by Jane Kindred
Vasily remained on his knees, though he moved his hands from his head and rested his head on his arms, weeping against the blanket. He’d never done something so foolish before. He’d hurt Belphagor. Why hadn’t he just stopped to think before letting Silk spank him? He would have realized they’d never done it before, and there was probably a reason. And to say to Belphagor it was only a spanking—he’d wanted to bite his tongue as soon as the words were out. To Belphagor, sex was the impersonal activity; spanking was intimacy. Vasily probably could have been bent over the bar at the Stone Horse while every demon and angel in the place lined up to have their way with him, and Belphagor wouldn’t have cared, so long as it was something Vasily wanted.
He waited on his knees for Belphagor to return. Surely leaving him to think about what he’d done was just part of the punishment. He’d return in a moment for some fierce, angry fucking to show Vasily he owned him and tell him he still loved him. But as the minutes wore on, he began to doubt Belphagor was coming back anytime soon. He hadn’t ordered Vasily to stay where he was, he realized, as he usually did. He’d just left.
When half an hour had passed, Vasily got to his feet and climbed into bed. His ass stung too much to lie on it, so he lay on his stomach. He’d come back to the room to get some more sleep before heading to a secret meeting Gaspard had finally invited him to this afternoon. He’d meant to tell Belphagor all about it. But there was no way he was sleeping now. Even if it weren’t for the throbbing pain in his ass, all he could do was repeat his own stupid words in his head, and Belphagor’s to him, in a circle of miserable self-recrimination. No matter how intense things had gotten, no matter how harsh Belphagor’s actions had seemed, he had never felt he was truly being punished before. And he’d never been so certain he deserved it.
Belphagor still wasn’t back by the time Vasily had to head out. Gaspard had told him to arrive early to his house. His attendance at the meeting was likely to put the angels off, so Gaspard wanted him to play the part of his houseboy—something Vasily was sure the merchant would prefer to have him be in earnest.
Gaspard greeted him with a kiss on each cheek, an intimate gesture he hadn’t been afforded before, and provided him with a uniform. How Gaspard had managed to come up with one in his size, Vasily had no idea. He changed into it gingerly, glad Gaspard had given him some privacy. Putting on his jeans earlier had been uncomfortable, but it smarted something awful taking them off.
Gaspard briefly instructed him in how he was to behave as houseboy—seen and not heard seemed to be key. Vasily opened the door for the guests as they arrived, bowing his head as he stood aside to let them in. The demons who’d met him at Gaspard’s salons merely glanced at him quizzically, while the angels visibly started. These were not the angels who frequented the Stone Horse, or even the sort he’d briefly encountered at Duke Elyon’s affairs. They were true aristocrats from the upper echelon of society, along with a number of military Powers, and even a Virtue from the Princedom of Aravoth in the north.
Vasily found it difficult not to stare at this angel. He’d never seen a Virtue before. They seemed to be as different from the other orders as the elemental firespirits. The angel’s snowy white skin had a luminous quality—not the glow of a firespirit, but a kind of sheen when the light caught it. The eyes were a shimmering silver, and the hair a true platinum that hung halfway down the angel’s back. The Virtue called himself Auria—neither the name nor the physical presentation gave Vasily a clear indication of the angel’s sex, illuminated only when Gaspard referred to Auria as “he”.
Auria was the only angel who smiled and nodded at Vasily in greeting, as if Vasily himself were nothing out of the ordinary. He moved with extraordinary grace, and his voice was as sexually indeterminate as the rest of him, including his long white gown. It reminded Vasily of the paintings of angels he’d seen in the cathedrals of the world of Man. Perhaps the painters of the icons had seen a Virtue once—though he couldn’t fathom a Virtue falling.
Standing off to the side to await Gaspard’s instructions once the guests had been seated in the parlor, Vasily realized he’d been listening to Auria’s voice without hearing his words until a startling phrase registered.
“Sefira must not carry this child to term.”
One of the Powers leaned forward in his seat. “Surely, you’re not suggesting—”
“I’m not suggesting anything.” Auria smiled disarmingly. “I’m merely stating a fact. If the queen delivers an heir, there will be no support for Lebes’s ascension. The Traditionalist mission will be rendered moot.”
