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Joan herself had changed the timeline in a relatively small way by unmaking Nick—erasing everything he’d done as the hero. But the world they’d glimpsed through that tear in the timeline had been a very different London: the governance had changed, the people had been cowed and fearful, even the architecture had seemed strange. ‘How would she do it?’ she asked. How had the King done it when he’d erased the true timeline? They’d never figured that out.

Jamie ran a hand through his smooth black hair, barely ruffling it. Then he inclined his head. ‘Follow me.’

He led them to the open door on the western side of the building. Outside, the canal was littered with straw and leaves and splintered wood, the water so stagnant that the detritus barely moved.

Jamie ushered them onto a platform outside the door—it was designed to allow Hathaway boats to pull up, Joan guessed. It was just big enough for the six of them—plus Frankie, who sniffed with interest at the water.

‘Oh, this is vile,’ Aaron said, looking across the canal. There was a paved path on the other side and, beyond it, ramshackle houses—almost huts—their wooden fences missing pickets and half-collapsed. To Tom and Jamie, he said, ‘Why on earth would you have a house in the slums?’

‘We have houses where our territories are,’ Tom said mildly. ‘We like it here.’

‘Good lord,’ Aaron said. His hands were in his pockets, as if he wanted to limit the amount of his bare skin exposed to the air here.

‘Don’t even think of jumping in,’ Ruth warned him.

Aaron’s eyes flicked with horror to the murky water. ‘Why would I?’

‘To escape. To run back to your family and inform on us all.’

Aaron turned his horrified look on Ruth. ‘Much as I’d love to be rid of your company, I don’t desire it enough to catch hepatitis.’

Joan felt uneasy. Would the others let Aaron leave later, or was she going to have to help him escape? Beside her, Nick shifted his weight. His gaze was on the other side of the canal, but she could tell he was listening. It struck her suddenly that she might not get any warning before Nick left. When the time came, he’d probably just go.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, Nick’s dark eyes turned to her. For a second, Joan felt the echo of his hands cupping her face; his soft lips against hers; and her chest hurt so much that she couldn’t breathe.

Aaron and Ruth were still arguing. ‘I’ve changed my mind!’ Aaron said. ‘I’d prefer that canal to you!’

‘Just—’ Joan held her hand up. She couldn’t bear them bickering right now. ‘Stop. Please stop.’

In her peripheral vision, she saw Aaron turn to her like he’d heard a strange note in her voice. His attention shifted from Joan to Nick and back as if he’d picked up on the tension between them. No one else seemed aware of it.

Joan took a deep breath. The air smelled of unmoving canal water, but it was crisply cool enough to sharpen her mind. She suspected that was why Jamie had brought them all out here—to give them space to think.

If anything, though, the small platform had brought them all closer together. Joan was almost touching Nick on one side, Aaron on the other. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to focus. ‘How would Eleanor change the timeline?’ she asked again. ‘How would she create that world we saw?’

‘There are lots of theories about how to change the timeline,’ Tom said. He glanced at Joan in acknowledgement. She’d done it by unmaking Nick.

‘To make the timeline we saw, Eleanor would have to change something significant,’ Jamie said. ‘I would say a significant historical event.’

‘What event?’ Ruth said.

Jamie spread his hands. ‘I don’t know. To change the timeline on the scale that Eleanor wants to …’ He shook his head. ‘Only the King has ever done that.’

‘How did the King do it?’ Joan wondered. How had he erased the original timeline? ‘What significant thing did he change?’ She chewed her lip, thinking. They’d seen a statue of Eleanor. Semper Regina. Always Queen. So they knew something of Eleanor’s final goal, at least.

Aaron shifted his weight beside Joan. ‘We’re thinking about this all wrong,’ he said suddenly. Joan blinked at him. His hands were still in his pockets, lord-like, and for a moment Joan almost knew something important. About Eleanor, about herself. About why Eleanor had turned Nick into a slayer. Why she’d said, It’s always about Nick with you, isn’t it? And that blond boy.

And then Aaron said, ‘The timeline doesn’t allow change,’ and the feeling vanished like a popped bubble, leaving Joan reaching for it. ‘None of this should be possible.’

What had that feeling been? What had Joan almost known? Now that the moment had passed, she wondered if her mind had been playing tricks on her. When had she last slept? She closed her eyes for a moment, and a wave of tiredness hit her. She’d been unconscious for a few hours last night, she guessed, but she didn’t exactly feel rested. She forced her eyes open.

‘What do you mean the timeline doesn’t allow it?’ Nick said. To Joan, he said slowly: ‘You told me there was a force in the world—one that stops events from being changed …’

They’d had that conversation on the train from Bedford. He’d trusted her so much more back then. ‘The timeline pushes back against us,’ she said to him now.

‘The timeline abhors change,’ Aaron explained to Nick. With some distaste, he bent to pick up a stone from underfoot and tossed it into the canal. Water rippled around the drop. ‘When we time travel, we’re like stones thrown into a river. We create cascades of changes—like ripples—wherever we go.’

‘I know the metaphor,’ Nick said softly.