Grim (24 page)

“What does it mean?”

“It means that you've done it, Erika,” he said. “It means that you've won the throne.”

Erika closed her fingers around the pendant and pressed it against her chest.

“Then help my kids,” she said.

Jeremiah's smile vanished. He looked at her, small and vulnerable, and felt his stomach lurch. Before he could stop himself, he'd wrapped her close to his chest and tucked her head under his chin.
Your father's chosen bride
, his mind screamed.
Your father's new queen.
He closed his eyes to shut out the thoughts and rocked Erika slowly back and forth. “I assumed that you'd be happy, Erika,” he said. “I didn't know —”

He expected to feel the warmth of tears against his neck, but he never did, and the lack of it worried him more than the tremble in her voice.

“Help them, Jeremiah.”

“I will,” he whispered.

The words felt more like a deathbed promise than a wedding gift. Jeremiah let the weight of them settle on his shoulders, even as Erika turned away. Jegud stepped into the room.

“I don't mean to interrupt,” he said.

Jeremiah waved off the apology.

“I need to speak with you for a moment,” Jegud ventured. “Alone.”

“Say whatever you have to say.”

“Are you sure?”

Jeremiah looked meaningfully at Erika. “No more secrets.”

“Are you
sure
?”

“Just
say it
.”

Jegud pursed his lips. “Erika's children are missing,” he said.

“What?”
Erika spun out from her place at the window.

“Dammit, Jegud.” Jeremiah crossed the room in a stride and grabbed his brother's arm. “It's a misunderstanding,” he said to Erika. “I'll take care of this.”

As the brothers left the room, Martha led Erika to the chair.

“Don't look so distressed, miss. This will turn out.”

Erika could do nothing more than shake her head, her face buried in her hands.

 

The brothers took Jegud's carriage. Jeremiah glowered at the floor as they clipped along, flashes of the city peeping through the open windows.

“I looked everywhere,” Jegud repeated.

“Why would they do this?”

“You told me yourself that Erika got the Sickle. Can you imagine Uriel standing for that, after what happened last night?”

“Oh, yes, and thank you for defending me there, by the way.”

“What could I have done against them that Gabriel couldn't do? He's a better man than you give him credit for; more noble and far more courageous than you, Jeremiah. He even took care of that horse that you almost flogged to pieces.”

“I was only trying to —”

“Run away? I hope so. Because if the word ‘help' was about to leave your mouth, then I would have to be even more disgusted with you than I already am. You haven't tried to help anybody but yourself, Jeremiah, for a very long time.”

“I'm out of practice,” Jeremiah said. “I haven't
had
anybody but myself to take care of for a very long time.”

“Admirable of you to bring Erika, though. Even if you
did
nearly crush her in the earl's calash.”

“I wouldn't guess she's thinking much about that right now.” He looked at his brother. “Can I fix this?”

“To be honest?” Jegud shrugged. “I doubt it.”

“I promised her.”

“You've made a lot of promises, Jeremiah. You're too easy with them, I've always said. If you'd ever think about the words coming out of your mouth, you might live a better life.”

Jeremiah no longer listened. “Kala knew,” he said. “She saw it.”

Jegud thought about that for a silent moment. “I thought you weren't sure.”

“I thought I could change it. She was so young.”

“You should have known better.”

Jeremiah's brow wrinkled. “You can't ever be helpful, can you, Jegud? You can't ever just say that everything will be fine.” He leaned his weary head against the side of the carriage. “You couldn't just say that we don't know yet. You couldn't just say that there's still a chance.”

“A chance of what?” Jegud let out a hollow laugh. “If you want me to lie to you, then I will, but what would be the point? You know that the predictions of a Caladrius aren't governed by hope or luck or chance. Know it better than anybody, I'd wager. Why do you have to keep pretending that life is easy? Is Uriel right after all?”

“About what?”

“About the fact that you'd die without your silver lining. You're a rogue and a seraph, but you act more like living man.”

“Is that so wrong?”

Jegud shook his head. “I think that it might be, Jeremiah,” he admitted. “And I'm sorry that you can't see it too.”

The carriage rolled to a stop.