“We have no reason to believe it will be an heir. She’s failed three times already.”
“Are you willing to take that chance?” Auria smoothed the skirt of his gown, and his long, slender fingers were nearly mesmerizing. “Either way, we must act quickly. We cannot expect Lebes himself to take action against his brother. He must be encouraged.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” asked one of the other angels.
“We must give him a reason to believe Helison must be deposed. We must let him see what comes of having demonic sympathies.”
Devyataya
The Ereline Palace was very different from the architecture of Elysium. The little duchy had a quaintness to it, like a village from an earlier time, and the palace had been built like a miniature fortress, with stone walls surrounding it, though the space where a gate might once have kept marauders out now welcomed visitors through a broad opening onto the palace courtyard from the marble setts of the highway beyond. Phaleg’s coach wasn’t even challenged as they passed through, though the likelihood trouble would come in a supernal coach was slim.
Young Ruslan had watched with fascination through the window as they traveled, having seen little of Heaven, but he sat back primly with his hands in his lap as they drew close to the palace. His role had been well rehearsed. The idea was to make it seem Soluzen had raised Ruslan in his household with the same expectations as his legitimate children.
The grand duke came out to meet them as they stepped down from the coach. He greatly resembled his elder brother, except he kept his face clean-shaven but for a neatly trimmed mustache. As Phaleg straightened after he’d bowed, he saw Lebes was also a few inches taller than Helison.
“Welcome to Iriy,” said the grand duke graciously. “I trust your travel was pleasant?”
“Very pleasant, Your Supernal Highness. Nothing like the smooth marble of the Eastern Road.”
“Ah, of course, you’ve been through Iriy before on your way to the Academy in Asphodel. All roads lead to Elysium, as they say.” Lebes glanced at his companions with interest. “My brother sent word you’d be coming with the tutor for Kae, but who else have we here?”
Soluzen stepped forward and bowed once more. “May it please Your Supernal Highness, upon His Supernal Majesty’s advice, I’ve brought a handmaiden for the grand duchess to help her in her confinement. Anzhela is a member of our household staff. Her family has been with us for generations, and she’s very capable and trustworthy.”
Anzhela curtseyed, and Lebes nodded his approval as he looked her over. “Send my thanks to the principality, Major Phaleg. Very thoughtful of him. And this young man?”
Ruslan gave him a graceful bow as if he’d been in the company of royalty all his life.
“My son, Ruslan,” said Soluzen.
Lebes lifted his eyebrows. “Your son?”
“His mother was a youthful dalliance of mine. He’s been raised as a companion to my other boys, but as I’m sure you understand, his presence has become somewhat more difficult for my wife to tolerate as he grows older. With your permission, I present him to you as a companion for the little grand duke. He’ll make a fine page.”
Lebes frowned slightly. “Come here, boy,” he ordered. Ruslan scurried forward, and the grand duke inspected him as one might a horse, opening his mouth to check his teeth, and feathering his hands through the boy’s hair. This latter action puzz
led Phaleg until he recalled with a slight blush what Belphagor had told him about the parasites demons sometimes carried when they didn’t have access to proper hygiene. The grand duke was checking for lice.
The tutor looked perturbed. “As I said, Your Supernal Highness, Ruslan has been raised in my household among my own boys.”
Lebes dismissed the boy with a glance and nodded to Soluzen. “We all have our indiscretions, I suppose. I’m sure my son will enjoy the company of someone close to his age.” Phaleg let out a breath he’d been holding. “My wife is confined to her bed at the moment. Physician’s orders. She’s had some swelling in her feet.” Lebes snapped his fingers, and a servant scuttled forward. “Escort the young lady to Her Supernal Highness and inform her the girl is at her disposal.”
“Very good, sire.” The servant bowed and turned in toward the palace, and Anzhela fell into step behind him.
“My son, however, is anxiously awaiting your arrival.” Lebes smiled at the tutor. “Come. We’ll see what he makes of your Ruslan.” The grand duke gestured to Phaleg as he headed inside and Phaleg hurried to keep up. “Major Phaleg, will you dine with us? We’re just about to have tea.”
