by S. A. Ravel
Guess I’ll be running a skeleton staff for a while longer…
The ferryman, a human, turned to Abella. “I’m taking some of the women to the next island for supplies. If you need anything, this is the last chance before morning.”
Abella couldn’t think of anything she needed, but she wasn’t ready to go back to the Skyhall either.
“Thank you,” she said. Some time on the water might make her feel a little less overwhelmed.
As Abella stepped onto the boat, the sky darkened. The boat rocked violently, it’s bow slapping against the wooden planks of the dock. Abella gripped the side and tried not to show fear. There was enough of it in the village women’s faces.
The ferryman shook his head and glanced toward the Skyhall in concern. “Aftershock,” he muttered.
Once she was aboard, the ferry crossing was underway. The further out the boat traveled, the worse the weather became. That seemed backwards to Abella, but she dismissed her own confusion. She was no expert on the weather, much less the weather patterns on Ailaut. But the village women and ferryman looked just as concerned.
“Look!” a woman cried.
Abella glanced in the direction she pointed and saw an Aikalaan racing toward the boat, his hands plastered to his side to increase his speed. As he came closer, Abella realized it was Luqmun.
He hovered over the dock and scooped Abella into his arms.
“Hey! Let go!” She tried to squirm away but stopped fighting the second he took off over the water again.
He flew back toward the dock, depositing her unceremoniously on the planks.
Rage and fire shot through her veins. It was one thing for Luqmun to talk down to her, it was another for him to just… pluck her from where she was like a toddler, without even a hi, or a do you mind.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.
“The Archan has—”
“I’m not talking about the Archan! I’m talking about you!”
The expression in his eyes was flat. “The Archan demands to see you.”
“And you couldn’t just tell me that? You had to drag me kicking and screaming off a boat? You scared the hell out of those people!”
Luqmun’s wings twitched slightly, feathers ruffling. “I serve at the Archan’s pleasure. Not theirs and certainly not yours.”
He moved as if to scoop her into his arms again and paused. “Do I have your permission?” The sarcasm was thicker than cookie butter.
“I have a transport.” He opened his mouth and she cut him off. “Oh, my God, don’t say irrelevant! Yes, come on.”
They flew toward the tower. Abella didn’t fidget this time, mostly because she was sure the Vicelord wouldn’t hesitate to drop her and make her walk back. He landed on the penthouse balcony and set her back on her feet.
“Archan,” he said with a small bow before he took off again.
Abella was so angry that she stormed through the balcony archway, intent to give her boss a piece of her mind. If he fired her, so be it.
The words died in her mouth as she locked eyes with Ishaiq. His were cloudy and unfocused. That, combined with the glow of power, the thick aura in the air surrounding him as if even the wind bowed when in his presence sent a shiver of fear down her spine. What tethered him? What prevented him from going completely raving mad and destroying them all?
“Archan. You requested my presence?”
She pulled from the depths of her years of training in elbowing with politicians and High Tier society, speaking in carefully modulated, formal tones. When he looked at her, it occurred to Abella that she was alone on a glass tower floating in the air merely by the will of a crazy man. The sudden knowledge of the secret of the tower brought fear on its heels. The Archans powered their towers? If humans learned of this… she shied away from the thought, focusing on the beautiful, crazy man who could crush her like a bug.
And she didn’t understand when Ishaiq wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled their bodies together, the suddenness of his lips over hers, jarring. He kissed her like a man seeking an answer, not like a man seeking release in a female body. There was no instinct to say no. And this time, when his mind covered hers, it was with the gentleness of a spring rain rather than the thunder of a summer storm.
Even though Abella knew the kiss wasn’t about her, her body responded. How couldn’t it? He was a beautiful, powerful man and held her as if she was important.
Ishaiq pulled away, though his wings continued to enclose her. “I think,” he said, “that you will be my anchor. Is that not strange?”
