Tomorrow's Kingdom

by Maureen Fergus

  After a moment of staring, numb with shock and horror, Persephone realized that she couldn’t see a single body, living or dead. She took a cautious step forward— and then another, and another, until she was standing a pace away from the threshold of the tunnel. When she still couldn’t see anybody, she covered her mouth with her sleeve to keep from breathing in the greasy, black smoke, adjusted her grip on her dagger and stepped out of the tunnel.

  She was grabbed so fast that she was yanked clear off her feet, spun around and jerked backward before she realized what was happening. Unfortunately, by the time she did realize what was happening, her attacker already had one arm clamped across her chest to trap her arms and the other tucked firmly under her chin.

  And judging by the way he was squeezing that arm, he clearly meant to choke the life out of her, break her neck or both.

  Strangely, Persephone did not feel frightened as she squirmed and struggled for air. Instead, she felt furious that she and the baby had survived so much and come so far only to meet their ends at the hands of a brute too cowardly to face her in a fair fight. She was so furious, in fact, that, even as she began to see the black spots that spelled the end, she somehow found the strength to give her attacker a vicious heel stomp.

  The startled grunt of pain that issued from her attacker’s mouth was followed by a most welcome release of the pressure on her throat and a momentary loosening of the arm across her chest.

  Gagging and wheezing, Persephone saw her chance. Tucking in her chin so that her attacker could not resume strangling her, she was about to drive her dagger backward into his belly when she heard him inhale sharply.

  Something about the sound made Persephone hesitate. Before she could figure out what it was, a familiar voice—a voice that had whispered to her in her darkest moments over these past weeks—gasped, “Sweet mother of the gods, it’s you!”

  Persephone would have collapsed if Azriel’s arms had not been around her. But they were around her—they were, they were. Or were they? Squeezing shut her eyes, Persephone shrank back against him, her whole body trembling as she drank in the warm, solid strength of his presence, her heart filled with terror that he was nothing but a dream that would vanish the instant she turned toward him.

  “Persephone,” came Azriel’s voice in her ear.

  She dared to open her eyes, then, and risk a glance over her shoulder.

  His eyes caught hers with a force that took her breath away. Unable to tear her gaze away—even for a moment— she turned to face him with agonizing slowness, her entire being alive with the nearness of him.

  “Oh, thank god,” he said, almost choking on the words.

  Persephone knew that the moment probably called for her to say something memorable but she could think of nothing she wanted more than to feel Azriel’s lips against hers. And so she twined her arms around his neck, drew his face toward hers and kissed him. Not with the tender sweetness of a loving wife, but ferociously, hungrily, as though she’d never be able to get enough of him. Indeed, she felt as though she’d never be able to get enough of him. She was as close to him as she could be, and yet she ached with the need to feel closer to him still. And judging from the heat of his hands upon her, he needed the same thing from her. Persephone did not wonder where their passion was taking them. She knew, and she longed for it. It was the beach on the Island of Ru all over again, only this time—

  “Wait!” gasped Azriel, wrenching himself away from her.

  “What?” asked Persephone, feeling dizzier and more breathless than she’d felt when he’d been strangling her.

  Azriel said nothing, only stared down at her with a stricken expression that she did not understand.

  “What?” she asked with rising panic. “What?”

  “Rachel said … Rachel told me …,” he stammered, whispering as though he was afraid to say the words.

  “Rachel told you what?” asked Persephone. And then, just like that, she knew. Gathering Azriel’s hands in hers, she pressed them against her beating heart and said, “Rachel told you about the baby, didn’t she?”

  Azriel nodded, his whole body rigid with tension, waiting to hear what she’d say next.

  Without taking her eyes from his face, Persephone guided one of his hands down to the small swell of her belly and said, “Nothing has changed on that account. The baby lives, Azriel, and though I’ve yet to feel him move, I am as certain that he thrives as I am that he is a boy.”