“Certainly, Your Supernal Highness. I’d be honored. Though I must head back to Elysium afterward. I’m afraid the principality can’t spare me any longer.”
“No need for formalities, Major. Call me Lebes.”
Just inside the grand foyer, a young boy stood stiffly at attention. The fair, wispy curls and gray-blue eyes were just a shade pale of the hallmark of the House of Arkhangel’sk. His eyes widened as Ruslan came into view behind the tutor, and he stared with frank fascination.
“May I present my son, Grand Duke Kae,” said Lebes fondly, putting a hand on his head. “Kae, this is your tutor, Master Soluzen. He’s brought a companion for you.” He glanced at Soluzen. “What was his name again?”
“Ruslan, Your Supernal Highness.” The tutor pushed the boy forward, and Ruslan bowed before Kae as he’d been instructed.
Kae, curious, stepped closer. “How old are you?”
“Ten, Your Supernal Highness,” said Ruslan.
“Are you a demon?”
Ruslan glanced up at the tutor, as if uncertain of his own status.
“What have I told you, Kae?” Lebes scolded. “Is that a polite term?”
“Sorry, sir.” Kae cringed under his father’s disapproval. “I meant Fallen.”
“Ruslan is of mixed blood,” said Lebes in a kinder tone. “So, yes, that makes him Fallen. Why don’t you show him your rooms while I discuss your curriculum with Master Soluzen?”
Kae shrugged. “Come on, then,” he said in a rather supernal tone, and turned toward the corridor without waiting to see if Ruslan would follow.
“I think they’ll get on excellently,” said Lebes.
By the time tea was served, Lebes’s prediction proved correct. Kae and Ruslan arrived at the table giggling, though Ruslan quickly silenced his, shy in the elder grand duke’s presence. Kae proudly showed his father the gift Ruslan had brought him: a lovely jade keepsake box. Phaleg couldn’t imagine where the boy had obtained such an object, but he suspected Ruslan had been picking up tricks from Belphagor. Wherever it had come from, Kae seemed to adore it, and Lebes seemed pleased Ruslan had been so thoughtful.
Afterward, Phaleg looked in on Anzhela and found her helping Grand Duchess Tsirya with her layette. Tsirya paused in her embroidery and held out a hand to Phaleg as he bowed to her in the doorway.
“Major Phaleg, please come in.” Her smile was infectious. Queen Sefira had a tendency toward introversion, only letting down her guard to reveal her playful nature among close family, which had given her a reputation for dourness. It wasn’t surprising Lebes’s wife was the more beloved in the princedom. “Thank you so much for bringing Anzhela to help me out. We’re getting along famously already, aren’t we, dear?” She beamed at Anzhela, who sat on a stool beside the grand duchess’s bed, and Anzhela smiled and nodded.
“It was the principality’s idea,” said Phaleg. “I can’t take the credit.”
“Ah, but you found the tutor for my son, and had you not, there would be no Anzhela for Helison to send.” Her gray-blue eyes, the same as her son’s, twinkled beneath the same fair curls. Kae favored her a great deal. She took up her embroidery once more. “It was very kind of Master Soluzen to bring his boy here to keep my little Kae company. I’m afraid he hasn’t many peers in Iriy, and with me confined to my bed, he’s been rather lonely. He misses his little cousins.”
“I’m sure they’ll be glad to see him when you return to Elysium.”
Tsirya smiled and patted her round belly. “That all depends on this little one. If he makes an early appearance, we may be delayed.”
“Of course. Well, we hope to see you soon.” Phaleg bowed. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“And you, Major Phaleg. My brother-in-law is obviously well served by your loyalty.”
The phrase struck him as unusual as he headed back downstairs. Had there been an implication she suspected him of planting spies on Helison’s behalf?
At the bottom of the staircase, Lebes awaited him. “Major Phaleg, if you might pass along a message to my brother, I’d appreciate it.”
He paused. “Certainly, my lord.”
