Brave the Tempest (Cassie Palme) - Karen Chance Page 0,54

in no discernible pattern that I could see. But they were beautiful, nonetheless: a woven metallic cat’s cradle dancing around and between the two worlds like—

Like ley lines, I thought, finally realizing what I was looking at.

“That’s earth and Faerie, isn’t it?” I asked Caedmon, who was looking at it, too.

“Indeed. And that is time, you see?”

He pointed to a silver ring encircling the planet that was meant to be earth, judging by the continents standing out in vague relief. Although it kind of looked like a fat kid with a hula hoop, because the metal ring wasn’t stationary. It was slinging about erratically, first to one side of the planet and then to the other. And all the while, it was expanding and contracting, sometimes almost touching the surface of the world, while at others flaring so far out that I was sure it would collide with a similar ring around Faerie.

The whole thing was a beautiful, kinetic sculpture, almost dizzying to watch. But kind of mesmerizing, too. Like the workings of a particularly complex watch.

“It’s only a representation, of course,” Caedmon murmured, when I said so. “But then, a clock is also only a representation of time, yet it serves.”

“Then that’s Faerie’s timeline?” I asked, pointing at the silver ring around the other planet, and he nodded.

“My artisans made this as a gift for your consul. Your people lacked an understanding of how time flows differently in our two realms. That gap in knowledge allowed Aeslinn to plan attacks seemingly back to back, knowing when time would be flowing faster in our world relative to yours. You and your people had scarce time to catch your breath from one battle before another was upon you, while he had months to plan in between.”

I nodded, remembering Mircea telling me something similar not long ago. Not that I’d needed it. The attacks from the other side had been like a barrage, falling fast and furious, leaving me not knowing what to do or where to run.

But they’d still lost, I thought, flashing back once more to that muddy battlefield. And no, it hadn’t been pretty, and it sure as hell hadn’t been the walk in the park the artist had made it seem. A lot of good people had gone into that mud and had never come out again.

But we’d won.

And for a moment, I felt some pride in that stupid painting, after all.

“But the tide turns,” Caedmon whispered, bending down to me. “As it always does. Soon, time will begin to run slower in Faerie than here, and for a good span. We must be ready to take advantage of it, for such an opportunity will not come again for a decade.”

“So that’s when we invade.”

He inclined his head. “It is . . . less than optimal,” he admitted. “The slowdown has already begun, and will reach full effect by the end of this week—”

“This week?”

He nodded. “We could wish for more time to prepare.”

“How long will it last?”

“Here? A few months. There, several days.”

I licked my lips. A few months. We were invading another world in the next few months. It didn’t seem real.

Which was good, because if it had, it would have been terrifying.

Caedmon was watching me, but he didn’t have time to say anything before Rafe appeared on the other side of the universe. “What are you two doing out here?” the annoyed genius demanded. Hands were on slim hips, and his face had that look.

“Sorry!” I said, and scurried to catch up. Caedmon followed, looking slightly bemused—at what, I didn’t know. “Hurry,” I told him when he lagged behind, and grabbed his hand. He laughed then, and ran along with me, heedless of his dignity.

There were more guards on the other side of the room, near the entrance to yet another corridor. But they only straightened up a little as we went past into something more normal-sized for a hallway. There was some lovely honey-colored stone under our feet now instead of marble, an only slightly taller than normal ceiling, and a bunch of rooms with arched doorways but no actual doors yet. A lot of artistic types were visible inside the rooms, hunched over workstations, painting, carving, or arguing about what I assumed were more parts to the consul’s great puzzle.

One of them called out to Rafe in what sounded like serious distress, and Rafe sighed and looked at me. “Would you mind? My office is just down there. I’ll be with you in