At that moment every piece of Heaven exploded around me. Perhaps it was wicked to think such a metaphor, but God would simply have to forgive me. The past nine years of letting everything go… my death… whatever brought me to this place to help Christine… I did not understand, and my world crashed.

Angel, I thought. I'm an angel, a wanderer, it is not my place to be concerned for myself. I'm not supposed to feel this way. I was here for Christine, I was here for Christine. I was to help her. What was her place in all of this? Why had this happened?

God, why do you bring this to me now?

The letter dropped from my hand, and I heard Christine scramble to pick it up. I fell back against the wall, feeling as mortal as I had felt ever, mortality included.

"I'm so sorry, Fawn," Christine whispered. "I didn't know. You have to believe me, I didn't know."

As if I blamed her for anything. She would have been nothing but a child at the time. Capable of nothing. I shook my head. Be the angel, be the fairy godmother. Assure her even if it would sound fake even though I didn't fault her a thing. "We don't know anything, Christine. It's just a letter. It could be anything. It could mean anything."

"It's addressed to my father. See? Bernard Davrel."

"It still could be anything."

"I saw it in your face, Fawn. Don't be stupid. G.G. is Gavin Grey. And now I know. But I don't know. Why would my father be involved with someone like that?"

"Your father's name is Bernard Davrel?" I could not use "was".

She nodded. "Bernard Davrel the Historian." She sighed deeply and sat back, eyes speckled with tears. "I don't understand. He knew Wyatt was coming. Gavin Grey was waiting for the Royal Family. Why?"

I closed my eyes. The room spun. I felt sick and I was not supposed to feel sick. I could only cling to a prayer that this would end well, that until that ending this was going the way it was supposed to go.

Bernard. The mysterious Bernard who was not what I was… he was Christine's father.

"Gavin Grey killed you," Christine was saying. "He killed you, Fawn!"

As if I were not perfectly aware of that fact.

"And my father… he gave him money."

I opened my eyes to see the Christine drop the letter as if it were acid. "He gave him money to kill you."

"Why would he want to kill me?"

She did not reply. She jumped to her feet and ran, ran in the rush that only Christine could run, so quiet I could hardly hear her through the halls, down the stairs, somewhere.

Slowly, so it wouldn't hurt, I knelt down and reread the letter. The inky words were large and whirling. Written by my killer. This letter had been written by my killer. I should have dropped it again, like Christine had, but I held on, my fingers pushing further into the paper. There was something joyous about holding it. No, joyous was not the right word. But I felt power from the letter, delicious and satisfying even as it was bitter. Finally, I had something. In all the years of searching for a connection, here it was, a golden prize.

Other letters littered the floor, and they pulled me. I went willingly, my skin tingling as it touched them. Some were dull and meaningless, others were not.

My Darling Bernard,

My husband and I will be attending others of the court to Tamenrook. I'll meet Gavin Grey there. I'll let him in, and I will let him know every possible movement of the Princess. The plan is perfect.

I miss you terribly, my love, and I cannot wait to rejoin you. Till then, my heart is yours.

~Yours, Melissa

That was the shortest and the most informative. Others came from Melissa, disgusting love letters of their affair. I should have been sick, but instead I wanted to laugh. I was already dead, what did any of this matter but the information I could glean from it?

I poured through more letters, hoping to find more. But that was it, and it was enough.

"And so you see." Bernard stood behind me, a suddenly pathetic figure who seemed to draw all light from the room.

I slowly turned to him, wondering curiously what my emotions would be. Anger? Tears? God-given forgiveness? I so hoped against the latter.

He did not smile, but his face held a grim humor. Here was the punch line of his joke all scattered about the floor. His eyes were dull, but bore into me just the same.

"I see," I said softly. My body trembled, but it was impossible for me to do anything against them. Already I could feel my arms restrained. "I see what you have done."

"My life," he said with a broad gesture at the study. "And my life's bitter fruit. You."

"I did nothing to you."

"I know. It wasn't personal, it never was personal. But power… well, it is what it sounds like. It's strong, it's tempting, and it can hide anywhere, including in the form of a bookish historian who only cared about his family. Or so he thought."

"You killed me."

"Once I may have argued I did not drive that blade into you. But here I am."

"Why?" The room grew darker the longer we stood there, unable to be in the presence of this dark, dark creature with his dying eyes and unsmiling face. I felt safe, of course, nothing of darkness could get me. But that made it all the worse. I was alone in that room.

"Why?" He laughed bitterly. "Of course that question would arise. Why would it not? I don't suppose the reason matters anymore, as if you were to suggest the ends justify the means. I did something I should not have done and for that I am eternally sorry. I was alone in this house, save for a beautiful daughter, and the occasional companionship of a lovely woman from the palace."

"Melissa."

"She was exciting and beautiful in a lonely marriage and I was widowed and lonely. An affair can be so energizing. After her husband passed away I did the noble thing and married her."

"Did you kill her husband as well?"

"No, that was merely convenience."

"You still haven't told me why."

He smiled, the most painful smile I had ever seen, and reached down to the pick up the letters. He took his time about it, humming a solemn tune. When he had finally placed them back in their box, he turned back to me. "I had a daughter I would have given the world. A beautiful creature named Christine. Melissa drew me to power. I wanted that for Christine. I wanted to keep her for Prince Wyatt. It would take years, of course, but I could wait. Melissa had palace connections, as did I. It would be simple. Until Prince Wyatt met a princess from a southern kingdom. So I sinned. And now I'm here. Punished."

It was a long time before I could speak. "Where are you?"

"Trapped."

"Go away," I said suddenly. "I don't want you here."

"But I have to be here. I have to help you."

"To do what?" I was screaming now. "You killed me! You as good as killed me! You took me away from my life! You! All so Christine could marry Wy—" His name caught in my throat and choked me. I could not breathe. I sunk to my knees. This body, this spiritual body, had never done this before. I didn't know it could. Pain filled me. A pain beyond anything physical from my life.

"Yes," Bernard said simply, his voice distant. "Your job. Help Christine marry the Prince. What I wanted. What you're here to do."