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Tom pushed a hand through his sandy hair. He was considering it. Joan held her breath. She wasn’t holding any cards here. Tom didn’t really owe her. Joan had gotten Jamie away from Eleanor, but that hadn’t been her primary goal. And even if Tom had owed her, he’d repaid her three times over by rescuing her from the Wyvern Inn and then the guard house, by harbouring her and Nick from the Court.

What could Joan even do if he said no? Shout a warning to Nick? Start the battle right now?

‘All right,’ Tom said finally. ‘You have my word that he won’t be harmed while he’s under Argent control.’

Joan felt a burst of nausea and relief at the same time. And trepidation. Was this the right thing to do? Would it save them all or doom them? Would it prevent a battle with Nick or cause it? She didn’t know.

‘There’s something else,’ Tom said before Joan could turn away from him.

They’d stopped just outside the first stall, where seemingly endless lines of people were buying eggs and butter, and fresh cheese curds scooped from a big saucepan into whatever container the purchaser had brought.

‘We need to talk about Aaron Oliver,’ Tom said.

Joan felt herself tensing, defensive. ‘There’s nothing to talk about.’

A few stalls up, Aaron was examining a tray of hot apple dumplings. He looked stupidly posh in his beige suit. As always, his beauty had drawn the attention of the people around him, and as always, he seemed oblivious to the nudges and whispers, the double takes.

‘We brought him back as a prisoner,’ Tom said. ‘Because we needed information from him.’

‘And then he and I had a conversation,’ Joan said, still defensive. ‘And now he’s on our side again.’

Tom laughed—just a huff of breath. ‘You can’t actually trust him. He arrested you. He took you to a guard house to be executed.’

‘I told you. I explained to him that we knew each other. I told him the truth about the other timeline.’

‘Look,’ Tom said seriously, ‘I understand why everyone else is going up against Eleanor. You, Nick, and Jamie think you can stop some calamity. I’m here for Jamie. I think Ruth’s just here for you. But him …’ Tom looked over at Aaron. ‘He’s not getting anything out of this. Nothing I can see, except the prospect of a reward if he flips back to Eleanor when we get there.’

Joan swallowed. Ruth had warned Joan that Aaron was playing her. That he’d only said what Joan had wanted to hear to get out of that locked room. But Joan had seen the sincerity in his grey eyes when he’d given her his mother’s brooch. His blooming shock when she’d described that brooch at the boathouse. The way he’d looked at her after that …

‘Joan, he doesn’t know you. You were bonded by a trauma that never happened to him. You feel things about him that he doesn’t feel about you.’

The words landed. Joan’s chest tightened. ‘I know.’ She knew that Aaron didn’t feel the bond that she felt. Just days ago, he’d been calling her filth; he’d wanted to watch her execution. ‘I know.’ But then they’d had that conversation …

‘You miss him,’ Tom said. ‘You miss him, and that makes you want to trust him like you used to.’

Over at the stall, the owner had given Aaron some apple dumplings, and she was smiling at him, a little starstruck by Aaron’s good looks. Joan would have bet he’d gotten those dumplings for free.

‘I’m just saying,’ Tom said. ‘You need to be wary of them both.’

‘Where were you two?’ Ruth asked as Joan and Tom rejoined the others. She handed Joan a thick banbury cake, the pastry still warm. It smelled sweetly of currants and orange peel, but Joan’s stomach was already hurting. In her peripheral vision, she saw Owen Argent push away from the wall, tossing aside a half-eaten apple.

Owen looked almost exactly as he had when she’d last seen him. His hair was the same grey-toned ash, his angular features a contrast with his soft mouth.

Nick turned, and now he registered Owen. His eyes widened.

Joan had observed the ripple of desire that had followed Aaron. Now she saw again what she’d seen at Queenhithe. Complete strangers reacted to Nick too. There was a shade of desire when they looked at him, but it was more than that. They turned toward Nick as if seeking the sun.

Nick stared at Owen. For a split second, Joan had a terrifying vision of Nick realising his own effect on people, calling out: To me! Rally to me! She pictured all the humans in earshot falling into line behind him, following him as he raised an army, street by street.

But Owen raised his own voice, coloured with the deep note of Argent compulsion. ‘Come here!’ he ordered Nick. ‘Be calm about it! Don’t fight!’

Nick’s gaze leaped to Joan, and Joan read the clear belief in his eyes that she’d protest this. That she’d try to stop it like she had last time. Her stomach turned over as Nick obeyed Owen’s order, heading over to him.

She should protest this.

But she couldn’t see any other way to keep everyone safe. The Argent power would protect all of them in the aftermath of fighting Eleanor—whether by oath or compulsion.

Nick reached Owen, and Owen said to him, ‘Stand right there.’