  Azriel exhaled in a shuddering rush. Keeping one arm around her, he slowly crouched, pushed up the hem of her doublet and ran his fingertips back and forth across her bare belly. Laying her hand atop his auburn curls, Persephone closed her eyes and shivered at his touch.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Azriel planted a lingering kiss on her belly and stood up again. As he did so, Persephone opened her eyes to the sight of several tendrils of greasy smoke lurching forward on a puff of breeze. They reminded her that she and Azriel were not standing in their own little world but in the midst of devastation—and that she had yet to see any sign that anyone but Azriel had survived it.

  Her happiness all but extinguished by the thought, Persephone reluctantly pulled herself out of his embrace and said, “Tell me, Azriel. What happened here?”

  Azriel led Persephone over to one of the few tables that hadn’t been overturned.

  “When Rachel, Zdeno and I arrived two days past,” he began as they settled onto the bench beside the table, “everyone was gone.”

  An icy chill took hold of Persephone. “Gone?” she said, her eyes flicking to the large pile of charred bodies on the other side of the clearing. “What do you mean gone?”

  “I mean escaped,” clarified Azriel.

  Persephone gaped at him. “Escaped? Escaped how? Escaped to where? Are you trying to tell me that everyone in the tribe survived this?” she spluttered, flinging her arm outward in a sweeping arc.

  “No,” said Azriel quietly. “Everyone in the tribe did not survive this. We found Tiny at the entrance of the tunnel. Judging by the giant pair of crutches we found nearby, he’d not yet recovered from the broken legs he suffered during the avalanche.” Azriel paused before continuing in a gruff voice. “Lame as he was, though, the big man still managed to slice open half a dozen New Men before they finally took him down.”

  Persephone did not hesitate but immediately clambered onto her grieving husband’s lap and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

  “I’m sorry too,” he said. “For the death of your brother, I mean.”

  Persephone nodded, her throat tightening up as it always did when she thought of poor Finn. Then, not wanting to dwell upon this most painful subject—and feeling this was not the time to tell Azriel that she’d promised her twin that she’d fight for the throne—she deftly steered the conversation back to its earlier course. “Was Tiny the only one lost in the attack, then?”

  “No.” Azriel shook his head. “There were five others— three men, one woman and a child.”

  “A child?” said Persephone faintly, thinking of the two Gypsy children she’d known best—one, a jolly, lisping toddler and the other, a brave and stoic little orphan. “It … it wasn’t Sabian or Mateo, was it?”

  Azriel shook his head.

  Persephone nodded, relieved and not relieved, for who could take comfort in the death of any child?

  “Six dead is six too many, and yet it seems extraordinarily lucky that more were not lost, given the number of New Men who took part in the attack,” she offered, gesturing toward the pile of bodies, which she now understood must belong to dead soldiers.

  “Luck had nothing to do with it,” said Azriel. “Tangled ’round the legs of two of the butchered New Men we found pieces of string with small weights at each end.”

  Persephone stared at him, puzzled, before brightening with sudden understanding. “That sounds like the device Big Ben used to take you down during our quest for the healing pool!” she exclai
med.

  Looking a little miffed that she’d recalled with such enthusiasm the memory of him being soundly bested by a surly dwarf, Azriel said, “It was, indeed, the same device. That evidence, along with the discovery of a familiar trinket and the fact that several of the dead soldiers had pitchfork holes in their backs convinced me that the lowborn bandit Robert and his men somehow took part in the fight.”

  “What trinket did you discover?” asked Persephone, intrigued.

  Azriel reached into his pocket and withdrew the charm bracelet that—along with the silver necklace and ruby ring—Finn had given to Persephone on the day she’d set out in search of the healing pool. She’d later given the bracelet to Robert to seal her promise to him that she’d do what she could to set to rights the wrongs done to the lowborns of the realm.

  “I found the bracelet on Tiny’s forehead,” explained Azriel, handing it to her. “Robert must have put it there so we’d know where to look for Cairn and the other survivors. Within minutes of finding it, Zdeno and Rachel headed into the Great Forest to seek them out and enlist their help coming up with a plan to rescue you.”

