Authors: Anna Waggener
Grim (20 page)
He hardly waited for an answer. The court could watch, and they could whisper, and Gabriel would never mind, just as long as all the secrets managed to wind their way back into his own pockets.
Two hours into midday, and the tops of Jeremiah's shoes were already scuffed. Black leather gone dull from running through sand and gravel, but he knew that his mother wouldn't care. After all, she wasn't his mother anymore. Or that's what Michael said.
Jeremiah pounded the wall in front of him with one fist, the brick hot against his skin. His stomach flipped at the sound of other shoes behind him â the firm, confident knock of Michael's heels, the eagerness of Uri's. They ran because it was more fun than flying; more of a game than snaking their way, dark and smoky, through streets and over buildings. So Jeremiah gathered; he had not been invited to play with them since the queen left, veiled and silent in the night.
“Jeremy,” came Jegud's voice above him, hissing down from the rooftops. “Jeremy, hide.”
Instead of looking up for his brother, Jeremiah spun on his heel and thrust out his chest; he had often been teased for being so small. Michael came around the corner. Jegud cursed.
“Stop following me!” Jeremiah shouted. His voice flew too fast and high-pitched through the humid air, the only thing in the city not rolled in sweat and dust. Michael still came forward, but he slowed, shoving a handful of dark hair out of his face. The grease of Limbo stood out on his skin, dark smudges across his nose and cheekbones. His smile sparked with August sun.
“If you weren't pressing your dirty nose against my windows,” he said, “I wouldn't follow.”
Jeremiah gritted his teeth. “Stop it. Stop saying that. You can't scare me.”
“You can't scare me,” Michael parroted, voice shot to a trembling falsetto. “Thou shalt not lie, Jeremy.”
Uriel shot past the alleyway and then backtracked, panting. He flashed to smoke and sped up to Michael's side, then changed again. He glanced at his big brother to gauge the situation.
“I told you not to cheat, Uri,” Michael said. “It sets a bad example.”
Jeremiah looked up, careful to move his eyes but not his chin, gauging the distance to the top of the building. To Jegud. To someplace out of the streets and back to the big empty house that his father said was safe.
Michael's fist closed around his neck and slammed him backward into the wall.
“You said not to shift,” said Uriel, running forward, his edges blurring like he thought he should change too. “You cheated.”
“He's getting ideas,” said Michael, words sticky against Jeremiah's ear. “Aren't you, little Jeremy?”
Then Jegud was with them, feet puffing up dust as they touched step-smoothed cobbles. His fist connected with Michael's jaw and propelled him back, mouth frothing spit and curses. Jegud's face had gone red, his skin as rosy as it was the afternoon Jeremy had found him in the woods with the son of a courtier and his laces undone. Embarrassment then, but anger now, and maybe fear caught up between them both.
“He's still our brother,” Jegud shouted. Michael wiped away saliva with the back of his hand.
“He's a halfie,” Michael said. “A whore's son.”
Jegud punched him again and then looked at Jeremiah.
“Go, you idiot!”
The three of them shifted at once. Clouds of black and gray smoke tumbled over one another until one dove-colored blur shot up and disappeared over a lip of brick rooftop. Jeremiah re-formed and peered over the ledge, hair falling in his face, his face gone pale. He heard a flutter behind him and spun to catch Selaph staring, arms hanging at his sides, his expression thoughtful.
Sharp sun licked them both, burning the bricks beneath their feet, sucking the color from their clothes. Selaph tilted his head, barely enough to notice, off in the direction of Jeremiah's new home. Then he shifted into smoke, clean white as milk, and flew past his little brother, plunging off the rooftop.
“He's gone,” Selaph said, voice calm in the alley. “Follow me.”
Jeremiah dropped to his knees and hid behind the searing bricks as he watched his brothers shoot off down the alley. He shifted to smoke himself and streaked away, back to the place he had been told to call home.
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Jegud walked into the stables just as Jeremiah came down the aisle to leave.