“Since you agree on so much,” Jeremiah said, “I'm sure that you and Uri will have a spectacular talk. But please try and save it until
after
I waste my own time. I'd hate to think of either of you as rude.”

Jeremiah jumped from the carriage and followed the paved walk to the king's third house. He walked alone, hands deep in his pockets, and cast an appraising eye over the front of the manor. He had always been proud that his own house was larger than Uriel's. Since it had been built specifically for his mother, this fact had been a mark of honor for him. It proved that she
had
been loved once. That house had given her dignity. Standing. While she lived in the king's sixth house, Jeremiah's mother could not be a whore.

A maid answered at Jeremiah's knock.

“The master's out.”

“Tell him who it is.”

“I can't, sir,” she said, “as he's out. If you'd —” She stopped herself and stepped aside. Uriel had changed his mind, then.

“I'll take it,” the third prince said, turning into the hallway from one of the far rooms. “I owe him something, after all.” He shuffled through one of the inside pockets of his jacket. “Whose wagon did you steal to get here? I heard that your own was detained.” He spotted the black coach in the circle and broke into a wide grin. “Joined at the hip, are you?”

“And how
is
Michael?”

Uriel's face hardened. “Fine, I should think,” he said stiffly. “He won the Sickle, but I suppose you've heard. If you'd take that as a cue to leave forever and give up your stake in the throne, we'd all be much obliged.”

Jeremiah gave an uneasy laugh. “You're mistaken,” he said. “Erika had the Sickle as a gift this morning.”

“Don't add lying to your list of sins, Jeremiah. It doesn't suit a rogue.”

Jeremiah tilted his head. “I don't think that anything can quite measure up to kidnapping.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Where are the children?”

“What children?”

“The Striplings.”

“Erika has
children
? I'm sure the crown would love that. Bouncing human brats popping in for the holidays.”

“I know that you spoke to them,” Jeremiah said with impatience. “Now tell me.”

Uriel faltered. His forehead wrinkled as he finally pulled an envelope from his pocket. “It's not my fault you've lost them, Jeremiah. Take your travel papers and stop twittering around my house.” He slapped the letter against Jeremiah's chest.

“I mean it, Uri. I need to know where they are.”

“And
I
mean it when I tell you that I haven't a clue.” Uriel stared at his little brother as if trying to read the joke. “Don't tell me that you're trying to pull your mother's magic on me. There's no amount you can change to make me love you.” When Jeremiah said nothing, Uriel sighed. “Well, go ahead, then. The last I saw of those monsters, they were still walking a pointless circle through the woods under your direction. Really, Jeremiah, I don't know whether you were trying to drive them insane or ragged, but it borders on heartless.”

“I was
trying
to keep them safe.”

Uriel gave him a dagger smile. “Well, it didn't help much, then, did it?”

Jeremiah stared at the oak door as it clapped shut in his face.

He marched back to the carriage, the traveling license crumpled in his fist.

“Well?”

Jeremiah threw himself onto the bench.

“He said he doesn't know.”

“And?”

He jerked his head back at the window. “And he isn't lying.”

Jegud looked his brother over before turning away as well. Neither of them admitted aloud what this meant. If Michael had pocketed Erika's children without telling his most loyal brother, then the children were never coming back.

 

Gabriel waited for Jeremiah. As the brothers rolled down the road to the king's sixth house, they could make out his profile through the window of his own carriage. His favorite hunter, a pearl gray dog with salt-and-pepper ruff, lay at his feet. They rose, dog and master both, at the advance of Jegud's coach.

“Where have you two been?”

“Visiting Uriel,” Jeremiah said, as Gabriel ducked through the door of his carriage. Jeremiah stepped out to join him. Jegud nodded at Gabriel and then signaled his own driver to move on.

Gabriel and Jeremiah watched Jegud's carriage disappear into the city before turning back to each other.

“Were you apologizing?” Gabriel asked.

“Hardly.”

The crown prince looked his little brother up and down. “Are you afraid that you'll hurt me, Jeremiah?”

“Is that relevant?”

“What is it that you know?”

