Chapter 1

Chapter

One

GRIMM

H e wished he could play for her. Play her favourite song on the piano just one more time.

Grimm pushed his wild curls back from his face. His hair had grown so long. Between taking the draught during the Winter and being held captive by Chresedia—Athania, he supposed—for nearly the entirety of the Spring, it had been over half a year since he'd cut his hair. Half a year since any form of normalcy. Not that his life had ever been ordinary. Particularly since Agatha's arrival—nay, crash— into it. Nevertheless, his hair was longer than it had ever been.

It was the epitome of black humour, what grief and pain brought to the forefront of one's mind. There he sat, in the tamped dirt of his mother's grave, thinking of something as mundane as how long his hair had grown .

He was disgusted with himself for it.

Here lies the beloved Queen Mother,

Fleurina Peridot

He'd done everything over the last nine moons for Agatha. Grimm snorted to himself. Hades, he'd done everything for the last millennia for her, hadn't he? That was still a peculiar prickling at the back of his skull—a stirring of ghouls.

Yet, there was still so much left to unravel. To remember.

Andanother of his loved ones was rotting in the dirt. Feeding the worms and his misery. His failings. Many as they were.

According to Tindle, Queen Fleurina had known her death was coming. Had all but offered herself up in the name of Fate.

Grimm cursed bitterly, arms wrapped loosely around his bent knees. "Fuck Fate."

That vile hag, Chresedia, kept blathering on, Tindle had said through sobs, saying everything would be hers now. How she was one step closer. His Demitri had seen an untimely end as well, and Grimm would never forgive himself for that, either.

The only victory, minor as it was in the grand scheme, lay in the fact that Chresedia hadn't yet discovered he did not rule Seagovia in his mother's death as she'd thought he would. Agatha did.

The scent of night-blooming jasmine carried along on the mid-Summer breeze, and Grimm suddenly felt like a little boy again as Lady Death settled in the grassy patch next to his mother's grave. Nyxia said nothing, but her presence was comforting. He didn't look at her, but from his periphery, Grimm was surprised to see her mortal-esque form, as she usually came to the land of the living shrouded in clouds of gloom.

"Thank you," he finally said, his voice low and raspy.

"For?"

"Being here. To collect her. When I was not."

Nyxia hummed a note of deep acknowledgement. "I would have done so, anyway, my son. That was nothing you should have ever had to do."

Grimm closed his burning eyes, and Nyxia reached out to clasp one of his arms wrapped loosely around his knees.

"Every morning, I wake with new recollections," he said softly after several moments of silence.

"Have you shared them with her?"

Grimm finally lifted his head and turned to look into Nyxia's violet eyes. "No. Only her name."

" Asteria ," Lady Death hummed.

Grimm's heart seized. The name that was synonymous with everything to him.

"Lady Magic." Nyxia chuckled, a weighted sound filled to the brim with weariness and nostalgia.

"I'm certain she feels the recollections," he admitted. "She has been quiet. Contemplative."

How could he set about telling her of their daughters? The original Sisters Solstice. Of their millennia together. Of all the times they'd found each other in mortal life? Over and over and over.

That is not a story one can tell, it must be lived. Remembered. Seen.

It was an agonising bliss to recall such things.

Tucking a blanket around the shoulders of a giggling daughter. Teaching their eldest to ride a horse, their youngest two to shoot a bow and arrow. To recall the moment his wife, Asteria , learned they were going to have another child.

Grimm shook his clouded, tangled thoughts loose. It was too much.

"Mm," Nyxia broke into his reflections, squeezing his arm once before letting go. "When Agatha comes to Achlys, she will begin to recall more."

"To Achlys?" Grimm pushed himself to stand and dusted the dirt from his pants. "Agatha is Queen of Seagovia now."

"All thanks to you."

He blinked at the Goddess of Death's sardonic tone. "It was the right call."

