Ten Thousand Skies Above You (24 page)

For the greatest love I've ever felt, and even for giving that love back to me.

I fold the letter and slip it into her sketch pad. She'll find it when the time is right. My apologies have to be meaningless for her, but surely she'll take some comfort from finding out she's not one bit crazy. The shadow worlds, everything she went through in December: All of it was real. I hope knowing that helps. It's the best I can do.

I curl up in bed and turn out the light. Even with all the emotions churning within me, I'm tired enough to pass out within moments.

But then I feel something weird in my stomach. It comes and goes in an instant, the kind of thing that's easy to forget.

I feel it again, though, and this time the sensation is weirder. Honestly, it's as though a goldfish is swimming deep inside me—

—which is when I realize the truth, and my eyes open wide.

The next morning, once I'm done getting sick, I send a note down to the management, telling them to send a summons to Theodore Willem Beck. No, it won't be easy for them to find him—but dammit, in this dimension I'm a grand
duchess of all the Russias. What's the point of being royalty if you can't make impossible demands once in a while?

Maybe not so impossible. Either the hotel had Theo's information on file after all or the Ritz Paris is extremely dedicated to customer service, because they soon reply that they'll have him here by noon.

That's still a few hours away. Maybe I have time to create a portrait of my family back home, using the grand duchess's pastels and sketchbook. She'd probably like to see what Mom would look like if she were still alive in this dimension. The pose for the family group requires some care; if anyone else ever sees this, it's probably best if the late tsaritsa and the royal tutor aren't in each other's arms. So I put us on the sofa—Mom and Dad on the ends, me next to Mom, Josie by Dad.

Just as I'm shading in Josie's chin, there's a rap on the door. That must be Theo, though I'm slightly surprised the hotel simply sent him up to the Suite Imperial. “Come in!” I call, just as I remember the notation in the appointment book, something about news from a Cousin Karin—

But my visitor is someone else entirely.

Dizziness washes over me again, but this time it's only from astonishment, and maybe joy. “Vladimir?”

“Marguerite!” He crosses the room and scoops me into his arms; his camel-colored overcoat is still cool from the outside air. “Oh, look at you. Are you well?”

“I'm better. I'm so much better, I promise.” Why did I ever think Vladimir would have abandoned his sister? Instead,
he crossed most of Europe to visit me. I pull back from his embrace enough to look at him again. In some ways it's still strange, seeing a guy's face that reminds me so much of my mother's, and my own. But this is Vladimir—same curly hair, same mustache, same open grin. I missed him even more than I knew.

“Better?” he says, then lowers his voice. “But you are—you remain—”

His eyes flicker down toward my belly.

Vladimir knows. He's known all along. Of course he still loved her; of course he's still on her side. Why did I ever doubt him? Relief washes through me again, even more powerfully. “Yes.”

“Then we stick with the plan.” Vladimir brushes my hair back from my forehead. “I've spoken to Karin. She will be discreet—you needn't doubt her, she's kept many secrets in her sixty years. Her house is in the Danish countryside, and she has only a handful of servants, all loyal to her. I'll explain to Father that you're still unwell, but tell him he was right about therapy being useless. When I explain that you need several months to recuperate in the country air, with family, he'll accept it.”

Several months. Through late September. “And after? What about after?”

Maybe the other Marguerite already understands this. I have no rational reason to ask. But I have to know what will become of this child I helped create.

“Karin will prove her generosity and adopt an orphan
child. A new little cousin of ours, whom of course you will come to cherish during your time in Denmark. Naturally you'll want the child to visit often. Perhaps to live with the family in Russia in a few years, when Karin becomes old enough to wish to return to Copenhagen.”

A cousin. A visitor. Already I feel myself rejecting this, thinking,
It's not enough.
This Marguerite has to have felt the same way; if she didn't want this baby, desperately, she wouldn't have asked Vladimir to find a solution.

