On Azrael's Wings

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  Eventually her tears died down, Ursula’s chest hitching as she inhaled, eyes red and swollen. Azrael’s fingers continued to run through her hair and she relaxed into the sensation. She could hear the bidding, but not seeing the activity allowed her the luxury of self-deception.

  “Better?”

  Chagrined, Ursula swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Milady.”

  “Up here then.”

  The passing thought of punishment flickered away when the slave saw Azrael’s caring expression. She settled on her mistress’ lap, surprised to find warm arms surrounding her. Harkening to her childhood, Ursula sighed and closed her eyes, laying her head on a strong shoulder. “Thank you, Milady.”

  “You’re welcome, Ursula. Rest now. It’ll soon be over.”

  The many sleepless evenings had caught up with her. Ursula was uncertain how much time had passed before she felt a gentle shake. Warm and comfortable, the sense of complete safety permeating her soul made it difficult to wake.

  “Ursula.”

  The brunette shook her head, trying to burrow deeper.

  “Ursula. It is finished. We must go now.”

  Dragging herself awake, memory crashed in upon Ursula and she sat upright with a gasp. She was still on her mistress’ lap, still on the balcony overseeing the auction of people she knew. With a hasty glance at the platform, she was relieved to see an assortment of strangers. Belatedly realizing she’d fallen asleep on the general, Ursula swung around, blushing furiously. “Milady! I’m sorry!”

  Amused, Azrael cupped a sleepy cheek with a smile. “No worries, Ursula. We must go now.”

  Swallowing, the slave nodded and stood, face blazing as she straightened her dress.

  “Midia,” the general asked as she rose, “can you find your way back to camp without the pony?”

  ”Aye, Milady,” the blonde said. “We’re camped near the east gate, yes?”

  “Yes.” Azrael dipped into a pouch at her belt, handing the slave a few coins. “Find something nice for Ursula to wear. She’ll attend tonight’s dinner with me.”

  “Yes, Milady.”

  With a negligent wave, the dark woman ignored Ursula’s wide-eyed expression and added, “Use the excess for whatever you wish.”

  “Yes, Milady. Thank you.”

  Ursula watched the general and her guard leave with no further word. Still feeling somewhat hollow from the weeping, she sighed and rubbed her face.

  “Are you all right now?” Midia asked, laying a companionable arm over the brunette’s shoulder.

  Ursula grimaced. “I feel empty and foolish, but I’m fine.”

  The blonde hugged her close. “Lady Azrael was miserable. She simply wasn’t thinking. Usually she’s much more sensitive.”

  “Sensitive?” Ursula demanded, her emotions taking their toll. Pulling away from the embrace, she turned her back to Midia. “It was hardly sensitive letting those poor women be raped and sold like cattle! I was in the village that day! I saw how her sensitive nature allowed her to brutalize everyone there!”

  “What was done was necessary.”

  “Hah!” the brunette gave a bitter laugh. “Impaling men before their mothers and wives and children isn’t necessary. Neither is having the women raped.” She was startled to silence when Midia grabbed her shoulder and whirled her about.

  “Until you’ve seen three hundred men in battle lust I doubt you’ll understand. But know that our mistress must keep control of her troops! If she denied them, they would rebel and no one would be safe.” Eyes flashing, Midia stepped closer, forcing Ursula to back away from her anger. “You saw how those women were treated on the auction block today. Do you think it would have been easier for them if they hadn’t been broken days earlier?”

  The change of subject undermined her rage as Ursula considered the question. She thought of Jenka, the innkeeper’s wife - bold, outspoken, just as likely to wade into a brawl as her husband. Or Yellan, oldest daughter of the smith, who had raised her siblings single handedly after their mother died, forthright and blunt as her father. Both women were very firm in their convictions and very likely to voice them. And they were the mildest of the lot.

  Their indignant complaints on the platform would have resulted in severe punishments. Some would not have survived the whippings. All of them would go to their new owners full of fire and righteous indignation, something no slave could afford.