"I never said it was not. But Athania, or whatsoever name she chooses to go by now, did this"—she shot a hand out toward his mother's headstone—"for a reason."

Grimm waved Nyxia off dismissively. "Chresedia wants the kingdom. I promised her Seagovia once my parents were dead—or unfit to rule in my father's case—if she would let me keep my reaper." He snorted at that, the fact Chresedia had fallen for it. "But only after I knew the kingdom was no longer mine to give. It was all a ruse."

"Precisely. But why does she want the kingdom, Thanasim? Why has she not yet taken it? I do not have answers, and I know you will not find all of them here."

"You know,"—he turned slowly toward her, slipping his hands into his pockets—"it's become quite strange to me that you have been with us for so long, all of us, and you know nothing. Not once did you mention who she was to us."

A hint of pain flashed across Nyxia's eyes. "Why is it that you have not shared what you have learned about that very relationship with your wife, hm?"

Goddess' teeth. Because he didn't know how. Telling Agatha of the level of betrayal—the level of love between her and Athania… "It's not my memory to tell. I have to find a way to show her."

Nyxia nodded, the willow behind them rustling in the breeze.

"Nyxia," he pleaded, "I can't fucking remember everything. We need you to help us."

"You remember who you truly are. That must be enough for now."

"You know damn well it's not!" Grimm's shout was chased by a deep roll of thunder that reverberated through his bones. Ominous clouds bloomed suddenly in the sky above them, bloated and bruised as a corpse.

Nyxia looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. "I think that it is enough, my son." She stepped forward and placed a hand on his cheek, already dissipating into fog. "Bring Asteria to Achlys, and I will tell you all that I know." Her dark brows knit together, and deep sadness shrouded her like the smog stealing her away. "It is not much, Thanasim. And that is by your own design."

She was gone, and Grimm cursed at the darkened sky.

AGATHA

" Gods !" Sorscha muttered, walking in through the front door of Tindle's shop, the little bell above it tinkling. "Where did all this rain come from? It was just sunny without a damned cloud in the sky."

Sister Spring discarded her sopping dress via magic and threw flames into the small hearth. "Tindle, I'm taking this one." She yanked a crimson dress off a rack with little ceremony, earning her an irascible frown. "Are we still at this?" Sorscha griped, slipping the dress over her head. "I need to be back in Araignée by nightfall."

"We're doing the best we can," Agatha gritted out to her Sister.

Winnie entered the room carrying an armload of morning coats. Glancing out the front window that looked out onto Mer Row, her curiosity took the same turn Sorscha's had. "It's really coming down out there," she said as she began to carefully hang the coats on a rack, one at a time. "Wasn't it sunny when I went to the back for these?"

Seleste strode forward in the fray and handed Sorscha a lemon blueberry scone. "They're still warm." Sister Summer turned to take her own view of the sudden rain. "This isn't natural rain."

"Enlighten us," Sorscha drawled, flourishing a lazy hand and biting into her scone.

"It came out of nowhere," Seleste explained, "and there is a strong salt content." She opened the front door a crack and inhaled delicately. "Someone very powerful used seawater to form the clouds."

Agatha winced and dutifully ignored the rumble of Grimm's dark mood within the bond, keeping perfect time with the rolling thunder outside. She snatched one of the morning coats out of Winnie's arms and turned, holding it up to Emile, who was slouched in the corner, silent and wholly uncomfortable. "How about this one?"

"If he wants to look like a pretentious prig," Tindle spat over his teacup, one pinky high in the air. "I've had enough of funeral black for the next three moons."

Agatha sagged into a chair. The crotchety dressmaker was apparently living in his shop, and it showed. Along with his ignored grief parading itself as uncharacteristic untidiness, she'd been to his home the night prior, and it boasted no signs of him having been there in days. Tindle also hadn't discussed losing Demitri once in the time since it happened, save for the night he gave them the facts of what occurred.

