Black Lament
Page 6

“I’m surprised he gave you as much leniency as he did,” I said.
“As was I,” Nathaniel replied. “I asked for mercy, but I did not expect to receive it.”
“Why didn’t you go to ground like Azazel?” I asked.
“I will not live my life like a hunted animal. Either I would die honorably by the sword before Lucifer’s court or I would benefit from his mercy. I would not run.”
There was a kind of strength in that, a nobility I hadn’t expected from Nathaniel.
“But if you fail in protecting me, Lucifer will kill you,” I said. I was very uncomfortable with the idea that Nathaniel’s life was dependent upon my benevolence.
“I truly believe that Lucifer expects I will die in defense of you,” Nathaniel said.
“You seem awfully calm about it,” I said, searching his face for any sign of fear.
He shrugged, and the gesture seemed so out of character for him that I smiled. The smile faded when he spoke again.
“It is not such a bad thing to die in battle. Perhaps I could regain some of the honor I lost. Perhaps you would then think better of me.”
I felt that the longer he spoke, the more confused I became. It was easier to think of his actions as black-and-white, to think of Nathaniel as the enemy. I didn’t want to credit him with humanity.
We stood in the little foyer, staring at each other. And then I jumped about six feet in the air when someone knocked on the outside door. It was J.B., standing on the other side of the glass with a grim expression on his face.
I opened the door, scowling. “Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”
“What’s he doing here?” J.B. asked, jerking his thumb at Nathaniel.
I looked at my raggedy ex-fiancé and sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is,” J.B. said. “Can I have a word?”
“Come on up,” I said. “Nathaniel…”
“I will remain outside,” he said.
He and J.B. slipped past each other in the doorway. I swear I could see their hackles rising as they passed.
I silently led J.B. upstairs and waved him into the apartment, closing the door behind us.
“I’m assuming you’re here because of the body,” I said.
“What body?” he asked sharply.
“Um, never mind,” I said, backpedaling.
“Black…” he said menacingly.
“Oh, fine,” I said, and explained about the Grimm’s attack.
J.B. listened intently until I was finished “Well, I guess I’m a little late in warning you.”
“Warning me about what?” I asked warily.
“The blood price on your head.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Whoever wants to kill me now had just better take a number.”
“Certain factions of my kingdom are demanding your life in exchange for killing the queen.”
It took me a second to remember what J.B. meant by “kingdom.” It was hard for me to recall sometimes that he was now king of Amarantha’s court.
“How can there be factions demanding anything?” I asked. “I thought they all fled when Lucifer punished Amarantha.”
“Now that the stigma of a monstrous ruler has been lifted, the court has returned.”
“So none of them would openly support Amarantha while she was disfigured and lived, but now that she’s dead they’re demanding vengeance?” I said skeptically.
“Don’t ask me to explain how faeries think,” J.B. said. “At any rate, there are some very vocal groups asking me to take action.”
“And one of them sent the Grimm.”
“Very likely.”
“Can’t you keep control over the court?” I said, thinking of what Beezle had told me earlier about the rigid caste system in the fallen courts. “Don’t faeries love order?”
“They also love playing politics. I have not had many opportunities to establish authority and gather allies. The Agency management is pressuring me to clean up the mess from the memory-stealing incident.”
I realized then how tired J.B. looked, and how thin. “You’re getting it from all sides, aren’t you? You shouldn’t be here worrying about threats against my life. I’m small potatoes.”
“Like I would stand by and let some discontented faeries take a swipe at you? You should think better of me.”
“I didn’t mean that,” I said, irritated now. “I just meant that I can take care of myself. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“But I do,” he said, brooding.
“Faerie magic can’t take me down,” I said lightly. “At least, it hasn’t managed to yet.”
“You haven’t seen the worst the faeries have to offer,” J.B. said.
“What can be worse than the Grimm? The Maze? Giant spiders and tentacled monsters?” I asked.
“There’s worse.”
