quintus lowered his sword.
THE END
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Also by Cidney Swanson
The Ripple Series
Rippler
Chameleon
Unfurl
Visible
Immutable
Knavery
Perilous
The Saving Mars Series
Saving Mars
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Losing Mars
Mars Burning
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The Thief in Time Series
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A Flight in Time
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Acknowledgments
Often I save the thank you to my readers for last in the acknowledgments, but not this time. The reception for A Thief in Time far surpassed my expectations, making it my best-launched new series ever. Thank you, readers all! I couldn’t be more grateful. Special thanks to my ARC readers. Your enthusiasm is so appreciated! I owe a fresh round of thanks to Sarah and Monique for helping get things right and just right for the story I wanted to tell. Your generosity with your time and your know-how moves me deeply.
I am, as always, grateful to my patient and super science-y husband for help with strange concepts (notably: strange attractors) and painful math, and for explaining the difference between critical points and inflection points.
With this new Kindle Press edition, I need to add a round of thanks to my editorial team at Amazon. I’m so grateful for all the things you’ve done to make the words sparkle!
Lastly, this story might never have been written without a little inspiration from a very brave seatmate who faced the fear of flying head on and reminded me of how compelling my own fear of flying once was. I love flying now, and I hope this seatmate will love it someday. Or at least, like Jillian, hate it a little less!
A Flight in Time (Thief in Time Series Book 2) Page 26