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For a moment, Emara only stared at him. This was an entirely different man than the one she’d left in her time. And yet he wasn’t. His gray hair was short and trim with a neat silver beard coating his strong jaw. His pale skin was clear of the festering wounds that had peppered his body, and his broad, wiry hands tapped the desk impatiently.

But when he looked at her, it was, without a doubt, the same obsidian eyes that had speared her in the middle of that last doomed battle. Perhaps she could finally get some answers here. Maybe he would recognize her somehow and—

“What?” he snapped. “Do you have a message? What are you waiting for?”

His sharp disdain punched the wind from Emara’s chest, gutting the small hope she’d been harboring there. This magus knew nothing, and he certainly didn’t seem of a mind to entertain her outlandish tale. If she wasn’t careful, perhaps she’d be the one he cursed instead of Shad.

Emara swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I… need to speak with you.”

But what did she say? If she really was from the future, telling him his fate could change everything. Not that she had proof of her claim either way.

“Me?” the magus scoffed. “What could a servant girl say that is worth my time?” He waved a hand, his stare returning to his parchment. “Away with you, before I summon the guards.”

A flash of anger burned through Emara, and she slapped down the bottle and platter on the nearest table. “You’re the one who sent me here.”

Everard’s brows rose before sinking into bemusement. “Girl, I may be a few centuries old, but that does not mean I’m senile. Why would I send a servant girl to see myself? Even if I had, I’d certainly remember it.”

Emara stalked toward him, her hands fisting as her frustration bubbled out. “The last time I saw you, you were chained to the throne room floor with everyone dying around us as you babbled on about finding Bellaphia and stuck a knife in your chest. The next thing I knew, I woke up here, the sun is still shining full, and everyone I know is gone.” She slammed her hands on his desk, eyes burning. “So you tell me. Why’d you send me here?”

A guard shoved open the deep oak doors, the handsome, kind-faced one she’d glimpsed in the courtyard. His hand gripped the sword at his waist as he took in the room. “Everything all right in here, Lord Everard? I heard raised voices.”

For a moment, no one spoke, and Emara’s muscles tensed.

Everard turned back to her, his dark gaze unreadable as a clouded night. “We’re fine. Leave us.”

The guard exited without another word, and Emara wiped at her cheeks, surprised to find them wet with tears.

Everard stood and offered her a handkerchief. She took it, but when he spoke, his voice was still hard. “What is your name, girl?”

Emara cleaned her face with the handkerchief before squeezing her hands behind her back and lifting her chin. “I was born Ioni Rao, and I am a Time Heir.”

“I know the Time Heirs, and you are not one.” His eyes narrowed. “How am I to believe that you are not stark raving mad?”

She crossed her arms. “Well, there’s an obvious test.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Of course. Perhaps this is where we can make use of your accomplice.” He waved a hand toward the servant’s door. “Come in boy, you’ve made it this far, don’t be shy.”

Jai swaggered in with a smirk as if there were no place he’d rather be. Reaching her side, he dipped into a deep bow in front of the desk. “Lord Everard, how may I be of service?”

The magus pulled a knife from his belt with one hand and beckoned impatiently with the other. “Roll up your sleeve please.”

Jai hesitated for a moment before doing as he was told, his gaze lingering on the knife.

Alarm tingled through Emara’s fingers, her mind flashing back to the Rastgol in the killing fields of Faveno. “Come now. The knife is hardly necessary. We need only prick the skin to—”

Everard seized Jai’s wrist and pinned it to the table, raising the knife. “You think you could lie to me? Sneak in here and steal from me? I do not let such offenses go lightly.”

Jai grunted as Everard’s fingernails dug into his skin, drawing blood. Still he managed a smile. “Lord magus, I’m honored to think you find me worthy of debasing yourself with something as barbaric as brute force.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Emara said, her voice tight as she searched the room for weapons. Anything she could defend them with. “We’re not here to lie or steal. I only want answers.”

Everard’s eyes darkened. “Even those are costly, girl.” With that, he brought the knife down, spearing Jai’s hand to the table like a pinned beetle. Jai screamed as blood coursed across the desk, and Everard regarded her with a night-black stare. “What will you do now, servant girl? Lies will get you nothing here.”

