The forest had changed. A bed of underbrush crept in, and the canopy thickened out. Brambles and sticker weeds lay buried in the carpet of dead leaves. Shawn carried Megan on his shoulders when she became too afraid to walk.
“My feet hurt,” Megan whimpered against his ear.
“My skin hurts,” Rebecca said. She reached over and squeezed her brother’s shoulder and then pulled Megan to her in a hug. “You’ve been a good brother, Shawn,” Rebecca said. “And you’ve been good too, Meg,” she added before being prompted.
Shawn covered his face with the crook of his arm.
“And you’ve been good too, Becky,” Megan whispered.
Rebecca and Megan giggled together for a little while, their voices low and strained. As Shawn drifted off to sleep, he wondered how much longer the water would last.
Erika knelt on the floor in the middle of her bedroom, hunched over a white porcelain bowl. She dipped cupped hands into the cold water and dampened her bandages until the edges started to come loose.
When she found the end of the wrapping, she peeled it back, following the trail in circles around her head, unraveling the clean cloth gauze. Finished, she gathered the long rope of it into a pile beside her.
Her fingers shook as she dipped them back into the water and touched the side of her head, where her hairline turned down toward her left ear. Her curls were knotted there, but she wanted to credit that to the baby-fine texture her mother had given her. She pressed through the knots and felt where the blood had clotted and dried. The black dust that came away on her fingers touched the water and melted, swirling down to the bottom of the bowl, trailing red.
She bit her bottom lip as she felt along her scalp one last time, and now she found the paper-dry edge where skin met bone. She sucked in a tight breath.
Erika realized that the cut didn’t hurt at all. That it would never hurt again. That she belonged on those streets with rags and filth and an empty tin cup, begging for money that she didn’t really need, eating food to make her feel less hollow, sleeping in rooms to make her feel more human. Hopeless with fear either way, because the fear she ran from was folded deep inside.
Erika came back into the study, with her bandages trailing from one hand. Jeremiah sat on the sofa, with his head in his palms, staring at the fire that crackled in the hearth. He looked up when she opened the door, and then turned back to his own thoughts. She walked over to him, stone-faced, and dropped the long string of linen at his feet.
“You lied to me.”
He wanted to say that he had not lied, because bending the truth was not the same as breaking it. He wanted to say that, of the two of them, only he knew what the limits of reality were. He thought better of it. He could tell that she was too upset to listen, and since he was too tired to argue, he only hoped that, eventually, she would see this all on her own. Instead, he said, “I hoped that I could send you back. But I can’t.”
Erika took this without comment. She wasn’t thinking about herself right now. “Is that why my kids can’t come through?” she asked. “Because they’re still alive?”
“Yes,” Jeremiah said. “And I would send them back, but it’s too late now. I thought that I could change things, but I can’t. It’s not my place.”
“Whose place is it, then?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do know,” Erika said. “It’s your father’s, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
“Don’t suppose, Jeremiah. Not now.”
He looked up from the floor and took in her face, so thin and worried, and her long, swirling hair. His mother’s portrait smiled coolly over Erika’s shoulder: navy dress against alabaster skin and a piled cap of copper hair. The hair that was her trademark. They said that it used to burn in the sunshine. They said that the king kept a lock of it in his bedroom, tucked away in a small wooden box.
“It’s my father’s place,” he said. “He’s king of the dead, and if anyone can get your children home safely, it’s him. But he doesn’t make allowances for anyone but family.”
Erika squared her jaw. “Well then,” she said. “What do I have to do?”
In spite of himself, Jeremiah smiled.
“Good morning, glories.”
Shawn blinked against the sunlight and saw a blond man smiling down at them.
“I am speaking, of course, to the ladies. To you, sir, I’ll leave it at ‘good morning.’”
“Are you Jeremiah’s brother?”
The man looked a little surprised. “I am, yes. And he told you about me?”
“He said that you could help us.”
“Excellent. But I’m afraid, actually, that he must have been talking about young Jegud. I’m an older of the set. Uriel, the third prince, entirely at your service.” He swept them a deep bow.
Megan was sitting by this time, and Rebecca had propped herself up with an elbow. Uriel twirled his cap between his fingers and studied them.
“How can I help you?” he asked.
“You could get us out,” Shawn said.
Uriel’s eyes slit at the sarcasm, but he waved off the annoyance with a flip of his hand.
“That, unfortunately, is not my department,” he said. “I have no idea what brilliance Jeremiah has planned for that, since all of you seem to be very much alive, but I’m sure that it will be well worth watching. Can I find anything to make you more comfortable? The young miss may want her vision, for one? And shoes all ’round, perhaps?”
“That would be helpful, yes.”
“My pleasure.” He smirked. “I only ask for something small in exchange.”
At that, Shawn jerked his chin. “And what would that be?”
Uriel’s smirk broadened into a grin. “It’s a bit complicated, I’m afraid, but you’ll have to trust me. A test, of sorts. Now, are we agreed?”
“Not without knowing what we’re expected to do.”
He laughed. “Well, that’s part of the test, isn’t it? Listen, just don’t say a word to my brothers. My father is overseeing them. Quality control, as you might say. I only need to know, from time to time, how they’ve been doing.”
