If anything went wrong, they could always jump back home. Veris had been careful to place a jumper in each car.
So Rafe tried to relax and watch this future version of Los Angeles coast by. In many ways, it looked as though it had not changed. Traffic was still horrendous, homeless still cruised the streets, advertising was everywhere. On the other hand, the air seemed to be much sweeter and the sky actually looked blue. The world had clearly cleaned up its environmental impact.
The journey didn’t last long. The cars pulled in under a cantilevered art deco style portico. The entrance to the building looked as elegant and out-there as a Vegas casino, except there were no slot machines.
A doorman saluted to the enforcers as they were shepherded through brass-and-glass doors into a hushed, cool lobby.
Rafe looked around, putting on his best dumb-tourist look. The central well of the building rose up through all the floors to a glass ceiling far overhead. On nearly every balcony he spotted people who seemed to have nothing better to do but stand and gaze around as he was.
Security.
There were more of them in the lobby. One reading a tablet computer, another drinking coffee at a little round table near the fountain. A woman was crocheting something lacey and delicate, in the far corner.
All of them were alone and appeared to have settled in for a good long stay.
“Cameras in every corner, no blind angles,” Brody murmured.
“Wanna bet the three in the foyer are just the welcoming committee?” Veris said, just as softly. “At the first hint of trouble, one of the doors—probably the one behind the fountain—will open and a dozen more will emerge. Those ones won’t be hiding their weapons, either.”
“Very heavy security,” Alex said.
The escort moved over to the elevators. Instead of touching the down or up arrow, one of them pressed his fingers against a disguised pad. Immediately, the doors of the middle elevator opened.
The wood-paneled interior, shiny tiles and mirrors, brass fittings and the palm in the corner made the elevator as elegant as the rest of the building. All six of them fitted in there, with room for two of the escorts.
There was no bumping or shaking when it lifted, either. It rose smoothly and swiftly and the doors opened with a subdued chime, revealing thick carpet.
“Wow, déjà vu,” Taylor breathed.
Veris took her hand. “I remember,” he murmured.
There were four more security types standing beside the elevator, when they stepped out. They turned and walked along the corridor. The wall facing the central well wasn’t there. Instead, there was a chest-high glass barrier with a brass railing. They could see all the way down to the foyer, far below.
At the end, the corridor turned the corner to run along the adjacent wall. There was also a wide, well-lit passage running off deeper into the building. The escort marched them down the passage. Half-way along was a set of conference room doors—just the single pair. The rest of the wall was blank.
The doors were opened and the guards stepped aside. One of them waved them in.
It was a classic boardroom. Rafe had been in hundreds of them as a lawyer and judge and the Council had its own grand affair. In modern terms, the boardroom was the equivalent of history’s court, or throne room. Most of the real power accumulated in boardrooms.
There were only two more guards in this room, both standing by the head of the table. The table was a huge U-shape, that traced the dimensions of the room, leaving a long open volleyball court-sized area in the middle that they were now walking along.
At the end of the center area, on this side of the head of the table, instead of behind it, a woman watched them approach.
She was identifiably Sydney. She was the same height, had the same glorious mass of golden blonde hair, the same hazel eyes that tended to stare directly, giving no quarter.
That, though, was where the similarities ended. This future Sydney’s hair wasn’t just thick, it hung in waves and curls down below her waist. Locks peeped out on either side of her hips.
She was wearing a dress. The Sydney Rafe knew owned very few dresses and would never wear them if she could get away with it. This dress defied description. It wrapped, enhanced and enticed, the shimmery purple color shifting with each breath she took.
The necklace nestled between the vee neck of the dress looked like something that might have been worn by Cleopatra. It was magnificent. Fit for a queen.
Which was appropriate, for this Sydney wasn’t Sydney anymore. She had stepped into her future. She was Morrigan, queen and leader of men.
Rafe could tell by the heat in her eyes and the tight line of her jaw that she was also as pissed as hell.
They all halted without prompting, a good twelve feet away from her. Alex and Veris were standing a little in front of the rest of them, which was fine by Rafe. He was happy to hang back and watch. The fury coming from the queen was warning enough.
“You should not be here,” she said. “You’re meddling in affairs you don’t understand.”
“I brought them here, my lady,” Marit said.
“At my urging,” Alex added. “Sydney…”
She held up her hand. “No. No pleasantries. For now I am not Sydney. Not in this room.”
Rafe watched Alex absorb that. Then he nodded. “I understand.”
“Do you?” Sydney said. “I know why you are here. I know you think you’re resolving issues in the past, only none of you understand time as well as I. Your presence here threatens everything I have worked to achieve.”
“You have worked to achieve?” Veris said sharply. Then he tacked on, “My lady.”
Sydney gave him a small smile. “Your work and your theories were nebulous, Veris. You were working alone, with no evidence to guide your hypotheses. You were heading in the right direction, if that gives you comfort.”
Veris looked affronted. “Nebulous,” he repeated blankly.
“Swallow your pride, Northman,” Sydney said sharply. “There is a bigger picture here you do not understand.”