“My God,” Jegud hissed. “How brash can you be?”
“Plenty, thank you.”
“In Gabriel's own
train
?”
“He didn't say anything, did he?”
“No.” Jegud's face clouded. “Jeremiah, don't tell me that he saw you!”
“I'm sure he did.”
Jegud leaned against one of the stall doors and let out a long, wandering sigh.
“Gabriel never misses much,” Jeremiah said. “But how else was I supposed to get in?”
“You
weren't
. That's why
I
came in the first place.”
“I had to see how things went.”
“You couldn't wait to hear?”
“Storytelling doesn't have the flavor of the moment.”
Jegud grabbed Jeremiah by his lapels and shoved him against the wall.
“Don't you understand?” he spat. “Don't you see at all? You think that you can do anything, because you've always gotten away with it, but that won't work anymore! They want you
gone
, Jeremiah. You're so afraid of Father, but it's Michael who wants to bury you. Michael and trigger-happy Uriel, who can't quite believe that this is no longer a game.
Open your eyes, Jeremiah.
”
“What do you want me to see?”
“The
truth
,” Jegud snapped. “Michael knows that he's second for the throne, and wants his own children there after that. He wants that crown on his
own
head, and he'll kill for it. He'll kill Gabriel and he'll kill me and he'll certainly kill you. You think of that as brotherly love? To hell with you, then! This isn't family, Jeremiah, this is politics.” Jegud let go of his brother's jacket and turned away. “You've been fighting to get in all this time, when you should have been begging to get as far away as possible.”
“Like you?”
“Yes, like me,” Jegud said, unaffected by the snub.
“If you've finished, then I'd like a breath of air.”
“You've used us, Jeremiah,” Jegud said, sounding tired. “You've used all of us. Anyone who ever tried to help you. Gabriel may not care that you've come, but there are other people in the audience and you're throwing yourself on full display. What do you think the council will make of this?”
“You're overreacting,” Jeremiah said. “I'm not as stupid as you make me out to be, Jegud. I won't be killed over this.”
“And if you are?”
“No one will blame you.”
“I'm not worried about the blame.”
“Then don't act like it,” Jeremiah said, and headed out into the night.
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A rumor of the king's arrival and disguise began to circulate; Erika overheard the warnings that were offered in the strictest confidence to Gabriel. He listened to each with a feigned gravity, as if this or that mention was the first he had heard.
By the end of the half hour, it became common knowledge that His Magnificence was either in the orchard, the courtyard, or the hall, wearing red, or perhaps gray or dark blue, and a matching, or contrasting, mask that definitely covered his eyes and may or may not have been made of velvet. At a pause in the dance, a young noble came to whisper, with poise, that the servants were rushing blankets up the stairs and that His Magnificence might well be dying. Gabriel thanked him and led Erika away from the floor.
“How can you listen to all that without worrying?” she asked.
“Because,” Gabriel said, “His Magnificence the Throne is in a black waistcoat near the door with a glass of champagne.”
Erika smiled. “And what color is his mask?”
“His mask?” Gabriel shook his head. “No different than usual.”
Jegud came up behind them. “You've taken my guest,” he said.
“And you, your time,” said Gabriel.
Jegud smiled. “I thought you might appreciate the company.”
“I did,” Gabriel replied. “You wouldn't know how much I did. This has been the first time I've ever entertained a beautiful woman without considerable implications.” He bowed to Erika. “I would say good night, but I expect to see you later. I hope that you're radiant for my father, and lovely to him. For Jeremiah's soul, your well-being, and my crown.” He kissed her hand. “No pressure.”
“Never.”
Jegud led Erika outside as quickly as he could. “Not too much trouble, I hope?” he asked.
“I'm fine.”
“Good, good,” he said without looking at her. “You told him about Jeremiah, then?”
He had meant for it to prick, not cut, but when Erika stopped in her tracks, halfway to the door, he realized that he'd gone too far.
“He
knew
,” Erika hissed. “How could you think that I would tell him anything? How
dare
you think that?”