But this is probably the best answer available in her world. The royal family pride will be preserved. The tsar will never learn of the pregnancy. And the child will live with this other me soon. The grand duchess will help to raise her, or him. They'll love each other, and someday . . . someday maybe she can tell the truth about how the baby came into this world.

To the small person-to-be inside, I think,
Your mother is going to tell you all about your dad. She's going to tell you he was the best man we've ever known.

Vladimir cuddles me protectively. “You look so pale. Have you packed your things? Do you need someone to help you?”

“I haven't packed.” Because I had no idea I was leaving. “And there's someone I should say goodbye to before we go. He should be here before noon.”

“Very well. I'll settle your bills. Of course you had to shop to convince the tsar you were doing well in Paris, but I must say, you made a thorough job of it.” He cups my chin in his
hand, the way he must have done when I was a little girl. “Before I forget to say it, I've missed you terribly.”

“I've missed you too.”

By 11:00 a.m., Vladimir has helped me pack almost everything. I make sure my note to the grand duchess is folded in the back of the sketchpad, next to the portrait of my own family, before I tuck that into her trunk. Vladimir, meanwhile, is shaking his head at my new collection of broad-brimmed hats. “Honestly, Margarita. How can you need so many?”

“They're the only clothes that will still fit me in a few months' time,” I say, which makes him laugh.

Then the concierge rings to tell me my guest is waiting for me in the garden. Vladimir gives me a look. “Your mysterious farewell?”

“Yes. I'll be right back, all right?”

Naturally the Ritz has made sure its gardens are as elegant as the rest of the hotel. Even though spring is only now settling upon Paris, the wide lawn already shines a light, vivid green. White marble neoclassical statues stand on pedestals throughout the long, narrow length of the garden, and the branches of the trees around the edges are already heavy with buds that will soon become flowers. Only a few flowers have appeared so far—tulips, mostly.

Theo waits for me in a corner of the garden, gray overcoat buckled rakishly tight at the waist, hat at a jaunty angle. Once he sees me, he immediately hurries to my side. “Oh,
my God. Sit. You have to sit. How do you feel?”

“Still capable of walking. But thanks.” Despite everything, I have to laugh.

He guides me to the nearest bench, his hands gentle on my shoulders as if I were made of spun glass. Once we're seated, he looks into my eyes and whispers, “Holy
shit
.”

“I know. I know!”

“I can't get over it.”

“
You
can't get over it?” I'm the one who's had morning sickness.

“It's just—there's a little Paul in there. Or a little Marguerite.” He stares at my belly like it's a viewscreen directly into my uterus, then shakes his head, visibly pulling himself back together. “This makes me Uncle Theo. The responsibility takes some getting used to.”

He's overdoing his reaction—trying to cheer me up, because he realizes how overwhelming this must be. And maybe he's trying a little too hard to be happy about something that might be hard for him to hear. But I can tell his emotions are genuine, and it touches me in a way I wouldn't have expected.

I've never understood how anybody could be in love with two people at the same time. Your heart can only sing one song at a time.

What I've learned, though, is that being in love doesn't make everybody else in the world invisible. Someone you found attractive before? Yeah, they don't magically turn hideous when you fall in love with another person. You don't stop thinking their jokes are funny; you don't stop being
interested in what they have to say. You don't stop caring about a human being just because he's not the one you care most about in the world.

It's not the same as being in love, of course. If anything, I'm more aware than ever before of the wide gulf between mere chemistry and actually loving someone. Even when I have these moments of profound connection with Theo, he stands on the other side of a line I have no desire to cross.

And finally Theo has accepted that line.

“I'm going to buy you your first beer,” he whispers as he leans forward, addressing my belly. “Way before you're legal. Don't tell your parents.”

“You're in the wrong universe for that. Here, I think you're off the hook.”

“You never know.”