“That’s all?”
“Cover to cover.”
“Fine, then.”
“Excellent.” Uriel smiled again, a flash that came smooth and debonair to his mouth. A politician’s grin. “You’re in angel country now,” he said, offering his hand. “You must shake.”
Uriel let his smile linger as Shawn held out his arm.
Static crackled between their palms when their skin touched.
“Have an excellent day, Master Stripling,” Uriel said. “I’ll be back with bells on.”
He straightened up and disappeared into the woods, the edges of his cloak flapping around his ankles.
Jegud arrived in the morning and showed himself into Jeremiah’s study. He noticed the pile of bandages near the sofa but said nothing.
“She found out,” Jeremiah said.
Jegud turned, startled, and found his brother considering a row of books on one of the tall glass-front shelves.
“I told you that she would.”
“I never said you were wrong.”
“Yes, you did,” Jegud said. “You said exactly that.”
“I said ‘you may be right, but I think not.’ I’m entitled to an opinion, aren’t I?”
“Certainly. For now.”
“Maybe not just for now.” Jeremiah pulled out a set of law books and swept the dust from their spines. “If I give the king his new queen, I’ll be as good as an advisor.”
Jegud’s eyes widened. “She didn’t,” he gasped.
“She doesn’t have another option, Jegud.”
“You didn’t tell her that, did you?”
“No. She saw it for herself.”
“But she doesn’t have to do this.”
“Just like you don’t have to accept Gabriel’s succession. But what would happen to you if you didn’t? The same thing that will h
appen to me if she doesn’t sacrifice. The same thing that will happen to her children.”
Jegud followed Jeremiah as he brought the books back to his desk.
“You can tell me that you don’t agree,” Jeremiah said. “You’re entitled to your opinion too, after all.”
“I’d rather not cause trouble,” Jegud said. “What did you want from me?”
“The Stripling children need a guide.”
Jegud scoffed. “Fine plan, Jeremiah,” he said. “Except that, first of all, I’m not one, and second of all, they’re not dead.”
Jeremiah winced.
“What was that for?” Jegud asked, straightening.
“Nothing.”
“Liar. What do you know?”
Jeremiah started slowly. “On my last visit,” he said, “Kala was a bit shy.”
Jegud reached out, then let his arm drop, defeated.
“Don’t look so troubled, Brother,” Jeremiah said. “I think I’m mistaken. We weren’t there long. But check on them, at least. They’ve seen the hounds.”
Jegud’s face grew more troubled. “That’s impossible.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Michael has plenty to do without borrowing Gabriel’s dogs to chase children.”
“Michael will do anything to get to me.”
Jegud sighed, looked away, through the window and out into a city that he wished he too could leave. “Fine, then,” he said. “I’ll go. But I’m warning you about Erika: She’s not what Father’s looking for. She’s not what anyone is looking for.”
Jeremiah laid down his books and came back around to the front of the desk. He draped an arm over his brother’s shoulders.
“Look at my mother’s portrait, Jegud,” he said, “and tell me that she doesn’t look like Erika.”
“She has her hair, but that’s all.”
“And her eyes. And she has the same nose, the same cheekbones. The same everything. She’s the same. They’re the same.”
Jegud smirked. “Such a close study. Are you sure you’re not the one attracted to her, Brother?”
The comment stung more than Jegud intended, or realized. Jeremiah took a step away and cleared his throat. “You know very well,” he said, “that it can’t be like that.”
“And you know very well that remaking souls is just a myth.”
“What else is myth, Jegud? Female rogues.”
“Not myth, just unusual.”
“Childbearing rogues?”
“It can’t be a myth if no one ever talks about it.”
“A king loving a commoner?”
“You’re reaching too far,” Jegud said. “Looking for things that aren’t there.” He noticed Jeremiah’s shoulders, slumped and beaten, and he felt sorry for him. “Your life isn’t a storybook, Jeremy. Don’t try to make it one just for a happily-ever-after.”
“You will have her moved,” the queen said simply. “You will have that dust of hers taken from the crypt and mixed with the dirt that she came from.”
The king ignored his wife’s order.
“You promised me,” she whispered. “You promised to send her away.”
“I did not think that she would die.”
“It was the only honorable thing she ever did. And now it is your turn to be honorable. You will take back your family and you will put your whore in the ground.”
“I will not.”
The queen bit the insides of her lips to keep her emotions in check.
“Then I can no longer stay here.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“You’ve put your queen in her tomb already, and her baby in my nursery.”
“Stop it.”
“I can’t live like this anymore.” The queen’s voice faltered as she went on. “I can’t listen to the gossip and pretend that I don’t hear it. I can’t ignore the court. I can’t take the ridicule. The pity. I don’t know which is worse.” She shook her head. “I loved you. I loved you for so long. You were my god.”
“I’ve never wanted you to see me as a god,” the king said. “You, of all people. You promised me that you never would.”
“You were hers. How can I blame her? She had no other choice: I’m a seraph and even I couldn’t choose. You broke her.” The queen turned to leave.