Lebes fixed him with a shrewd gaze. “Whatever it is he suspects me of, he needn’t worry. I have never had any designs on the throne.” Phaleg paled, uncertain how to respond. “You have no idea how freeing it is not to be saddled with supernal responsibilities. I wouldn’t trade what I have for anything.”
“My lord, I don’t think—”
“Don’t be disingenuous, my dear fellow. I’m not offended Helison wants to keep an eye on me. His position isn’t any easy one. I’d simply like to set his mind at ease, if it’s all possible. I’m his loyal subject, just as you are.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Phaleg pondered the grand duke’s response on the tedious journey back to the capital. It certainly didn’t seem Lebes was party to anything his supporters might be planning.
But as he drew closer to Elysium, his thoughts were less on the sons of the ruling house of Heaven and more occupied with a demon. Silk had essentially given him a command performance to report to him as soon as he arrived. And he wanted to keep Phaleg all night to do with as he pleased. By the time he reached the bridge over the Acheron to Raqia, Phaleg was trembling with anticipation and fear, imagining himself tied down, naked and at Silk’s mercy, a sex toy for a demon whore.
Belphagor hadn’t spoken about the spanking afterward, and Vasily was afraid to broach the subject. Since Belphagor was behaving as if it hadn’t happened, Vasily supposed he’d have to do the same. He’d certainly learned his lesson; he could barely sit for a week. Belphagor, on the other hand, seemed tense, though it appeared to have nothing to do with Vasily. He’d reported what he’d learned at Gaspard’s salon, but Belphagor could do nothing with the information until Phaleg returned. It seemed clear that at least some of Lebes’s followers intended harm to the queen, and carrying the burden of that knowledge without being able to do anything about it must be weighing on him.
Belphagor had some kind of special wingcasting match planned for the evening, however, so Vasily was on his own. He headed to the Stone Horse, hoping to play with Silk—and set out clear rules about what they could and couldn’t do—but found Phaleg had just returned, and Silk had taken the night off. Gaspard hadn’t yet made an appearance either, so Vasily hung about with the demons who were between clients, which turned out to be fortuitous. Apparently, a number of them had arranged engagements with revolutionary sympathizers to be conducted while Silk was away, which confirmed what Vasily had begun to suspect: that Silk was unaware of these secret meetings. Belphagor would be happy to hear it.
Gaspard arrived eventually, pleased to see Vasily, and was in the mood for something daring. He wanted to be pleasured beyond the confines of the Stone Horse for a
change. The Brimstone seemed the safest place. The dark interior, drunken clientele and the distraction of the games were the perfect cover for a toss-off beneath a table. Gaspard wanted the thrill of exposure without fear of truly being exposed.
When they arrived, a crowd had gathered around the master table, and Vasily saw with an unpleasant start that Belphagor sat opposite Kezef. Intently focused on their game, neither demon looked up. Vasily led Gaspard to a bench table below the front windows of the tavern, an ideal spot for not being seen while giving the feeling of being right out in the open. Why hadn’t Belphagor told him he was playing that piece of shit? To keep him from worrying or getting pissed, Vasily supposed. Which was precisely what he was doing now, in alternating waves.
He tried to ignore them, but the gasps and hoots from the spectators at the end of each move made it difficult. Once their drinks arrived, Gaspard drew Vasily’s hand beneath the table and guided him to his eager erection. Vasily unbuttoned the merchant’s pants with deft fingers and closed his warm palm about the exposed cock. Gaspard covered a gasp with a quick sip of his brandy.
“Looks like demons are placing wagers on the game your Belphagor is playing,” Gaspard managed. Vasily stroked the cock, and Gaspard gripped the edge of the table. “Perhaps we should lay odds on the game.”
“No point,” said Vasily. “Belphagor always wins.” He took a swig of his mead while he pumped his hand in Gaspard’s lap.
Gaspard let out a soft groan and grabbed his drink again, only able to speak after he’d taken a large swallow. “All the more reason to lay—oh, sweet Heaven.” Sweat had broken out on his lip. “You have to let up,” he murmured. “Someone will see.”
“No one cares what we’re doing over here. I guarantee it.” Vasily slowed his hand. “Do you really want me to let up?”