“Theo, it's been so strange, the past couple of days. Every time I remembered Paul shooting you, I didn't know what to think. But now—
this
—” I pat the slight swell of my stomach. “Late last night I was thinking about Paul, and the baby moved, and everything I ever felt for Paul came rushing back.”

“That's
Paul's baby
,” Theo says in wonder. He's talking to himself, not to me. “Man, I wish I could see this kid.”

“Me too.” It feels so strange, knowing I'll never once look at this child, or hold it in my arms.

Theo's smile is sincere, but somewhat twisted. “I was glad to get the call from the hotel this morning. After last night, I wasn't sure you'd still be talking to me.”

“Why wouldn't I be talking to you?” How stupid. We both know why.

He says only, “Might've crossed a certain line there. Definitely, I have some apologies to make to Paul.”

“Well, you don't have to apologize to me. You spoke from the heart, and you have the right to tell the truth about what you feel.” Here in the gardens, beneath the bower of the trees, we are in the heart of Paris and yet somehow all alone, too. I'm grateful for the privacy. “Listen, I need to be completely clear.”

“It's still Paul,” Theo says. “For you, he's the one. I know that.”

I try to find the right words. “Last night, it was like it hit me all over again, how much I wanted to be with him. I need to work this out, but
with Paul
.”

Theo smiles at me, cocksure as ever. Nobody would ever guess that he'd just confessed his love, then unflinchingly put it aside.

“I'm not only in love with Paul because of Lieutenant Markov. That's not even how it began, really. Just what made me admit it. What I saw in New York scared me, and I still don't understand it, but it's like you said. I can't blame him for something another Paul did, just like I don't blame you anymore for everything we went through with the other Theo.”

His lips press together tightly before he says, “You've promised that before.”

“No, I mean it,” I say, and even though it might be the wrong moment for this, I take his hand. “I doubted you
because of things the other Theo did, and
I was wrong.
”

“The price of forgiveness is steep,” Theo says. “Because when you forgave me—you forgave Paul.”

It wasn't quite that simple, but it's close enough. “In some ways, I feel closer to Paul now than ever.” My hand steals over my belly again.

“I should
hope
so.”

Quietly I say, “You didn't have to ask whose baby it was, when I told you.”

“Remember how I told you Paul and I had a sex talk?”

Yes, I do. And I
so
do not want to know any more about that.

My expression must look sour, because Theo misinterprets it. “Listen, if you're not ready, I could do what you told me to do in the first place. If I head on to the home office with our information, then we've fulfilled the terms of Conley's agreement. He'd have to tell me where Paul is, hand over my potential cure, all of it.”

“Conley wants me there.” I take a deep breath. “I'm ready to move on.”

Theo reaches under the collar of his shirt and withdraws the chain of the spare Firebird, which has been around his neck since New York. I duck my head, and he places it around my neck—a silent, almost solemn transfer of responsibility.

I whisper, “Theo—thanks.”

“For what? Following you around the multiverse? Just part of the service.”

It feels like I have so many things to thank Theo for; I could start listing them and never stop. So I stick to the most important one: “For believing in Paul.”

“Hey, this works for me too, you know. Like I said, if you forgave him for blowing my legs away, you've forgiven me for attacking you in a submarine that time.”

Which is true. Finally I can let it all go.

“Happy endings almost all the way around,” Theo says. One of his hands lets go of mine, to reach for his Firebird. “Are we out of here?”

“You go on ahead. I want to see Vladimir one last time.”

Theo shakes his head, probably at my fondness for a brother I didn't know about before December. “Okay. Just catch up with me PDQ, okay?” He smiles—slow and almost sneaky. “So, we're headed back to the home office, the Triadverse, the same dimension that sent that other Theo here to spy on you guys.”

“Yeah.”

“He stole my body for months, and now I get the chance to steal his. If I have the chance, that son of a bitch is going to get the ugliest haircut of his life.” I burst out laughing. Theo grins wickedly as he continues, “I'm serious. If anyone in the entire multiverse deserves a reverse Mohawk, he does.”