“You imbecilic old man!” Emara moved fast, fury raging through her before she mastered her emotions, searching for the well of calm she would need. Everard retreated a step, and Emara put her hand on Jai’s forearm. His pain flooded through her, surprised and angry and scared. She took it all, gritting her teeth as the agony burned through her. She forced her eyes open, making herself meet his panicked gaze. They could do this.

He grunted with the hurt that she couldn’t quite capture, but his forehead wrinkled with the confusion of his ebbing pain. “What’re you—”

“Jai,” Emara said, breathing shallowly to try to reach deeper. “I’m going to remove the knife. It will hurt, but I need to do it in order to heal. Do you understand?” The words were more for herself than for him. She was the one that was going to feel the pain after all.

With his eyes still blank with shock, she didn’t wait for him to respond. Taking one more deep breath, she yanked the knife from his hand. He cried out, and blackness edged her vision as she fought to overcome the surge of pain. She battled it, absorbed it, let it flow through every mote of her body, evening from a rush into a slow trickle, like a sudden flash flood.

Recalling Aza’s midnight lessons, she visualized it swirling through her, completely under her control, absorbing into her. Then she forced her yanaa into the empty space, into his hand, knitting together bone and flesh and tendon, piecing together a quick and clever hand that would survive to hide many more coins, cards, and other tricks. Sweat coursed down her face as she pieced it all together, deaf and blind to anything and everything around her.

Then, with his hand finally as new, without even a scar to remember, she released him and sank to the floor.

“How… what did you…” Jai staggered back, glancing from his hand to the blood on the table to her. “Who are you?” Emara looked up at him, expecting to see the accusing fear she saw from so many. The fear of a power they did not know or understand. But in his eyes, she only saw awestruck wonder. “Manju was right,” he breathed.

Emara got to her feet, her muscles tired but not drained. Nothing like she’d felt only two days ago. She picked up the magus’s handkerchief and wiped the blood from her hands. Straightening, she looked the magus in the eyes once more. The one that sent her here, and the one she now knew for certain she could not trust. “All I know is I need to get back to my people, and to do that, I need you to tell me where Bellaphia is.”

Everard’s onyx gaze locked on her, only Jai and Emara’s heavy breaths breaking the silence. “It is impossible. You are not from the Time Heir line. You must be a healer of Odriel’s Blessed.” He rubbed his silver beard, something glinting beneath his heavy brow. “But a powerful one at that. Perhaps you could be of some use to me after all. And you said you want to see Bellaphia to return you to your… whomever?”

Emara ground her teeth. “Yes.” She took a step back, putting more space between her and the magus. Shad had spoken of Everard as an ally to the Heirs, even a friend, but perhaps he hadn’t always been that way. “The sooner you tell me where she is, the faster we can all go ahead and move along.”

“What do you know about my sister, Bellaphia?”

“Nothing,” Emara said. “But I do hope she’s more polite than you.”

Everard stiffened. “With myself as an exception, the magi are rather private, but Bellaphia is an extreme case. Humans provoke uncontrollable visions that often bring her to the edge of madness. It has rendered her mind childlike, and she sees only my sister, Ivanora.”

A shudder ran through Emara at the name. Ivanora? What was she like here? Was she already one of Idriel’s commanders, working to return him to Okarria?

“And on occasion,” Everard continued, “the most powerful Time Heirs.” He looked away out the sun-brightened window. “Although they have yet to be able to ease her suffering.”

“But Emara can do that,” Jai butted in, showing his unblemished hand as proof. “She didn’t just heal me, but she took away the pain too. Maybe she could help your sister. Maybe that’s why you sent her here.”

Emara squeezed her hands behind her. She wasn’t so sure about that. Visions? Pain of the mind? If it was a physical injury of some kind, she could usually help, but if it was a disease… her gift would be no good. Then again, Everard didn’t need to know that. “I’d be willing to try, in exchange for a meeting.”