“No more than you. But I happen to think that it matters.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I wanted to give you this in person.” He took out a sealed envelope.

“What?”

“A permit to stay in the Kingdom. I wrote it myself, after I saw your letter. No brother of mine, recognized or not, should have to go below for compassion. I'm so sorry about this.”

Jeremiah was still confused over the news from this morning — that Michael's girl had gotten the Sickle as well. He knew that Gabriel would understand better than any of them.

“Hadn't you heard?” he ventured, clinging to his last threads of hope. “Erika won the Sickle.”

“Everyone won the Sickle,” Gabriel said, shrugging. “It's just a consolation. Father said that he would be happier to go a widower.”

“But your coronation —”

“He plans to go to services.”

Jeremiah felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him. “No.”

“I tried to talk to him,” Gabriel said, his voice thick. “He told me that he's been overlucky. He would rather go now than have that luck run dry. He wanted me to let you know that he was sorry. For everything.”

“I've never blamed him.”

“Yes, you have, Jeremiah. You've always blamed him.” Gabriel pressed the envelope into his brother's hands. “I'd like for you to be there when he passes. It's tonight at sundown.”

“So soon …”

“It isn't our choice to make.”

“Can't the laws be changed?”

“He doesn't want them to be. He's always been a purist, you know that. He's always said that rules shouldn't be distorted once they've been written. What kind of a hypocrite would he be if he changed that now?”

Gabriel climbed back into his carriage. “We'll see you?”

“I'll think about it.”

“You're always welcome, Jeremiah.”

“I don't think that everyone feels that way.”

“Why shouldn't you be there on the day your father frees himself?”

Jeremiah locked eyes with his brother. “Because,” he said, “I'm not so sure that I want to join him just yet.”

Gabriel nodded. “That was politics,” he said. “Politics are always cutthroat.”

He dropped the curtain to cover his window and called to the driver. With the crack of a whip, the pair of horses picked up their feet and carried away the crown prince's private box.

 

Jeremiah went around to the back gardens, trying to avoid Erika for a few minutes more. He was afraid to face her, now that he knew the worst, especially when his thoughts were filled up by his father. He'd lost her, he knew. She could never forgive him for what he'd done to her, and even if she could, he could never forgive himself. He was descended from a long line of men infamous for tearing apart the women who loved them best, and he now realized that he wasn't any different.

Jeremiah wandered down a dirt path, thinking about death. A nip of frost, lingering from morning, hung sharp throughout the air. It had been a long time since anyone except for Simon had come back here. Fishponds and flower beds were scattered over the sweep of hand-clipped grass. The year was too far gone for flowers; their leaves had stiffened up, as if arthritic, and were beginning to lose their color. Winter was a sad season in the Middle Kingdom. Snow never came, just a frost that spiderwebbed the whole city each night and a cold sun that glowed, weak as a fever patient, behind a sheet of white cloud.

The first time Jeremiah had left the Kingdom in order to collect a human soul, it had been early December in Edo, long since renamed Tokyo. Snow fell thick, coating roads and houses, working its way into shoes and clinging to hair as if afraid of letting go. He'd been so preoccupied, he'd almost forgotten his charge.
So this is it
, he'd thought.
Even their air is alive
.

Jeremiah stood over one of the fishponds, hands deep in the pockets of his trousers. A family of koi floated near the surface: pretty, flecked calicos with black and white, red and gold, each one costing a fortune because life was so precious in the Kingdom. Wealthy families paid in solid silver for birds, rabbits, baby mice, just to feel them breathing. These fish would go to the bottoms of their pools in a few days, trying to survive beneath a sheath of ice. Simon came out each morning and chipped a hole to bring them air, but sometimes it didn't matter. Jeremiah could remember one season when every fish had died before spring. It was the same year that they had taken his mother's coffin from the family crypt and moved it to the Colonies. The stone they gave her was inscribed with her name and nothing else. Jeremiah had visited a few times after the interment, and, once, he'd used his knife on the soft sandstone to carve a picture of the emblem that his stepmother had always worn, and that Martha had fished from his birth mother's sheets, and had kept for him until he was old enough to understand. A thin ring crossed by a pair of sickles.