“Oh.” I tried not to imagine what might be worse than what I’d already faced. I had enough trouble sleeping as it was.
“At any rate, I’m doing my best to ferret out the fractious individuals. Until I find them, watch your back. Do you want me to arrange for protection?”
It wouldn’t do me any good to feel irritated that yet another male in my life seemed to think I needed a human shield to get through the day. I knew J.B. was asking because he cared, not because he had a secret agenda.
“I’m cool,” I said. “I can always call Jude for backup if I need it.”
“What’s Nathaniel doing here? Weren’t we trying to get rid of him?”
I explained about Lucifer’s deal with my former betrothed.
“I don’t like it,” J.B. said. “He could be double-dealing again. Who’s to say he’s not a plant from Azazel come to stab you in the back when the time is right?”
“I don’t disagree,” I said. “I’m not sure I can trust him, which is why I’m not officially accepting him yet. But I don’t think I can send him back to Lucifer knowing the Morningstar will kill him for failing.”
“You seemed perfectly happy to stab him to death a week or so ago in Azazel’s court,” J.B. said.
It annoyed me that J.B. was presenting the same argument I’d given Beezle only a short time before.
“That was different,” I said crossly. “He was the enemy then.”
“And now he’s not?” J.B. pressed.
“I don’t know!” I said angrily. “Call it the privilege of a pregnant woman. My hormones are confusing me…”
I trailed off, because J.B.’s face had gone white.
“I forgot that you didn’t know,” I said in small voice.
“When did you find out?” he asked, sounding strained.
“Today,” I said. “Lucifer told me.”
“He must be thrilled,” J.B. said flatly.
“Oh, believe me, he is,” I said grimly, thinking of the possessive look on Lucifer’s face.
“And you?” he asked carefully.
“I… I don’t know,” I said honestly. “It’s a little piece of Gabriel inside me, and part of me is thrilled to have that.”
“But?”
“But once my pregnancy becomes widely known, the target on my back is going to get even bigger.”
“Does Nathaniel know?” J.B. asked.
“I don’t think so. I’m sure he would have acted like I had an infectious disease if he knew I was carrying the ‘thrall’s’ baby.”
“Don’t tell him until you have to,” J.B. advised. “It might push him over the edge.”
“Yeah.”
We looked at each other.
“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” J.B. said. “Things would have been a lot easier if you’d fallen in love with me instead.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said sadly. “Your baggage is about as heavy as mine.”
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Be careful.”
“And you,” I said.
He left without another word, and I was left alone, as always.
* * *
I tried to sleep, but was dogged by nightmares of blanketing darkness and monsters worse than anything I’d imagined before. At dawn I gave up the pretense and stumbled into the kitchen to find Beezle eating Nutella from the jar with a spoon.
“You look like garbage,” he observed.
“Don’t speak,” I said shortly, feeling my way toward the coffeemaker.
“No coffee for you,” he said with way too much cheer in his voice. “You might harm the little biscuit.”
Right. Pregnant women aren’t supposed to drink coffee. I slumped over with my head on the counter. “Can I have anything that makes life worth living?”
“Herbal tea,” Beezle said.
“I said something that makes life worth living.”
“Sorry,” he replied, and he didn’t sound sorry at all.
“Where’s Samiel?” I asked.
Beezle rolled his eyes. “Entertaining Chloe.”
“Entertaining… Chloe?” I asked.
“You heard me right, so there’s no need to stand there blinking those big brown eyes at me,” Beezle said.
“Chloe who works at the Agency?” I asked.
“Do we know any other Chloe?”
“How long has this been going on?” I wondered how this could be happening right under my nose.
Beezle shrugged. “She’s been sniffing around here pretty much since the first time she saw him at the Agency.”
“How could I have missed this?”
“Easily, since you’ve spent most of the last week in a depressive funk.”
“My husband died,” I said. “How else am I supposed to behave?”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t mourn him,” Beezle said hastily. “But you can’t lay around the house in a daze anymore, especially not if the faeries have put a blood price on your head.”