  “Why didn’t you go with them?” asked Persephone.

  “As the only Gypsy of us three, it was my responsibility to bury my dead and burn the bodies of their murderers,” said Azriel, his arms around her tightening just a little. “I finished the task less than an hour ago.”

  “Then let us leave this place of grief at once,” she said gently.

  Azriel shook his head. “It’s too late to safely venture into the forest tonight,” he said. “Besides, I intend to see my pregnant wife well fed, rightly rested, suitably clothed and properly bedded before we go anywhere.”

  Hungry and exhausted though she was, at the mention of the last item on his “to do” list, Persephone flushed and her breath quickened. “Fed, rested, clothed and bedded— in that order?” she inquired.

  Azriel flashed his wickedest pirate smile. “No,” he purred as he drew her closer. “Not in that order, Persephone. Not in that order at all.”

  By the time the sun had set and twilight had begun creeping over the land, Azriel had only managed to accomplish one of the tasks he’d set for himself—although it was Persephone’s considered opinion that he’d performed it very, very well indeed.

  Intent upon accomplishing a second task—namely, to see his pregnant wife well fed—Azriel slid from the bed where they’d spent their awkward first night together as husband and wife. From the tangle of sheets in which she was lying, content beyond measure, Persephone yawned and feebly protested that as the wife, it was her duty to get him supper. Silencing her protests with a long, deep kiss, Azriel bundled her into a heavy quilt, carried her outside and set her down beside the fire pit behind the hut. A moment later, he had a blazing fire going, and a surprisingly short time after that—time Persephone used to offhandedly recount to her horrified husband all she’d endured since her abduction—supper was served. The bounty would have been enough to make Persephone weep if she’d not been so intent upon filling her belly. In addition to juicy pieces of roast venison cut from the young deer Azriel had brought down the previous day, there was all manner of food salvaged from the camp stores—ladlefuls of thick pottage, boiled eggs and sausages smothered in syrup, wedges of cheese and hunks of week-old bread that didn’t have a speck of green on them.

  “I want you to know that I’ll never forgive myself for almost having killed you,” Azriel said for the thousandth time as he refilled her platter and handed it to her.

  “Really, you must stop fretting about that,” said Persephone, using a piece of meat to gesture dismissively. “I almost killed you too, and you don’t see me fretting about it, do you?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, I don’t,” said Azriel disapprovingly.

  Persephone laughed and flicked a cheese rind in his direction.

  “By the way,” said Azriel, ducking the rind. “That infernal hawk of yours found us in Parthania—”

  “Ivan found you?” exclaimed Persephone, thrilled to know for a certainty that at least one of her animal friends was alive and well.

  “He did,” confirmed Azriel, looking considerably less thrilled than she. “He followed us almost the entire way here, and even though he behaved quite as rudely and disrespectfully as he’s ever behaved toward me, I did my best to honour my promise to take care of him.”

  Setting down her platter, Persephone clutched the quilt around her with one hand while she awkwardly leaned over and gave Azriel a kiss. He responded by kissing her passionately and suggesting something she might want to do if she was truly grateful. With a scandalized squeak, Persephone wriggled away from him, picked up her platter and, with exaggerated dignity, resumed eating.

  “Speaking of honouring promises,” said Azriel. “I wish to state for the record that I was not best pleased when you snuck away to face Mordecai on your own after you promised me that we’d face him together.”

  “I didn’t mean to lie to you. Or rather, I did mean to lie to you, but I did not want to lie to you,” said Persephone, who was determined to always tell him the truth from now on. “It’s just … you gave me no choice, Azriel. Mordecai would’ve killed you if you’d accompanied me to the palace that day, I know he would have, and I simply could not allow that to happen. The important thing to remember is that—”

  “You were coming back to me,” said Azriel.

  “Yes,” said Persephone.