  “Yes, you’re beginning to understand,” Midia said. “Life isn’t fair. As a slave you know that, but your life has been easy compared to many. You have no basis for comparison.” The blonde sighed, anger fading. “Our mistress does what’s necessary to keep her position and honor regardless of how horrible it may seem. You’d do well to remember that.”

  Ursula, completely deflated, watched as the blonde walked to the door and opened it.

  ”Come along. We’ve much to do to ready you for tonight’s dinner.”

  Chewing her lip, the brunette fought the urge to cry again as Midia left the room. With a sigh, she followed.

  Chapter Eight

  “Very nice,” Midia said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Lady Azrael will be pleased.”

  Ursula stood uncertainly in the middle of the tent. Her dress had given way to a silk burgundy gown that left one shoulder bare. A long hemp belt, dyed a darker shade, wrapped twice about her waist, the tasseled ends hanging down her left leg. Delicate sandals laced up her calf, peeking from beneath the cloth as she moved. At her wrists copper flashed, an assortment of bracelets catching candlelight.

  Tugging at the matching copper collar about her throat, Ursula said, “Will it make a difference? We’ll return and I’ll sleep on the pallet again.”

  Midia tsked at the petulant tone, coming forward to rearrange a lock of mahogany hair. “Our mistress wants a willing participant in her bed, not a lump.”

  “Willing participant?” Ursula blurted, expression incredulous. “We’re slaves, Midia.”

  “Aye, we are. But you’ve yet to show our mistress that you want her as much as she wants you.” Readjusting the belt, she said, “Lady Azrael does not rape.”

  Ursula blinked as the blonde turned away. Was that all that stopped things? Her passive response? The brunette recalled the previous night and wondered what would have happened had she given in to her desire. Shivering, she felt heat in her belly.

  “Ursula? It’s time to go.”

  Nodding, the brunette followed Midia to the entrance.

  “Remember what I told you?” the blonde asked.

  “Yes. Pick from random plates and ewers. And no onions.”

  Midia laughed. “Very good. It will be overwhelming at first but remember - because of our mistress, you outrank every slave there.”

  Azrael was listening to Idonatra reminisce about a battle years past when she spied movement at her tent. Her indulgent smile faded as she saw Ursula. Leaving her officers, her appreciative eyes traveled over the slave’s figure as she approached.

  Swallowing, Ursula recognized the fire in her mistress’ dark eyes and felt a surge of arousal.

  “You look magnificent,” Azrael said, circling.

  “Thank you, Milady,” Ursula whispered, feeling over warm.

  “Midia, you did a fine job.”

  “Thank you, Milady, but I did little. Ursula is a rare beauty.”

  “Aye. That she is.” Stopping in front of the slave, Azrael tilted her head, looking into amber eyes. “A rare beauty indeed.”

  “Lord Azrael, are we ready then?”

  The general chucked Ursula’s chin and released her. “Yes, we are.” She turned and walked to her horse, Midia urging the brunette to follow. “The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can beg our leave.”

  “No offense, Lord,” Razzu said with a grin. “But I can’t imagine you begging for anything.”

  Appreciative chuckles sounded as Azrael slid into her saddle. “None taken, Razzu. You’d be surprised what a beautiful woman in my bed would hear.”
r />   Atol saluted. “Methinks a beautiful woman in any of our beds would hear much the same.”

  “Speak for yourself, little man,” Tenango said, ducking a swat from him.

  “The same can be said for beautiful men,” Idonatra told her, all but Tenango agreeing.

  Ursula took her mistress’ hand, wondering how she was to ride in a gown. Her concern was baseless as she was pulled up and seated sideways in Azrael’s lap. Heart thumping, the brunette felt a whisper of lips on her ear and she leaned closer with a sigh.

  Smiling, Azrael urged her steed forward, followed by her captains.

  The magistrate, a portly man who was half as round as he was tall, put together a surprisingly decent dinner. The large hall was festooned with flowing tapestries and silks, the floor littered with flower petals. Playing in one corner was a trio of musicians, their sitar, pipe and drum providing background ambiance for the diners. Several long, low tables were sprinkled about with masses of soft cushions decadently available for lounging. Servants wandered the room with trays of ale and wine and interesting tidbits while a vast display of food was constantly being refreshed along one wall.