He brushed past her and leaped through the open balcony, taking flight in midair. He hovered for a few seconds, looking down at her with eyes like a maelstrom, but with a clear beam of sanity shining through. “Do not try to leave the island again, Abella. Not while I am… in this state. I may not be able to contain my rage if you do.”
She ran forward a few steps as he lifted further into the air. “Wait! Am I imprisoned here forever?”
His answer drifted down on the wind. “Not forever.”
6
Abella dumped a bucket of dirty water down the drain with one hand and pulled the apron string over her neck with the other. If she hustled, she could get washed and changed in fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, she only had five to spare. With many of the villagers busy repairing the damage to the market district, the staff couldn’t start until near the end of the week. Only the cook, a kind middle-aged woman Abella met on the first day, agreed to start early. Getting the Skyhall back into shape would be a long process, but Abella was confident that she could handle it.
At least, she was confident until that morning, when Luqmun told her guests were on the way. Goddamn Luqmun for his snobbery in insisting the place be washed by hand. It was all the rage among the High Tiers on Earth, being able to afford actual humans rather than bots to do menial labor. Supposedly, it was charming.
“The Archan will be taking a mate soon,” he said. “She and her escort should arrive this evening.”
She ignored the mild shock that came with the discovery that Ishaiq was engaged in favor of the sheer panic at having to receive guests. “What will they expect? Where will they stay? Should I prepare a suite?”
“The Archan will expect impeccable attention and care be paid to his intended,” Luqmun said with a pointed look. “As for what Binita Seri expects, I wouldn’t hazard a guess, but I’m sure she will make her pleasure or displeasure at your preparations readily known.”
Luqmun’s statements weren’t helpful, but then he hadn’t been particularly warm toward Abella since Ishaiq’s return. She hadn’t expected to be friends with the stuffy Aikalaan, but the constant chill in his voice and eyes whenever they spoke took her by surprise. If he was worried about her usurping his position with Ishaiq, he didn’t need to be. Abella hadn’t seen her employer since the night before when he’d kissed her then flown off to who knew where.
She hadn’t seen him, but she’d felt him. Always there, his presence in the back of her mind like a well-worn blanket. Or a barnacle.
Fortunately, she didn’t have time to dwell on Luqmun’s icy reception or Ishaiq’s confusing behavior. When Seri became Lady of the Skyhall, she would be Abella’s boss. That officially made her visit a job interview, one that Abella couldn’t afford to blow.
She raced out of her room. The cook, Mirabel, stood beside the door. She’d changed into a clean apron and combed her hair. Neither Luqmun nor Ishaiq were anywhere to be seen.
Two Aikalah, a man and a woman, stood in the courtyard. The man’s wings were painted the same brilliant red as the dock enforcement officers, but he had a different air about him: haughty, and completely sure of his status even when he stood in front of another man’s castle. Honey-brown hair brushed his shoulders, the same shade of hair as the silent woman at his side.
He glanced at Abella, dismissive. Nearly disdainful. “Where is Archan Ishaiq?”
Abella swallowed her irrit
ation at the lack of common manners. He didn’t even introduce himself, as if there was shame in courtesy to staff.
“The Archan is resting, Bwanan,” she said, bowing her head slightly. The gesture felt strange to her, but according to the primer, the Aikalah were sticklers for formality between their kind and humans. “My name is Abella. I’m happy to escort… the Lady… to her suite.”
“I will not hand my sister over to a human like a piece of meat. Where is the Archan?”
Abella smiled, mostly certain the expression was a pleasant one. “As I said, he is—”
“The Vicelord then. Where is Luqmun?”
“I have no idea where the Vicelord is. Maybe under the nearest bridge, or perhaps he jumped off a nearby cliff.”
She winced, internally, at the increasing sharpness of her tone, desperately trying to rein in her temper even as the angel’s eyes narrowed and he took a step forward.