“She loved him. Jeremiah. She told me so.”
“She was a rogue, dear,” the queen replied. She sounded like an exhausted mother speaking to her child. “She told us all a lot of things. You know that none of it was true.”
She opened the door and walked away. Her husband watched her go.
Shawn let Megan ride piggyback because they’d found themselves in a thicket of nettles and she was nearly crying from all the stings. Rebecca held on to Shawn’s sleeve, cursing quietly under her breath with each step.
“Let’s turn back,” she hissed.
“We’re halfway through already,” he said. “It’s easier just to go on.”
“I don’t know why we had to go anywhere in the first place. Uriel said he’d be back soon.”
“Jeremiah told us to keep moving.”
“Jeremiah was an ass.”
“Gently now, he is my brother.”
Uriel strode up behind them. His clothing slipped easily over the underbrush, whispering over the thorns as if they were meadow flowers. He seemed as polished as that morning, except for a shadow that disappeared into his shirt collar — a light burn down his neck and shoulder.
“Your shoes,” he said, holding up three pairs of leather sandals that were tied together with black ribbon. “And your lovely eyes.” He put the beads into one of Rebecca’s hands and folded her fingers over them as he stepped back. “I would stay to see the unveiling, but I’m afraid that other duties call. I’ll come to you again as soon as I have time. Good luck.”
Rebecca slipped the glass pearls into her mouth and swallowed them dry. She fought to untie her blindfold while her brother and sister watched, Megan’s pointed chin resting in a bed of Shawn’s hair.
The fabric left lines on Rebecca’s cheeks and forehead, and as she blinked, she rubbed the marks with her palms.
“They itch,” she said in a small voice. “I bet I look awful. And I can’t believe that you …” she trailed off, sniffing, and then threw her arms around Shawn’s neck. Megan petted her hair and Shawn patted her back until she’d finished drying her eyes on his shirt.
“I missed you,” Rebecca said, struggling to explain herself. She snatched the bundle of shoes from Shawn, still wiping her nose against her wrist, and began to undo the tight double bow.
Erika came down the stairs as Jegud opened the door. He touched the brim of his top hat in salute and gave a final nod to Jeremiah before setting out.
“Where’s he going?” Erika asked.
Jeremiah locked the door against the morning chill.
“To check on your children.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Not that I know of,” Jeremiah said. “Things are looking up, actually.”
“Oh, are they?”
Jeremiah felt the edge to her voice and dropped a bow.
“You’re right, Erika,” he said. “I apologize.”
Erika lifted her chin in a way that reminded him of his mother, or rather — Jeremiah checked himself — his stepmother, and he allowed that motion to distance him. Erika would be the next queen, he told himself, if he had anything to do with it. And he must have everything to do with it.
“Are you going out too?” she asked, noticing his coat and freshly polished shoes.
“Indeed,” Jeremiah said. “There’s a great amount of work to be done before services dismiss. Courtiers to be flattered. Arrangements to be made.” He shrugged.
“What are you planning?”
“A party, it would seem. Only I’m not planning it. That is totally up to the council, and they’d better hurry because it’s set for tonight. Your invitation just arrived by word of mouth. Jegud’s mouth, to be
precise, though he seems far from happy about it.”
“A party for what?”
“For introductions. The princes are bringing choices for the king’s new bride. It is to be a royal ball in the traditional style. Pomp, circumstance, and courtly love.” He tipped his head to the side in mock feminine flirtation and covered the top half of his face with a gloved hand. “And masks, dear Erika,” he said, with a chuckle. “Just think of it — how fitting, how fortunate, and how perfectly ironic.”
Rebecca gloried in the return of her vision. She grew more and more thankful each time she avoided a root or low-growing tree branch. Shawn was relieved to see her happy again, even if it made her unusually chatty, and Megan was thrilled at how quickly tensions had disappeared since Uriel had come and gone. As far as Megan was concerned, Uriel was their new savior.
When the man appeared a few yards ahead of them, leaning casually against an old birch tree, Megan squeaked with excitement and dashed toward him. Taken aback, he staggered away from her out-flung arms. She froze, realizing her mistake, and pulled herself together to stand stick-straight in front of him.
“Who’re you?” she asked.
His gaze drifted to her brother and sister, who were jogging to catch up with her.
“My name is Jegud,” he told her. “But who did you think I was?”
Hand pressed against her chest, Rebecca stopped short of Megan and tried to catch her breath.
“Who’s been here?” Jegud asked.
“Nobody.”
“Jeremiah,” Shawn said. His eyes flicked to his older sister. He prayed that she followed his lead; they owed more to Uriel than Jeremiah.
“Jeremiah,” Rebecca agreed. “God, I’m out of shape.”
“You haven’t seen anybody else?” Jegud pressed.
“Nope.” Shawn put his hand on the crown of Megan’s head. “Should we have?”
Jegud hesitated. “No …”
Shawn tried to relax, but his palms were damp from nerves. “Then everything’s fine,” he said, forcing a smile.
“It took me forever to find you,” Jegud said with a frown.
“Jeremiah told us to keep moving.”
Grim Page 17