  Azrael's captains were scattered about the table, apparently having a well enough time if their smiles were any indication. Razzu, ever the horticulturalist, had cornered the master farmer of the region into a long discussion of hybrid wheat that would have bored anyone else in the room. Nearby, Atol was sweet-talking a merchant’s daughter, ignoring the glares from her father as he flirted.

  Tenango and Suma had gravitated together and Azrael wondered yet again if there was something between them. She resolved to speak with Razzu about any wagering being done on the matter, wondering what odds would be in her favor. A guffaw distracted the general and she turned to see Idonatra joking with one of the town council about his favorite topic after fighting - the preparation of food.

  Aside from occasional fawning by the magistrate and his lackeys, Azrael was having a good time. She was certain that had much to do with her slave. Ursula, despite having no training for this type of function, comported herself with natural grace and elegance as she served her mistress. Even now, Azrael’s eyes followed her as she approached with another helping of food.

  Lounging just in reach of the table, Azrael snagged the last of the olives from her plate. Using her tongue to seek out the pits, she noted appreciative leers from some of the other guests. Surprised, she realized a hint of jealousy burned in her heart at their expressions. With a rueful smile, the general spit out the pits, knowing it was the raging lust in her blood speaking.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Ursula’s return. As the slave knelt down between Azrael and the table, the dark woman couldn’t help but slide her palm along Ursula’s thigh and side, the silk causing her skin to tingle. The ever-present flush bloomed and Azrael smiled, knowing her power over the brunette despite being ignored.

  “Milady,” Ursula said, offering the plate. “I’ve brought you something called shrimp. It is a delicacy.”

  “Hmmm,” Azrael said, caressing the slave’s bared shoulder. “Very delicate.”

  Ursula’s gasped at the contact, gooseflesh pebbling her skin. She’d spent much of her time since their arrival thinking on what Midia had said. Tamping down a trickle of fear at her planned presumption, the slave selected a piece of shrimp and dipped it in sauce before offering it. “May I?”

  A slow grin crossed Azrael’s lips. Nodding, she leaned forward and took the morsel, teeth brushing the edge of Ursula’s fingers as she bit. The meat was salty from the oils used to prepare it and the sauce shocked her tongue with tart spice. Chewing thoughtfully, her hand drifted down Ursula’s shoulder, following her feminine curve to rest at her waist. “Very nice,” she said, thumb lazily circling.

  “More, Milady?” the slave asked, trying to control her suddenly erratic breathing.

  “Much more.”

  Ursula bit at her upper lip with a shy smile before scooping up another piece.

  “My dear Lord Azrael.”

  Not removing her eyes from Ursula, the general accepted another piece of shrimp, tongue darting out to caress a finger. “What is it, Torvan?” she asked the magistrate, tone bored.

  The pudgy man cleared his throat but gamely continued. “Now that you’ve crushed the uprising, what are your plans?”

  “Plans?” Azrael asked, reaching out to smother a shrimp in sauce before dangling it before her slave. “My plans are to collect my garrisoned men and return home.” She watched in complete fascination as Ursula’s full lips surrounded the meat, sucking gently on her fingers before biting the shrimp.

  “Would you say all areas of unrest have been quelled?” Torvan asked, oblivious to the seduction before him. “Theara was the fourth village to be… cleansed…”

  Annoyed, the general turned a cold stare on the chubby man. “Have you heard of others?”

  ”No, no!” the magistrate insisted with raised hands. “My concern is for Provey. While your visits are always welcome, I have no wish to see you and your men in an… ah… official capacity.”

  Azrael studied him for long moments, eyes unfathomable as she searched for anything untoward. “All reports of traitors and seditionists have been investigated. I see no cause for concern.”

  Torvan relaxed, his sigh almost imperceptible. “Good. That is very good,” he insisted with a toothy smile. “Rumors run rampant with an army camped outside our walls. I’ll be most happy to pass your news along.”