Veris sucked in a breath.
Sydney just looked at him.
Rafe was fascinated. Yes, this was Sydney, only she was someone he barely recognized. The power and authority radiating from every word and gesture she made was new.
Although, no, not exactly new, he realized. As a detective, she had wielded authority. Running her own company had expanded that power. Now, the same confidence and mastery had been inflated by an unguessable exponential.
Brody gripped Veris’ arm from behind and squeezed.
Veris relaxed and nodded. “Okay, I’m an ignorant savage. Do you want to tell us why we are here? Then we’ll get out of your way.”
“You are here because you are part of my personal timeline. What you do back in history shapes my time right now. I brought you here to…nudge you in the right direction.”
“You mean, change history?” Veris asked. His voice was bland, yet his shoulders were tense and very square.
Sydney actually smiled at him. It reminded Rafe of the type of smile mothers gave their children when they were being cute…and stupid. “You have battled for years to preserve history as you thought it should be, while you were completely unaware that the changes you made were part of history. You had already made them back in time. When you go back in time and make changes, you are merely switching timelines. You’re just completing the other half of a loop in time that has always existed.”
“I am not able to treat history with such a cavalier attitude,” Veris replied evenly. “If we had not fought to preserve history as we remembered it, then Taylor would be dead in Jordan. Brody would never have emerged from Constantinople. You wouldn’t be here, either.”
“In certain timelines you have not yet visited, that is exactly what happened,” Sydney snapped back. “There is a reason you arrived here right after Marit stumbled and dropped you in Neven’s world. Think, Veris. Think it through. Watching Taylor die
should have taught you that all possibilities exist, at all times. In your personal timeline, Taylor lives. In Neven’s world, you are all dead. In some worlds, you never left your village in Norway and died from a long, debilitating disease before you reached thirty years of age. What you think of as changes to history are merely redirections into another timeline. Those changes can be managed. They can be controlled.”
Veris was shocked enough to show it. “You’re using time?”
“As a teacher. A guide to help us shape the future.” Sydney held up her hand, the thumb jutting out. “What you thought of, Alexander, as the single alternative history of Gronoya and a world on the brink of annihilation is not unique. Gronoya existed on thousands upon thousands of timelines. All those timelines are now empty.”
“Gone, all of them?” Rafe asked, astonished.
“Withered and gone, yes,” Sydney said and lowered her hand. “There are a great many timelines with their own version of Gronoya. By looking ahead and considering the alternatives, I can chart a course between those rocks.”
“By yourself?” Taylor asked, astonished.
“I have help. A great many talented helpers.”
“Including Marit, yes?” Brody said.
“Marit is one of them. The Marit standing beside you is your contemporary sixteen-year-old daughter in the body of the woman she will become. She is very important to me and to humanity. Her talents help shape the direction of the known worlds.”
Rafe glanced at Sydney startled. Worlds? Was she speaking of a group of timelines, or had humans moved beyond Earth itself?
Sydney stirred. “For that reason, I brought you here today. I have information for you and I have a direction. The information concerns Tira. Rafe dealt with her in this timeline, but the version he killed was from another timeline, brought there by yet another version of Neven, who was drawn by the proximity of two of himself in the same timeline. The Tira from our timeline, the one you and I have in common, remained at large for some years. Her attempts to manipulate time for personal gain destabilized entire quadrants. One of my first acts when I was appointed to command the western states and Canada was to ex-communicate Tira for her meddling. Later, that shunning had to be converted to a more permanent solution.”
“You killed her?” Rafe breathed.
“A traveler slipped into Mesopotamia and encouraged one of the Blood to travel to China.”
“Which meant Tira was never made,” Veris breathed. “Yet she exists in our timeline.”
“Ours is one of the few where she was turned,” Sydney said. “Rafael dealt with her, never realizing he was ending her life on all timelines, forever. Tira will no longer be a threat to any of you. She is gone completely from all timelines.”
“You offer this as information or as a warning?” Veris asked.
“Take it as you will.”
“According to you, we’re free to dip into history as we please, regardless of the consequences.”
“Oh, you can if you want, only you must live with the results,” Sydney said. “All events co-exist together in time, while for you, time is completely subjective. That is why Marit stopped you from travelling back to Egypt to help me. She understands that while a version of me fails in some timelines and succeeds in others, for you—and for me—failure would be personally catastrophic.”
Veris shook his head. “Semantics.”
“Talking about time does sound like semantics,” Sydney agreed. “You will become adept at such discussions, Veris. For that is your future role, the one I must steer you toward now. You must stay away from Neven’s timeline. All of you, even the Neven you have with you in Granada right now. It is a Gronoya world and is closed to trespassing. It will implode by itself soon enough.”
“Is that an order?” Veris asked, his voice silky.
“Yes,” Sydney said flatly. Her gaze met his and held it.
Veris nodded. “Very well. Any other orders?”
Rafe felt winded. Veris had backed down. Veris had never backed down from a direct confrontation in all the time Rafe had known him.