Agatha had learned far too intimately that such grief must be felt in its entirety. The damage of not doing so could inflict great trauma upon the soul. Alas, Tindle was as stubborn as she was and hadn't even shed a tear since the night Demitri died. Granted, she supposed his vicious anger at the entire realm was one stage of the process. She only feared everything would come crashing down on him in an anvil-heavy blow when it was least expected if he didn't let himself feel it soon.

"I think the dark blue is nice…" Emile spoke up timidly from the other side of the shop.

" Indigo ," Tindle corrected, his tone scathing. "That coat was inspired by the expanse of night sky surrounding a nebula."

Emile blinked at him, and Winnie lifted the sleeve of the innocuous coat. "That is…specific. "

Tindle shrugged, sipping his tea once more. "Grimm let me borrow a telescope."

Sorscha barked a laugh, tongue darting out to lick a crumb off her long fingernail. "You're a true artist, mon mignon . Not that any of this will matter if my dearest brother rips Emile's soul out again the moment he sees him."

" Sorscha ," Seleste censured. "You're not helping."

"She's not wrong." Emile's face was ashen, and he turned pleading eyes on Agatha. "Maybe this truly is a mistake." As if planning to bolt, he stood too quickly, fiddling with the Goddess Three pendant hanging from his neck.

Agatha wanted to rub her temples to stave off the headache of careening a bunch of ancient children and their many feelings…then perhaps go stand in the woods and scream. Instead, she gripped her skirts in a fist to keep from doing either of those things and said as gently as she could, "Emile, we have been over this. Grimm knows you are part of our council now?—"

Sorscha snorted. "And didn't he immediately rip apart into his reaper at the news?"

Agatha ignored Sister Spring, but she caught Winnie cuffing her over the back of the head in her periphery, Sorscha almost toppling out of the chair she was reclined in.

"Emile, he knows you are part of the council and is willing to give you a chance once he speaks to you and Anne."

The Grand Magus put his head in his hands, groaning. He said something, but it was muffled by his palms.

"Aggie," Seleste said gently, hopping to lay a calming hand on Emile's shoulder. "Could I have a word with Emile in private? "

Agatha regarded her carefully. Her cunning, kind Sister Summer had been the last in agreement to allow Emile von Fuchs onto the council, even after Sorscha. After all von Fuchs had done, it had been difficult to move past everything, despite knowing it was The Order working through him. Whilst making her decision, Seleste requested a guidepost similar to Grimm's—a private meeting with Anne and Emile. It had lasted well into the night while Agatha paced outside Dulci's patisserie , the three of them upstairs in the baker's flat.

When they'd finally emerged, all three of them had red-rimmed eyes. Emile looked lighter, and Anne looked stronger. Seleste had hugged them both and strode directly to Aggie. " I'm in agreement. Emile is not the man we knew. He is as wounded and used as the rest of us ."

"Why not?" Agatha answered Seleste, too tired to conceal her irritation. "Let's go, everyone." And they all filed out.

Seleste would no doubt counsel Emile for a good, long while, but she would also most likely get him in a morning coat and present for the dreaded meeting with Grimm.

Bickering quickly ensued when they'd all taken up a place in the cramped back storage of Tindle's shop to give Emile and Seleste privacy. Tindle didn't want his clothing touched, Winnie didn't want Sorscha breathing so loudly, and Aggie wanted to throttle them all.

"Summon me when it's time," Winnie said with a roll of her eyes and disappeared.

"Likewise." Sorscha waggled her fingers and was gone.

Agatha turned to Tindle. "Will you be all right here alone? "

He tried to sneer at her, but it fell flat. "I'm fine, Aggie," he said, his voice weary.

"Go lie down. And that is an order." She straightened his cravat. "Get some rest. Augustus will bring a carriage to pick you up when we're ready."

"Pish posh. Go deal with our sullen reaper, darling."