  Not one for court intrigue, Azrael nevertheless felt the magistrate was trying to say something. Her dalliance with Ursula forgotten, the general picked up her wine and leaned back, focusing on the man. “What rumors do you hear these days in this far corner of the kingdom?”

  “Oh, you know how people can be,” Torvan said, waving dismissively, his actions serving to underline the true importance of his next words. “They say there were no rebels, that someone near the throne wanted you away from court.” Laughing, the magistrate shook his head. “Silly, isn’t it?”

  Azrael noted the sweat on his forehead and the shaky hand as he raised his cup to his lips. The man was scared. He was either feeding her false information to distract her or was very worried his words were true and she’d take offense. She laughed with him, drinking from her cup, mind racing.

  Why would he lie? Fishing for word that he and kith or kin were suspected traitors? She wouldn’t be here drinking with him if that were the case. Azrael’s brutal reputation had traveled far after seven years of command. Surely he knew that any report of treasonous activity in Provey would result in a siege rather than a state dinner.

  The other side of the coin was that he was speaking true. Again, why? To warn Azrael of rumors in the capitol? His loyalties were beyond her knowledge and suspect. Who near Shonal would go to the trouble of falsifying rebellious reports to remove her from court? Rarely there to begin with, she preferred to spend her time on her property. She was hardly a threat.

  Puzzled, Azrael realized it would be some time before she could make sense of the conversation needing more information. Glancing at the magistrate, she was pleased he had turned to the person on his other side, no doubt relieved his words had been heeded and he still had a tongue.

  Her eyes wandered the room, searching for shadows and attackers. Instead, Azrael saw dancers and laughter, tapestries and wandering servants, mahogany hair and amber eyes. She watched Ursula fill her cup, felt a warm hand on hers.

  “Milady, would you like more?” the brunette asked, holding up the plate of shrimp.

  There were months to go before Azrael could gather all the information she’d need. Until then… “Yes, Ursula, much more.”

  By the time it was appropriate to leave, the sun had set. Torches lit the courtyard when Azrael and her officers sauntered out of the hall. Atol and Razzu had elected to stay, one for feminine conquest and the other to hear more about a new strain of flower. The rest of them mounted their horses, Ursula once more
seated across her mistress’ saddle.

  Azrael had worn a light cloak for the expected evening coolness. She wrapped it about both of them, caressing the silk of Ursula’s dress as they rode through town.

  Her earlier flirtations obviously acceptable, Ursula pondered her next move. The unseen hand stroked her legs and torso, staying maddingly away from where she wanted it. A firm massage crossed her belly and drifted up until fingers rested below her bosom, going no further. Ursula’s breasts ached for contact.

  As they neared the east gate, Azrael’s thoughts worried her conversation with the magistrate, her caresses absent minded. It was with some amazement, therefore, when she felt a trembling hand on hers, guiding her to a delicious breast. The portly man and his rumors disappeared in a puff as she focused on the slave in her arms.

  Cupping the rounded flesh, Azrael noted a hesitant expression on Ursula who kept her eyes downcast. As she considered making things easier for the slave, the hand on hers squeezed, forcing her to do the same. To reward the bold behavior, Azrael repeated the action without prompting, thumb slowly rubbing a swollen nipple.

  Unable to stop herself, Ursula arched her shoulders back, a sigh escaping her lips. The sensation was much better than she’d hoped, the slow burn in her lower abdomen flashing into flame. She gasped as her mistress pinched her nipple between thumb and forefinger, Ursula’s grip on the dark hand clutching in surprised desire.

  The riders were ushered through the gate with little preamble. As the captains turned off the road for camp, Azrael stayed.

  “Lord?” Suma asked, turning his steed, his comrades stopping with him.

  “Go ahead,” Azrael ordered. “I’ll return later.”

  Idonatra moved his horse closer. “Will you be safe?”

  Azrael raised an eyebrow, hearing Tenango’s snicker as the large man remembered who he was speaking to and shook his head.

  “Sleep well, Lord,” he said with a salute.

  Suma remained behind a hair longer before obeying.

  Once they were well on their way to camp, Azrael returned her attention to the woman in her arms. She teased the breast she still held, reveling in the welcome gasp.