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Elodie shrugs. “Jago’s great—we have a good time. But we also like our freedom, and we’re not interested in policing each other. When we Trip, we’re free to do as we please. I know it’s not the kind of arrangement that would work for everyone, but it works for us.”

I watch her elegant shoulders rise and fall as I remember my first Trip to Versailles, when Elodie and Jago came along as my guides, and how amused Jago was watching her flirt her way through the Yew Ball.

“I’m sure Nash can round up a friend if you’re interested?” she says, cutting into my thoughts. “It’ll be like a nineteenth-century double date.”

I’m quick to shake my head. “No thanks,” I tell her. “Managing one boyfriend is more than enough.”

Elodie, catching the unintentional inflection in my tone, turns her full attention on me. “Do I detect a hint of trouble in paradise?”

Annoyed at myself for inadvertently broadcasting my doubts, I return the spotlight to her. “You do know this isn’t exactly a party?” I say, watching Elodie roll her eyes to the crystal chandelier dripping from the ceiling above.

“Of course it’s a party,” she says. “Pretty much every first Trip is. Where else are you going to have access to so many fine jewels worn by so many inebriated people?”

When she laughs, that lovely, lilting sound instantly fills the room. But I’m still stuck on the first part. Wondering if her use ofpretty muchwas just a figure of speech—or was she implying there’d been other first Trips that didn’t take place at a party?

Like maybe Braxton’s first Trip. The one he apparently took with Killian.

“And just to be clear—if you’re even thinking about lecturing me on looking after Mason, then all I have to say is don’t waste your breath. Seriously, Nat.” She flips her long golden curls over her shoulder and, still holding the dress, plunks down onto the nearest chair. “Do you really think Mason will listen to anything I have to say?”

“He’s a lot more likely to listen to you than me,” I grudgingly admit.

“Listen—” Elodie crosses her legs and leans toward me. “You have no idea how many times I’ve seen this play out. Before you came along, I thought Song was the worst. But now Mason’s proved himself to be even more rebellious than the two of you put together. And honestly, there’s only so much you can do. Ultimately, it’s up to him to decide how he’s going to use the amazing opportunity he’s been given here.”

And that’s when I remember how Elodie, having grown up at Gray Wolf, doesn’t understand that not everyone is thrilled to have their life snatched out from under them so they can work as a time-traveling thief for Arthur.

“Is that why you and Jago ditched me on my first Trip?”

Elodie shrugs. “The only thing that matters is you found your way back. And now you need to trust that Mason will, too.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Elodie’s gaze meets mine, but before she can respond, Charlotte reappears with an armful of accessories, including a custom pair of shoes for Elodie, which I can’t help but envy.

“Next time,” Charlotte says, clocking the covetous look on my face.

“Next time meaning my trip to Renaissance Italy?” I ask.

But Charlotte just smiles, turns her back on me, and helps Elodie into her dress.

17

By the time Elodie and I emerge from the dressing room, Mason is already on the launchpad with Oliver, Finn, and Jago beside him.

My first thought is:What a relief.

Since I can’t trust Elodie—and probably not Jago—to help me track Mason, at least I can count on Oliver and Finn to step in if things start to go south.

My second thought is how resplendent Mason looks in his nineteenth-century finery of tailcoat, waistcoat, and breeches.

I’m about to tell him as much when he whirls on me and says, “Tell me this isn’t real.” He makes a sweeping gesture around the control room. “Tell me this is some sort of elaborate hoax, and you’re all in on it.” His dark eyes narrow on mine.

I stand before him, my gaze flicking to Oliver and then Finn, both of whom meet my look with varying degrees of alarm. Then I glance to Jago and Elodie, but their heads are bent together, paying us no mind. When I settle back on Mason, I say, “If you’re referring to Tripping, it’s real.” I keep my voice serious, my expression solemn.

But Mason shakes his head, refusing to believe a word of it. “You, of all people, owe me the truth,” he snaps, and I can’t help but flinch at the bite in his words.

“It’s what we do here,” I say, determined to give it to him straight in hopes he’ll wise up to the fact that this is no game. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but you’ve been so angry with me and…” I let the word fade, no point in reliving all that. “Look,” I say. “You can’t tell me you didn’t at least start to wonder. The classes in equestrianism and swordcraft, the lectures on the fourth-dimensional road, the constructs—it’s all preparation for this. And I know you must’ve suspected because you’re the smartest person I know. Which is probably also why you’re refusing to believe it. It seems so implausible—and yet, it’s totally real.”

I end with a nervous grin, trying to ease the thread of tension thrumming between us, but Mason won’t budge. He shoots me a look so harsh I can’t help but cringe, though still I press on. If Mason keeps refusing to cooperate, he’ll put us all at risk of being discovered, and the consequences of that are too grim to ponder.