Finn nodded, taking in all that Phædreon said. When he was occupied by other thoughts, Finn turned to Arkænyn.
"Tell me if you need to rest. I think our internal clocks might spin out of alignment with all this shifting through space and time, and I would rather pause to ensure we are rested so we are prepared for Thalya when we do find her than rush. After all..." He glanced at Phædreon, then back with a smile. "...one could argue we now have all the time in the world."
But he smoothed out his thoughts and feelings, not even needing his Craft to do so at this point. He focused on his memory of her attempt on Arvælyn's life during the masquerade, he focused on her, all his memories of her, sitting secure in her power upon her throne, contending with Cithæra, their weapons invisible, at ceremonies and parties. Where are you? he asked. When are you?
And then they were moving through the temporal slipspace. It was strange, that sense of movement; sideways, but that wasn't it. Time might not be a river, but that was how most people experienced it. Thanks the Twins they had their skilled ferryman.
Unsure how unlikely or bizarre the variant timestreams he saw her, there was one where he was a boy and Arry was a boy, and they were pickpockets on unfamiliar streets. Perhaps that was Antiris. There was another where he wore a physical crown as well as a divine one, and an Arvælyn stood behind and to the side, his hand resting upon Finn's throne. There was a Solunarium where the Divine Twins had shuffled their deck, pairing Arvælyn with Vrædyn, Phocion with Finn, as foils. Each man looked to another with guilty desire. Then, either the same timeline he had seen before or another, similar one in which he and Arkænyn were partners.
He froze for an instant, feeling Arkænyn's hand in his own. He didn't know if he had reached out or the platinum elf had.
Or both.
He didn't pull away, but he wondered if he and Arkænyn would end up as out of sync with their own timeline as Phædreon seemed to be before all of this was over...