“It’s really not for me to say.” Everard glanced from one to the other and back again, then he pointed a finger to one of the straight-backed couches. “Sit and don’t say a word. I will ask Ivanora if she agrees, but regardless of her answer, I never want to see either of you again. I will not be made a fool by two cutpurses who’ve snuck in here to try to manipulate me for Odriel knows what.”

Emara wondered at how he possibly could’ve taken his own life to send her here. What in the next century could change him from this curmudgeonly fusspot before her? She glanced at Jai, and he nodded, his expression strangely serious as he looked at her.

“Fine.” She strode across the thick carpet to sit on one of the padded chairs, scooting over as Jai sat next to her.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“I said quiet,” Everard snapped as he snatched the dark bottle of wine Emara had delivered.

Emara nodded to Jai, but her gaze was on Everard as he pulled a silver bowl and a few other vials from a cabinet in the corner, muttering to himself as he combined the powders and wine on his desk. The magi swirled a finger through the dark liquid, and something white sparked over the lip of the bowl. Yanaa thickened the air around the room, smelling of old books, powerful and arcane.

“Ivanora,” Everard said.

For a moment, nothing happened, and Emara once again wondered about the relationship between these two. Were they close? Apparently not close enough to prevent Ivanora from chaining and torturing him. Or had Emara got it all wrong, and they’d been working together the whole time?

“Ivanora,” Everard said again.

Finally a voice echoed from the bowl, rippling across the water. “What is it, Everard? Do tell me it’s good news. Has that doddering old queen breathed her last yet?”

“I’ve found you a healer that might help Bellaphia. Where should I send her?”

Emara’s fingers dug into her knees. This was it. She would go find this Bellaphia person, and she’d put everything back to rights.

“Tell her to go straight to her grave. A human would only make it worse. Humans in general make everything worse, Everard. I don’t know how you stand it. They’re all disgustingly beastly. In fact, feel free to turn her into a corpse slug and feed her to the sandcrows for all I care.” She paused. “Or maybe you should send her to die in the desert. Perhaps that would be fitting. With any luck, the Lost would pick apart her bones.”

Jai stiffened beside Emara.

“I’ve seen her abilities,” Everard replied, his voice smooth and strangely calm, almost reassuring. “She may be able to help.”

“I already had the last Time Heir visit her, and it only made it worse. Do you think this girl could possibly be stronger than Odriel’s legendary healers?” she sneered.

Everard ran a hand across his beard, locking gazes with Emara. “I don’t know.”

“Not good enough. Next time when you disturb me, Everard, it’d better be for something more important than human affairs.”

With that, the wine stopped swirling, and Everard sagged just a little, the yanaa draining from the room as he continued to gaze into the wine, as if expecting a different answer.

Jai stood, pulling Emara up with him and nudging her toward the servant’s door. “Well, thanks for your time, we appreciate the effort.”

Emara stopped. “That’s it? You’re going to sacrifice Bellaphia’s recovery for Ivanora’s grudge?”

Everard sat up with a mirthless laugh. “You know, I have no doubt you can heal. But I’d also wager your yanaa can harm as well. Just because you are powerful does not make you helpful, and after you stole and lied your way in here, do you truly expect me to trust you with my most fragile sister?”

Emara’s nails dug into her palms. “You’re the one that told me to find her in the first place.”

“Enough. I tire of your lies.” He flung out a hand and the narrow door to the servant’s corridor slammed shut. “Guards, please see these two out of the palace. I think they could use a night in the stocks to clear their heads.”

The hall doors flung open as if the guards had been waiting for that very moment, and Jai stepped in front of Emara, his hands up and placating. “Come now, gents. We were just having a conversation. Nothing to get riled up about.”

Without a word, the sharp-faced guard from the courtyard seized him by the arm and shoved him into the door. The second, long-haired guard hesitated for just a moment before grabbing Emara, and she knew that he’d indeed been listening.

She walked toward the servants’ door without any urging, but before stepping into the narrow corridor, she turned toward the magus. “One last thing, Everard.” Her glare bored into him. “There will come a time when you are chained and bleeding on the floor. When all is lost. And you’ll have to sacrifice everything for a girl who holds nothing but hope.” She shook her head. “I pitied you then, but perhaps we all got what we deserved after all.”