The rain had begun to lighten by the time Duke Karmis made his way back through the hospital corridors.
His clothes were soaked, his hair plastered to his forehead, his boots leaving wet prints on the polished stone floor. A passing nurse gave him a curious look—perhaps wondering why an old man would choose to stand in the rain when there were perfectly good hallways to shelter in—but she said nothing. She simply nodded and continued on her way, her footsteps fading into the distance.
The Duke walked slowly, his thoughts heavy, his heart heavier.
Cursed, he thought again. The Karmis household is cursed.
I cannot let Sheila suffer the same fate as Eleanor. As Sarah. As—
He stopped outside the door to Sheila's room.
The wood was dark, polished, the handle brass. He could see the faint glow of the gas lamp through the crack beneath the door, could hear the soft whisper of Sheila's breathing. She was awake, then. Or perhaps she had fallen back asleep.
He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and pushed open the door.
Sheila was sitting up in bed, her bandaged arm resting on the blanket, her eyes fixed on the window. The rain was still falling, but the clouds were beginning to thin, and pale light filtered through the glass, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air.
She turned when he entered, her face pale, her eyes red-rimmed.
"Grandfather," she said. "You're wet."
"I was in the courtyard. Thinking."
"In the rain?"
"The rain helps me think."
She studied him for a moment, her young eyes too sharp, too knowing. "What were you thinking about?"
He walked to the chair by the window and sat down heavily, his joints aching, his bones cold. The cushion was soft, familiar, worn from two months of use.
"Many things," he said. "Your grandmother. Your mother. You."
"That sounds heavy."
"It was."
He was silent for a long moment, staring at the rain-streaked glass.
"Your grandmother died when your mother was seven," he said finally. "The Black Death. It swept through the capital like a scythe, cutting down rich and poor alike. I tried everything to save her—the best doctors, the most expensive treatments, prayers to every Source I could name. Nothing worked."
"I'm sorry," Sheila said.
"I held her hand as she died. She was so thin, so pale. The woman I had married—the woman I had loved—was gone long before her heart stopped beating. The disease took everything: her strength, her beauty, her mind. By the end, she didn't even recognize me."
"That must have been terrible."
"It was." He turned to look at her. "But what was worse was what came after. Your mother blamed me. She never said it—not in so many words—but I could see it in her eyes. She thought I should have done more. She thought I should have saved her."
"Could you have?"
"No." His voice was flat. "No one could have. The Black Death was a plague. It didn't care about love or money or power. It just... took."
"Then why did Mother blame you?"
"Because she was young. Because she was scared. Because she needed someone to be angry at, and I was the only one left."
Sheila was quiet for a moment.
"Is that why she ran away?" she asked. "Because she blamed you for Grandmother's death?"
The Duke shook his head. "She ran away because I tried to marry her to the King. Because I saw the engagement as a way to protect the household, and she saw it as a betrayal."
"Was it?"
"Perhaps." He sighed. "I thought I was doing the right thing. The Crown needed allies. House Karmis needed protection. A marriage between your mother and the King would have benefited everyone. But I didn't ask her what she wanted. I didn't consider her feelings. I just... decided."
"And she couldn't forgive you."
"No. She couldn't."
The rain had begun to lighten further, the clouds thinning, patches of blue appearing between the grey.
"Did you ever try to find her?" Sheila asked. "After she ran away?"
"Of course. I searched for months. I hired detectives, offered rewards, followed every lead. But your mother was clever. She didn't want to be found."
"And when you finally heard from her?"
The Duke's jaw tightened. "A letter. Brief. Cold. She said she was married. She said she had a family. She said not to contact her."
"That must have hurt."
"It did. It still does."
Sheila looked down at her hands, the bandaged arm, the pale fingers.
"She never told you about Leximus," she said. "About adopting him."
"No. She didn't."
"Why do you think she kept it a secret?"
The Duke was silent for a long moment.
"I don't know," he said finally. "Perhaps she was afraid I would try to take him away. Perhaps she wanted to protect him from the household's politics. Perhaps she simply didn't think I deserved to know."
"Do you think she was right?"
"About not deserving to know?" He shook his head. "I don't know. I was not a good father to her. I was distant, cold, more concerned with the household's affairs than with her happiness. But I loved her. I always loved her. And I would have loved Leximus too, if she had given me the chance."
Sheila reached out with her good hand and took his. Her fingers were small, warm, fragile.
"He's not a monster, Grandfather," she said. "I know what they're saying about him. I know what the wanted posters claim. But he's not a terrorist. He's not a mass murderer. He's my brother, and I love him."
The Duke looked at her—at her pale face, her red-rimmed eyes, her trembling lips.
"I believe you," he said.
"Do you?"
"I do." He squeezed her hand. "I didn't know him. I never met him. But if your mother raised him—if she loved him enough to keep him secret—then he must have been worthy of that love."
"He was."
"Then we will find him. We will clear his name. And we will bring him home."
Sheila's eyes filled with tears.
"You promise?"
The Duke hesitated.
It was not a promise he could make lightly. The Crown was powerful. The Audit was relentless. And Leximus—wherever he was, whatever he had become—might not want to be found.
But looking at his granddaughter's face—at the hope flickering in her eyes, the desperation in her voice—he couldn't bring himself to say no.
"I promise," he said. "I will do everything in my power to find him. To help him. To bring him back to you."
Sheila threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest, her body shaking with sobs.
He held her, his hand on her back, his chin resting on her head.
I don't know if I can keep this promise, he thought. I don't know if I have the strength, the resources, the influence.
But I have to try.
For her.
For Sarah.
For the memory of the household that once was.
The rain stopped.
The clouds parted.
Pale sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes in the air, warming the white walls of the room.
Sheila pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her good hand.
"What do we do now?" she asked.
The Duke stood.
"First, you rest. You need to recover your strength. The doctor said your wounds are healing, but you're still weak."
"And then?"
"Then we plan. We gather information. We find out where your brother is hiding—and we find a way to reach him."
"The Crown will be watching."
"Let them watch." The Duke's voice was hard. "I have spent too many years bowing to the Crown's demands. Too many years keeping my head down, my mouth shut, my opinions to myself. It is time to remind them that House Karmis is not a house to be trifled with."
Sheila looked at him—at the set of his jaw, the fire in his eyes.
"You sound like Mother," she said.
The Duke blinked. "What?"
"She used to get that look sometimes. When she was angry. When she was determined. When she had decided that something needed to be done, and she was going to do it no matter what anyone said."
The Duke was silent for a long moment.
"Your mother was braver than me," he said finally. "She was stronger. More stubborn. More willing to fight for what she believed in."
"She got it from you."
He shook his head. "No. She got it from herself. She was always her own person—from the moment she was born, she knew who she was and what she wanted. I just... got in the way."
"You loved her."
"I did. I do. And I miss her every day."
Sheila lay back against the pillows, her eyes closing, her breathing slowing.
"I'm tired, Grandfather."
"Rest. I'll be here when you wake up."
"You won't leave?"
"I won't leave."
She smiled—a small, fragile smile, but a smile nonetheless.
"Thank you."
She closed her eyes.
Within moments, her breathing had evened out, her body relaxing into sleep.
Duke Karmis sat in the chair by the window, watching her sleep, the pale sunlight warm on his face.
Cursed, he thought again.
But curses can be broken.
And I will break this one.
For Eleanor. For Sarah. For Sheila.
For Leximus—a boy I never knew, but who deserves justice nonetheless.
He closed his eyes.
The rain had stopped.
The sun was shining.
And for the first time in a long time, Duke Charles Karmis allowed himself to hope.