“Abella,” Ishaiq said, stepping into the courtyard. His voice was mild, eyes piercing as he glanced at her. Eyes that were calm, despite the slight shadows beneath them and the subtle hollows in his cheeks. Was he even eating? He looked as if his body burned through fuel without replacement.
He’d said her name again, in that low familiar tone. Her heart rate quickened as he approached, stepping in front of her, the movement casual. And fooling no one.
“Archan,” the angel said, making the honorific almost an insult. “You should discipline your servants.”
“She serves. She is not a servant.”
Ishaiq said something in his native tongue, a word which Abella had never heard before. Whatever the word meant, Ushop seemed to understand it. His head jerked back as if slapped, the glow of anger in his eyes.
“If the servants available to you are of such poor quality, how can I leave my sister in your care?”
The woman at his side placed a slim hand on his arm, though she said nothing.
Ishaiq’s wings ruffled. “I wasn’t aware the Red concerned themselves with sovereign domestic matters. You have yet to introduce your sister to me.”
The woman stepped forward, forestalling her brother. “May I, Archan?” She bowed. “I am Seri, daughter of Eloh and Nissa. Forgive my brother’s manners. The flight was longer than we are accustomed to, and I’m afraid hunger and fatigue have made us poor guests.”
“I’ve never known your brother to be a particularly graceful guest, Lady.” Ishaiq held up a hand. “It doesn’t matter. We all serve, in some capacity, even the Conclave.” Ishaiq’s thin smile chilled. “Welcome to my Skyhall.”
Seri bowed again and Abella took pity on her. The men weren’t going to, evidently, get involved in their own private sniping which obviously was born of years of ill will.
“Archan, perhaps Lady Seri would like some light refreshment before dining?”
Seri clasped her hands together, smiling at Abella. A small smile, but genuine. Evidently, she’d inherited all the grace in the family. “Whatever you can arrange would be lovely.”
As she spoke, Seri arranged herself between the two men, so that she stood at Ishaiq’s side. She brushed her fingers lightly across the Archan’s arm.
“Shulawan, would you join me? I understand you are newly Awakened.”
And anyone could tell he needed to eat something. Ishaiq’s gaze turned from Ushop to Seri and back. The tension in his shoulders eased, but his eyes didn’t soften. “Of course,” he said.
He glanced at Abella and for a moment, she felt the phantom of invisible fingers on her cheek, a brief soothing caress followed by a press of lips on her own. A simple gesture, a powerful acknowledgement. And then his wings flapped, lifting him from the ground and carrying him upward to the penthouse balcony. Ushop followed first, Seri lingered. She turned to Abella, her expression more serious than it had been before.
“Nothing stronger than wine,” she said. “Ushop will want to return home to his pasanzi before dinner, I expect, and I prefer they don’t argue any more than their natures demand.”
It took Abella a moment to unfreeze from the unexpectedness of an Archan treating her with the ease of an old lover. She forced herself to focus and nodded as Seri took flight, following the Ishaiq and her brother.
“I don’t think that man intends to be a good guest at all,” Mirabel said.
Abella looked up the side of the tower. She could see the underside of the balcony, but not the three Aikalah that were no doubt making themselves comfortable.
“I don’t think she plans on giving him a choice,” she said. “Please tell me you really did start dinner.”
Mirabel seemed offended that Abella asked. “Of course, I have.”
“Good. I’ll get a snack together.”
The time it took her to assemble a tray of food, Abella used to calm her nerves. All things considered, Seri seemed like a nice enough woman, but apparently, Ushop didn’t approve of servants who were considered actual people and not floormats. What was it with Aikalah men? She hadn’t read that they were so… rude. Maybe it was just her luck.
The sound of the chimes by the front door that served as a doorbell pulled Abella from her spiraling thoughts. A muscular man waited on the other side of the doorway. He wore the same light, simple clothes that most of the villagers wore, but his dark, curly hair fell to his shoulders. Most of the men in the village kept their hair cropped close, thanks to the sun and heat of the island. He reminded her of a stereotypical California dude.
