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‘You told the Court?’ Joan said to Eleanor. ‘You informed on us?’

‘I got word to the King that there’d been peace talks with humans,’ Eleanor said. ‘I assumed he’d intervene and stop the talks. But—’ Her voice failed. She made a visible effort to force more words out. ‘You put that idea in their heads,’ she whispered to Joan. ‘Our family would never have considered treating with humans if it wasn’t for you.’

Joan opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She could picture it all too easily now. ‘The King didn’t stop the talks,’ she said. She didn’t even remember it happening, but she felt a sick rush of horror as if she had.

‘The King saw only treason,’ Eleanor said. ‘He punished our whole family for something that you started!’ Her feelings were naked on her face now. She blamed Joan for this; she hated her. ‘The King killed our family because of the two of you.’

Joan had a flash again of Nick’s torture: his broken nose, his broken arm. Again, Eleanor had said with relish. Again. Nick had been tortured over and over. This was why. This was why Eleanor had chosen Nick to be the hero, why she’d taken such pleasure in his pain.

‘I wish I’d been there when Nick massacred the Hunts,’ Eleanor said to Joan softly, and Joan shuddered. ‘I wish I’d seen your face when you had to run for your life from him.’

Nick made a soft noise as if he’d been stabbed. ‘That’s why?’ he breathed. Joan knew what he meant. He was asking if that was why she’d unmade the hero.

Joan couldn’t even bring herself to nod. She could hardly take in what Eleanor had said.

Eleanor’s eyes were like flint now as she stared Joan down. ‘This started with the two of you seeking peace between humans and monsters, so I turned you against each other. I made him into a slayer. Someone who’d hurt you—who you’d hurt—until neither of you could bear it anymore. So that you would feel a sliver of how I feel every day of my life.’ She gave Joan a small, furious smile. ‘I made him into a slayer because you loved him and he loved you. Because if he killed the people you loved most, you’d never trust him again. Because when you fought back, he’d see you for the monster you are. He’d never trust you. And it worked, didn’t it? You’ll never be able to seek peace again. You’ll never really feel the same about each other again.’

Joan was plunged right back into her worst memories: Gran’s rasping breaths; Gran’s blood sinking into the carpet; the look on Nick’s face when he’d seen his brothers and sisters, his parents, dead.

Another sound from Nick. This one deep in his throat.

‘I wanted to hurt you, but that wasn’t the only reason I made him into a slayer,’ Eleanor said.

Joan’s throat was so tight that swallowing was painful. ‘Why, then?’

‘I told you.’ Eleanor’s voice sounded as tight as Joan’s. ‘I’m bringing back our family.’

Joan shook her head. She didn’t understand. How could any of this bring back the Graves?

‘Why would a monster create a monster slayer?’ Eleanor’s tone was almost mocking.

It was the question Joan had kept asking herself. It had never made sense to her. Nick hadn’t killed monsters in targeted assassinations. He’d massacred monsters indiscriminately. How could that be part of any plan?

‘After the King erased our family,’ Eleanor said, ‘I went looking for him.’ She nodded at Nick. ‘He didn’t remember me, of course.’ To Nick, she said, ‘I had someone beat you up. They broke your nose. It was more satisfying than you’d believe.’

Nick’s expression didn’t change. ‘Brave of you.’

Eleanor shrugged. ‘I used my Grave power to undo the beating. At the end of it, you were unbruised and your nose was unbroken. That was less satisfying, but it was proof.’

‘Proof of what?’ Joan said.

‘That the timeline would allow her to make a change.’ It was Tom who’d spoken. He’d figured it out first.

‘A very small change,’ Eleanor agreed. ‘An insignificant change. I had to do it slowly to make sure that the timeline didn’t figure out what I was really up to. I broke Nick’s bones over and over. Fixed them over and over. I killed his family and brought them back.’ A flinch from Nick at that. ‘And then I did it all over again.’

Joan had a flash of Nick again with a broken nose. Nick crying. Nick screaming. Nick begging for his family’s lives. Again, Eleanor had said. Again. Again. And Nick had been tortured in a whole new way. Again. Eleanor had hurt him and reset him and hurt him again.

‘Why?’ Joan ground out.

‘I had a theory,’ Eleanor said, ‘that if I could change someone’s personal history over and over, the timeline would eventually lose its grip on them. I remember the first time that he killed a monster without the timeline trying to fix it.’ She laughed. The note of triumph made Joan shiver. ‘That was when I knew I’d done it. I’d made a weak point on the timeline.’

Ying had said that events could be changed at weak points on the timeline. Nick was a weak point?

‘I’d made someone who could change the timeline at will,’ Eleanor said. ‘And I made him perfect.’ She turned to Nick again. ‘You were perfect. I had a monster kill your family so that you would hate us. Hate Joan. And then I had you trained into the perfect monster slayer. The perfect human hero. My work of art.’ She wasn’t even mocking this time; it was sincere. Some part of her saw him as her masterpiece.

Nick stared Eleanor down, as cold as Joan had ever seen him.

‘You went after monsters with a righteous fury,’ Eleanor said to Nick as if she hadn’t noticed his expression. ‘Every time you killed a monster, you became even more detached from the timeline. Even more capable of change.’