Sullen seemed a paltry word to describe her husband's temperament. The thunder outside had dipped into a gentle rumble, but Grimm's searing anger was still pulsing through the bond. It was not an ideal state in which to meet with one of his nemeses and attempt forgiveness—already not Grimm's strong suit.

With an empathetic tilt of her mouth, she closed her eyes and let the bond lead her to Grimm.

She materialised in the cemetery next to him. There he stood with his hands in his pockets, completely dry despite the rain he'd caused. "You control the weather now?" she teased, her dress already nearly soaked through. Summoning a black parasol to ward off the onslaught, she watched his midnight curls sway in the wind.

"It would appear so." Grimm didn't look at her. "Or, rather, my dark moods do." His attention remained fixed on two headstones before them, but he slid one hand out of his pocket and clasped it around hers, the callouses a comfort against her palm.

"You're dry," she mused, truthfully only attempting to poke pinpricks of light into his gloomy aura.

"I didn't want to soil this coat," he murmured, still transfixed. "I like it."

Agatha scrunched her nose. "It's wrinkled to Hades already. A little rain wouldn't hurt it. "

He glowered at her sidelong but said nothing, turning back to the headstones next to his mother's. After a long moment of silence, he finally spoke. "Should I have done that instead?"

He gestured to the graves with a jut of his chin. His beard had grown thick. She pulled her concern away from him and looked at the headstones. They leaned against one another, wrapped together in crawling ivy as if they marked the graves of two lovers who could not bear to be apart.

"Instead of the crypt for us to be buried in?" she asked, and he nodded. Agatha sighed, turning to face him, her magic shooting up into the sky to clear his clouds. "Grimm, are you going to tell me what caused you to draw forth a storm we didn't know you were even capable of?"

He ignored her question. "She's not in the crypt. Neither is my grandmother or the queen before her."

Queen Fleurina lay between Queen Ana?s and Queen Catherine. Three women who had never met one another.

"You'll be the first since King Leopold's wife."

It was peculiar that these queens had not been given a place in the royal crypt, and she made a mental note to inquire why it had happened, but he was decidedly only avoiding her questions.

She watched as her husband shook his head, manic curls swaying. A jolt of calculation infiltrated the bond, and he smiled at her, visibly pushing all thoughts of his pain away. "We're going to be late for our council meeting, aren't we?"

One would have thought their more than six moons apart would have left them out of sync—awkward around one another even. But it had not. From the moment Grimm bound Chresedia in the Liminal Place and found Agatha again, their entanglement had been restored to something impossible .

He was hiding much from her, of that she was certain. "You have to talk to me eventually, Grimm."

He nodded, his head bobbing in a daze several times, lost again to his stormy thoughts. "I know. But I'd like to carry it for you just a little while longer."

Her heart swelled and cracked in the same beat. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but part of this whole marriage thing is carrying the heaviness of life together, yes?"

Though the sentiment was true, she partially said it for the sole fact that Grimm had come alive only a handful of times in the last moon, and that was during his insistence that they remarry—with his sister present. His sister . His eyes had been so bright, and the bond so full of love when he'd told her of Arielle. How he'd found her, and how she'd been his sister in almost every life he'd lived. It was there, at the mention of his other lives , that he'd fallen back into his tumultuous temperament.

That, she surmised, was where the thorn in his side resided. His other lives. Their other lives. He tossed and turned at night, intense floods of myriad feelings coursing through the bond toward her to the point she saw little sleep.

Finally, Grimm turned to her. His lips curving up at the edges, he cupped her cheek with his hand. "I'd carry it for us both forever if I could. All of it."

"Well, you can't." Agatha lifted her chin defiantly, and he huffed a laugh.

"All right, little witch." He ran his thumb over her freckles. "Let us get through this ghastly meeting of the council ," he threw sufficient mocking into the words, "and your coronation."

It was her turn to curl her lip in disgust.

"Then I'll share at least a portion of the burden."