“Delivery for the big guy,” he said, a smile spreading across his lips. “And you must be the new housekeeper.”
She slapped a hand to her forehead. “I forgot! I placed an order for appetizers already.” She glanced at the tray she’d already prepared and then shrugged and reached for the canvas bags in his hands. “Word travels fast around here.”
“Small towns, big mouths, and all that.” He shrugged as he looked over her shoulder at the empty hallway. “Where’s the staff?”
Before Abella had time to consider the question, a rush of words spilled from her lips. “Everyone I’ve hired is busy fixing the market district and if I don’t get this plated and upstairs in about two seconds, I’ll be back home on the next thing steaming. So—”
The man’s eyebrows shot upward. “You mean it’s just you? Serving the big guy?”
Abella nodded. “Well, Mirabel and I.”
The man brushed past her into the hallway. “Come on, I’ve dished up slop to more fancy events than I care to count. I’ll help.”
A stranger helping serve honored guests probably violated some rule of Aikalah etiquette, but Abella needed the extra hands too much to turn the delivery boy down. The cafe owner had sent sliced fruits and small bites both sweet and savory, all of which they transferred to plates and carried to the elevator. She heard heated voices as the elevator rose to the upper floor.
“Even you can’t flout the will of the Conclave,” Ushop said. “The edict is clear—and the consequences for ignoring it.”
The red-winged Aikalaan stood next to his seated sister, his arms folded across his chest. Seri seemed calm, though from the flush of her cheeks, Abella guessed that such outbursts weren’t common among their kind.
Ishaiq, by contrast, lounged in his backless chair and looked utterly disinterested in the discussion. “I’ve ignored more petty edicts from the Conclave than you’ve swived females, Red.” The Archan glanced at Abella, eyes lingering on his new helper. He waved his hand, beckoning them to enter.
Abella didn’t look at Ushop or Seri as she set up a small table and laid out the dishes. Maybe if she didn’t look at the Red Wing, she wouldn’t be tempted to spill something sticky on his chest.
“Like your servant?” Ushop said, his voice a distinct masculine nasty that put her back up. The kind of nasty a girl didn’t want to meet intoxicated, in the dark, after a frat party.
Abella set the tray of wine on the table and bowed deeply. “Archan, do you require anything else?”
Ishaiq looked a
t her, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “You may go.”
Abella grabbed the delivery man by the arm and headed for the elevator as fast as she dared. When they were back on the ground floor, he whistled and shook his head.
“Boy, to be a fly on the wall up there. I’ve always wondered what angels sound like when they argue. Hey—I wouldn’t want to be alone in the room when changing Red’s sheets, if you get me?”
She grimaced. “Don’t let them hear you say that. Even if it’s true. What was your name again?”
“Dakota,” he said.
“I don’t have any money to tip you, but tell the cafe owner to add the standard to the bill.”
Dakota waved a hand. “Nah, no need for a tip. Just trying to help a friend.”
Abella raised an eyebrow. “I don’t normally make friends so easily.”
He grinned and shrugged. “A drink in town could fix that. Come on, I’m sure you could use a breather from the celestial tantrum up there.”
She glanced back at the lift. The truth was she desperately wanted a minute away. From Ushop and his ranting, from Luqmun and his chilly glances and icy words, even from Ishaiq and her subconscious desire, grating on her nerves every time she was in his presence.
Abella shook her head. “Thank you, but I should stay here until they’ve had dinner at least.”
“Well, if you won’t talk to me, you should at least talk to your family. Do you ever call your family?”
“Wouldn’t call them family, except for the related by blood part.”
Dakota frowned. He grabbed the empty canvas bags and balled them up in his hands. “Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be around the village.”
“That’s sweet of you,” she said as she walked him to the courtyard garage. “But honestly, I’m fine.”