“You're making a scene.”
“Don't tell me what I'm
making
.”
“Erika.” Jegud took a few steps back down to her side and pretended to fix the tie of her mask. “I know that you're falling in love with Jeremiah,” he said. He didn't mention his suspicions of Jeremiah's own feelings. It would be too much for Erika right now. It was too much even for him.
“I never â”
Jegud shook his head. “You can't allow it,” he told her. “You're here to catch his father.
My
father.” He tipped up her chin and looked past her mask, into the cool green of her eyes. “And
I'm
here to make sure that happens. Do you understand?”
“But I â”
“Yes or no, Erika? Because if you can't do this, I'll know why. I might be the only one in this entire room who would know why. And if you can't do this, then I need to know right now, before I walk you up these stairs and introduce you to my father. I won't say that he'll save your children, because I'm not sure that he can. I won't even say that he'll save Jeremiah. Knowing that, and knowing everything else, are you ready to listen to me?”
She opened her mouth and he shook his head again.
“I want to help you,” he said. “But if you won't let me â if you won't follow me in lockstep â then this room full of piranhas will eat you up without even thinking about it. It's just a game to them, Erika, and I need to know exactly what you'll risk in order to play.”
Erika stood frozen, her jaw stiff as she puzzled through silent thought and half-formed sentences. At last, she brushed them all off with a jerky nod.
“I'll play,” she said. “I'll play everything.”
“Even yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Even Jeremiah?”
She bit her lip.
“Yes.”
“Then we can go.” Jegud took her hand and led her past a group of chattering women. The front doors appeared before the couple like holy gates. Erika softened at the cool air that drifted in.
“Are you ready?” Jegud whispered. She only nodded.
The king stood in the courtyard, wearing neither hat nor mask, and sipping a flute of champagne. Beside him stood one of the few people who knew him well enough to recognize his face.
“I don't think that you've yet met my brother Michael,” Jegud said gently, and propelled Erika a few steps ahead of him.
She was a peace offering, and he felt better for knowing that she understood. In the eyes of the court, she was nothing more than a beautiful, empty olive branch.
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The king was a man softened by age. The skin of his eyes was lightly swollen, likely helped along by liquor. Time had left notes across his body, the years scribbling their due into each wrinkle, leaving hollow thanks in every brown sunspot and every risen vein of his hands, writing damages into the silver-gray of his hair. He was more grandfather than king of the dead, and in one sweeping glance, Erika fell to feeling very sorry for him. He had held on to his perfect posture, but youth was no longer there to support it. The king did not seem to be a very happy man.
“Jegud?” His eyebrows rose as he took in his son. “I wasn't expecting you to come.”
“I know my duty, Father,” Jegud replied with a bow. Beside him, Erika dipped in a low curtsey.
Michael cleared his throat. “I should hope you would.”
The challenge that flashed between the two brothers either went unnoticed or unacknowledged by their father.
“I should always hope that everyone would know their duty,” he said.
The silence went on painfully. Erika was trapped between the two scowling princes.
“Your palace is beautiful, Highness,” she said, praying that was neutral enough.
Michael shot her an acidic look. “Is that what you're after?”
“I didn't â”
“Your grand entrance is being missed, Father,” Jegud cut in.
“Is it?” The king smiled. “Well, the people will always pine for what they do not have. I don't much care to put myself on show. There at least you and I are not so different.”
Michael kept his face expressionless and folded his hands behind his back. “Tell me, Brother,” he said, “where would one go to find such a delightful girl?”
“Not as far as you would think. Erika is one of ours.”
“Well, I would hope you wouldn't involve the Low Kingdom,” Michael said dryly.
“No, Brother. I mean that she is one of our charges.”
Erika felt Michael's eyes running over her again, and nearly shivered.
“Isn't that a little inappropriate?” he said quietly.
“Not at all,” Jegud said. “The council has always held that the people are equal to the throne. Isn't that right, Father?”