  Azriel’s eyes glowed like blue flames at this, but all he said was, “Be that as it may, pregnant or not, it would serve you right if I up and gave you a good, sound spanking.”

  “A spanking?” said Persephone, grinning as she recalled how he’d made the very same threat on that long-ago night she’d caught him trying to steal a chicken from the owner’s barn. “That is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” she said now, repeating the same words she’d said then—but saying them in an altogether more teasing, provocative manner. “You—wouldn’t—dare.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t I?” growled Azriel, pouncing on her so suddenly that she almost shrieked.

  “Well,” she said breathlessly as he eased her onto her back and began kissing her neck, “maybe you would, at that.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  SHORTLY BEFORE DAWN next morning, Persephone awoke to the sight of Azriel standing at the end of the bed holding up a full-skirted, fawn-coloured gown.

  “Good morning to you, wife,” he murmured, his eyes roving over her in the most delicious fashion.

  “Good morning to you, husband,” she replied with a sleepy smile. “That is a lovely gown you have there, though I must tell you I’m not sure it’ll fit you across the shoulders.”

  “The gown is not for me, Persephone, it is for you— as are the cloak and boots,” declared Azriel, gesturing toward the pile of items laid across the foot of the bed. “Last night after you fell asleep, I removed your treasures from the pocket of the New Man uniform you’d been wearing and burnt the hateful thing to a cinder. While I, personally, would like nothing better than to see you traipsing through the Great Forest wearing nothing but the scabbard at your thigh, the silver necklace around your neck, the ruby ring upon your finger and that pretty smile, I thought perhaps you might prefer—”

  His words were cut short by the faint but unmistakeable sound of dozens of male voices in the tunnel beneath the falls.

  Jumping to her feet, Persephone unsheathed her dagger from its scabbard (she’d worn both to bed) and tossed it to one side. Grabbing the gown out of Azriel’s hands, she threw it on, shoved her treasures into the skirt pocket, pulled on the fringed doeskin boots, swung the cloak over her shoulders and snatched up her dagger. Then she pushed her hair back from her face, looked up at Azriel and breathlessly announced that she was ready to go.

  “Why do I have a feeling that you’re not going to be content to spend the next five months sitting in a rocking chair knitting baby booties?” asked Azriel dryly.


  “Probably because I’m not,” she replied, thinking of the dangerous fight for the throne that lay ahead.

  Grimacing slightly at her response, Azriel grabbed her free hand and together they slipped outside.

  Because the hut was set farther back in the woods, Persephone and Azriel managed to slip into the gloom of the forest without being spotted by the soldiers who’d no doubt come in search of their comrades.

  As they made their way into the Great Forest, Azriel set a slightly less gruelling pace than he normally did when they were travelling with a purpose. Partly this was due to his concern for his pregnant wife and partly this was because he needed to be sure that they were following the correct trail. Since Robert’s gang and the fleeing Gypsies had been too many to travel without leaving a discernible trail, they’d done the next best thing: they’d left many discernible trails, so many trails that only a masterful tracker would be able to deduce the direction in which they’d actually gone—and even then, only if he were lucky.

  Several times throughout the day Persephone tried to find the words to tell Azriel about the promise she’d made to Finn, but each time, her courage failed her. She did not think Azriel would be angry, but she could not imagine he’d be pleased. She was too early in her pregnancy to consider waiting until after the birth of the baby to seek the throne. The realm could not wait five months for a new ruler, and Mordecai would not wait five months. His plan to gain the throne by marrying her had failed, but Persephone had no doubt that he had a backup plan— one that almost certainly involved the shedding of blood, starting with hers.

  Persephone knew that putting off telling Azriel about the promise was not exactly in keeping with the spirit of complete honesty, but she consoled herself with the knowledge that he’d made no mention of the obvious fact that as the dead king’s only living relative, her claim to the throne was a strong one.

  It was as if, by mutual accord, they were avoiding speaking of the dangers tomorrow might hold that they might better enjoy the sweet, fleeting moments of today.