“You must return to your own time now,” Sydney said. “You have work to do, all of you. You must educate your children about the intricacies of time. Train them how to travel safely. They must be taught not to be afraid of time, but to respect it.”
“I guess we’re retired then, if we’re handing on the baton,” Brody said, with a soft laugh.
“Oh, your work is far from over,” Sydney told him. “Teaching others is just the beginning.” She looked directly at Rafe for the first time and he jumped. Her gaze, steady and calm, made him feel like the insecure, ignorant slave he had once been.
“Rafael, this applies even more to you. You are terrified of sinking into the past, of returning to the dark hole you once lived in.”
Rafael swallowed. “I…yes,” he admitted.
“You should heed your own advice, Rafe,” Sydney said softly. “Remember what you told Alex? The more you try to white-knuckle your way through it, the faster you will fail. Distracting yourself with a life filled with family isn’t the cure. Embrace your uncertainty. Lean into it. Then, when you have faced it, you can teach others what you have learned. There are millions of slaves in the world and many more former slaves. Some of them don’t go by that name, yet they were bound to others just the same. You have one under your roof right now. These people stumble about, lost and trying to find their place in the world. You can show them how to thrive.”
Rafe’s heart thudded. “I…hadn’t thought about it that way.”
“Brody knows how,” Sydney told him. “He found the way out.”
“I had help,” Brody said, glancing at Veris and Taylor.
“We all need help. We cannot get by without each other,” Sydney replied. “You will help me now by returning to your time and doing what I have asked.” She glanced at the guards at the side of the room. One of them nodded.
“You can jump from here,” Sydney said. “The shield has been lowered.”
“There is a shield that prevents jumping?” Veris said sharply.
“There is. You invented it.” Sydney smiled at him.
Marit put her arm around Veris’ waist. “Time to go,” she said softly.
“Yes,” Veris said distantly, staring at Sydney. He looked as if his mind was working furiously.
Rafe pulled Alex around, as Taylor came over to them. Alex resisted being turned. “Who am I, here?” he demanded. “Is this a borrowed future version I’m in? Do you succeed in the past? Or do I disappear?”
Sydney gave him a very small smile. “If I told you the outcome, you would be tempted to change it. Go back home, Alex. You’ll have your answer soon enough.”
Alex dropped his head and closed his eyes. “That is not a reassuring answer.”
Rafe gripped his hand and pulled him over to where Taylor was waiting. “It’s all the answer we’ll get, here. Let’s go home. We’ll find out there.”
Chapter Seventeen
Alim showed Sydney to his apartment, deep inside the palace. “No one will dare disturb you here. After prayers, we will discuss what happens next,” he’d told her.
Sydney had expected to see a room that resembled the interior of a tent, more or less, with lots of cushions everywhere and fabric on the walls.
The high-ceilinged, airy, interconnected rooms she stepped into were a shock. At the same time, they had a sense of familiarity.
There were three room sections, in an L shape. The section just inside the big doors was the largest. The wall opposite the doors and the one to the right weren’t solid walls. Instead, a series of slender columns jointed to the ornate arches that peppered every building she had seen so far acted as room dividers. The arches opposite the compartment doors gave glimpses of the space beyond. She could see a black lacquered table with a sloped surface, that held papers and books. The stool in front of it was also a deep black, with gold filigree paintwork.
Beyond the desk
were more arches—larger ones. Aquamarine gauze curtains hung inside each arch, billowing and shifting in the small breeze coming through the open arches.
The area through the arches to the right was for sleeping. Sydney could see a wide divan, scattered with cushions and covered in a gold cloth.
Alim lifted his hand up, waving toward the rooms. “You are welcome here. Make yourself comfortable. I will return shortly.” He closed the doors behind him, leaving her alone in the apartment.
Sydney wandered through the rooms, taking stock. As she moved about, she stripped the outer layers of clothing from her, until she was barefoot, wearing the translucent harem pants and the little bolero. She unwound the breast band as well, pleased to remove the grimy garment. Feeling considerably cooler, she uncoiled her hair and untied the leather thonging as she circled the rooms, examining Alim’s private sanctuary.
The main room had carpets fitted together like giant tiles, covering the polished stone floor almost completely. On top of the carpets was very little furniture—just two low divans used as sofas, with more cushions and bolsters. Round tables made from wood, with panel legs carved in intricate woven designs, were placed in front of them. There was a cupboard that seemed to serve as a type of sideboard, against the wall where the apartment doors were.
Throughout the apartment, Sydney could see evidence of Alim’s life and interests. Hints of the real man. There were books everywhere, stacked beside the desk. More beside the sofa and the bed divan. Individual books were scattered on the tables and on the sofas. The intricately carved sideboard held many more books. These ones had been carefully sorted and stacked, forming a more permanent display.
A small painted chest sitting on its own stool in the corner held medical instruments.
Sydney realized what was missing. There were no weapons proudly displayed here. No captured swords mounted on the wall. The artefacts and equipment of a warrior were completely missing, even though that was Alim’s primary role in this life.
The man who lived in this apartment was the real Alim. This was the heart and soul of him. There was little difference from the twenty-first century man she knew and loved.
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