Page 132 of Time's Fool

“—however, I can help you. I can set you free from her and allow you to access your power once more.”

“And in return?”

“You will pledge yourself to me—”

The demon roared in distress. “Never! I have sworn my last vow!”

“—for a short time, until I have dealt with the witch. And unlike your other masters, I keep my promises. Help me to put this right, to save our world, and I will free you to return to yours.”

“I have heard that before! You will trick me!”

“I will add a caveat, then. If I or your current tormentor move against you, or fail to fulfill our vow to release you, you will be free immediately. Bind me to that promise however you like, for I will not break it.”

The demon paused, and its head tilted, as if trying to find a flaw in that. “You will not hurt me?” it said, after a moment. “Including by eternal imprisonment? You swear it?”

“I swear.”

“And I am free as soon as the witch is destroyed or thwarted?”

“You are. Now, what do you pledge to me?”

The creature hesitated, and for a moment, I thought that it would not speak. But it slowly extended an arm. And to my shock, Mircea moved to take it.

“No!” I grabbed him. “It is made of fire!”

He paused and turned to look at me. And then his hand raised, and a single finger traced a line down my cheek. “You still care for one who has done you so many wrongs?”

“I—you may be needed. Against the witch. You’re . . . we can use a good fighter.”

It was absurd, and stumbling, and we both knew it was a lie. But he didn’t call me on it. Instead, his eyes softened, and his face . . .

I stared at him, telling myself I was being a fool, and to look away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

He took my hand, and slid onto it the family crest ring I had noticed in the tavern in Italy. It was heavy, probably solid gold, but it wasn’t the price that shocked me. I looked at it for a moment, then up at him.

And for the first time in a very long time, found myself speechless.

“I am sorry,” he said softly, after a moment. “For many things. Most of all for not telling you who I was when we met in Genoa, or long before. There were reasons—good ones, I thought at the time—but now . . .

“It is difficult to remember them. Should I have another chance, I will act differently.”

I had no idea what he meant by that, but something in me warmed. I had never thought to meet my father, or even to know who he was. And to have an apology as well . . .

It might not be much by most people’s standards, but it felt like a miracle to me.

“I will be fine,” he assured me, and before I realized what he was doing, he had clasped the creature’s arm.

Which I belatedly noticed had acquired a black crust over the flames.

“I pledge my service,” it rasped. “Under the terms stated, and not a jot more.”

“Done. Now take us to the witch.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

We did not go back to the alehouse, or to the battle surrounding it. That had taken place in 1595, although what the witch had wanted there, I still did not know. But she must have obtained it, for we ended up on the edge of a forest instead, looking over a grassland with a huge expanse of stormy skies in front of us.

And, immediately, I knew we were back in 1588.

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