"Go away, Zeriel."
"I've been searching all over Krenoa Island for you."
"Maybe I didn't want to be found."
Zeriel pushed past him then pointed at the giggling girls. "Get out of here, both of you."
The red-haired woman crossed her arms across her chest and frowned. "We haven't been paid yet."
Zeriel turned to glare in both frustration and disbelief at Jaylen before fishing a coin purse from his belt and throwing it on the bed in front of the courtesans. "There. Now leave."
Once the women were gone, Jaylen growled and wrapped his loose robe back around himself, not even caring to tie it. He stretched out on the messy bed with his right hand propping up his head so he could look at his overly-concerned angel. "So, you wanna join in next time?"
Zeriel's scowl reflected his utter disgust. "Your wife has been dead for barely five days and you choose to destroy yourself in this self-abuse and laziness?"
"Laziness? You think I've been lazy? I'm all good. Everything is perfectly fine."
"You're in denial."
"Denial?" Jaylen waved his hand dismissively. "Denial about what? What could I possibly be in denial about?"
"Kato's death."
"So what? I don't have time to think about that. Despite your misinformed conclusions, I have been working these past five days and I have managed to accomplish more in those few days than I did during my entire time as a paladin or as King of Vilyron." Jaylen went to the bar along the wall and took a long drink from the bottle of rum. "For your information, I have already begun forming our next moves. We have our own military force now."
"A military?"
"Impressive, isn't it?" Jaylen asked with an accomplished grin. "Right now, I have my three military officers. Jeremiah is the Angel Squad Commander, Nimiel is the Scout Squad Commander, and Leader is my Infantry Captain."
"Leader? Who is Leader?"
"A man I met in Cilona when I was banished into The Crypt after losing in the slave games. He took me in and cared for me until I was able to leave. Leader, which is his actual name for all I know, has been rallying the slaves in Cilona and creating a honed strategic force to be used at my disposal. Oh, yes. And I'm sorry for some of what I'm about to tell you. I'm also currently working on three new sectors that should be finalized in the days to come. We will have Naomi the centaur as our Rift Ambassador, Liam and Karix as Dragon Knight Commanders, and my father-"
"Your father?" Zeriel asked. "Your father as what? What could Doran possibly do to help us out?"
"Doran will be our Vampire Brigade Lord."
"Vampires? You've got to be joking."
Jaylen took another drink then wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his robe. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
"You do know that the demonic vampires in covens aren't the brightest stars in the sky, right? They're so clueless and brain-dead that they will follow anyone blindly to their deaths."
Jaylen simply grinned and took another drink.
"Oh. Oh, I see. They've accepted Doran as their Coven Lord, haven't they?"
"Indeed. They will obey any order given to them then carry it out with voracious ferocity and precision. Think of them as our strike force. They are highly effective, but no one really cares if we lose them."
"You've been busy."
Jaylen shrugged his shoulders. "Told you so. My men are already scouting out the mainland to the west of here for any signs of more demons or Wolfekin troop movements. Xair has been appointed to Arcanist Researcher, working on finding new advancements and uses for magic. I have been corresponding daily with him by his snowy owl familiar while he is on his journey to Ka'tayl with his wife. Trevor is back from his foolish attempt to get Cael back from Jeremiah. He has a broken collar bone and a few bruises, but Jeremiah didn't rough him up too much. He and Brinx have given up on trying to have Cael all to themselves. I think it's for the best. Angels need angelic fathers, after all. Trevor will be using his skills to build a forge for blacksmithing up in the northern parts of what used to be Vilyron. That will be our base of operations. Once it is up and running, he will begin forging weapons and armor for our troops."
"Where have you gotten your infantrymen from and how many do we have?"
"Last time I received a report from Nimiel, our numbers were three thousand infantry, four hundred cavalry, and six independent naval vessels. As for where they came from? Volunteers."
"Volunteers? All of them volunteered?" Zeriel asked.
"Yes. Most of them were either friends of Kato's or Vilyron refugees who managed to escape the slaughter in Ilyan. They want their country back and they want to see Wolfekin pay for all they've done, even if that means following an apostate like me. On top of our human forces, Jeremiah has a host of twenty angels who have publically denounced Carvael. We are growing every day."
Zeriel gave his Master a small smile. "Is there a place for me in this war?"
"You will be right where you are needed most . . . by my side as the king's personal guard."
"King? You're claiming that title again?"
"It wasn't my first choice, but the people need a leader. With the surge of support for Vilyron and reestablishing our beloved country, they took to calling me King Jaylen again. Oh, I nearly forgot. Want to know something even more confusing and surprising? We have a spy master, but I bet you'll never guess who it is."
"A spymaster, you say? Hmm . . . I honestly have no idea."
"Prepare to have your mind blown. Your sister."
Zeriel audibly gasped. "Brinx? The same Brinx who is airheaded and babbles on about cakes and zombies?"
"The same."
"Jaylen, could you please put some actual clothes on? I know we're close and have seen each other naked a lot, but that doesn't mean I'm comfortable with this."
"What are you so uptight about?" Jaylen asked as he strutted to the bed then held up his pants. He chuckled as he examined them in the lantern light. "I forgot about them being torn in half. Ginger and Liselle were not patient . . . or gentle."
Zeriel crossed his arms and stared at Jaylen, not exhibiting the same amusement. "You truly think this is humorous? And what is that awful smell?"
"My pipe smoke."
"You're smoking now?"
"Uh . . . yeah." Jaylen wrapped his robe tighter around himself then tied it. "So, I don't have any clothes. When I came here, I was only wearing those pants."
"What were you doing dressed like that?"
"Dancing. You would not believe the women in this town. You'd think they had never seen a man before."
"What other despicable habits have you picked up in the past five days?"
"Why should I tell you anything?" Jaylen asked. "You're not my father. You don't get to tell me what I can or cannot do."
"You're right. I'm not your father. I'm your angel and I refuse to ignore this and let you spiral out of control more than you already have. Open your eyes, Jaylen. You don't really want this stuff. This isn't you. Take a good long look at yourself. Smoking? Drinking? Sleeping with random women and two at the same time? You are doing this as a way to not think about Kato."
Jaylen shouted at him. "Stop saying her name! What is wrong with you? She's dead and she's not coming back. By now, her soul has been devoured by angels or demons."
"That's where you're wrong. Your wife is in my pocket."
"Uh, are you sure you haven't been drinking?"
Zeriel pulled an emerald sun sigil pendant on a golden chain from his pocket and held it up . "Due to Eternal Eclipse's tampering with souls in Purgatory, Jeremiah has shut down all souls entering and exiting Purgatory. All the souls that were there at the time were placed inside enchanted gemstones that could hold them, then they were to be given to responsible guardians to keep them safe until Jeremiah opens Purgatory again. Kato is in this emerald."
"No."
"Yes. This is why I've been trying to find you for five days. Do you want to be your wife's guardian or not? If you decline this
duty, Kato will be given to her brother, James."
Jaylen ran to his angel and reached out for the pendant. "Please. I need her. Let me be her guardian."
Zeriel snatched the necklace away from him. "You have to prove to me that you are responsible, honorable, and committed to her complete safety."
Something shattered inside Jaylen's mind as a flood of realization inundated him. His cheeks turned bright red and his stomach sank. "D-does she know what I've been doing . . . with the women?"
"I'm sure she does now. I wouldn't be surprised if she's angry with you. How would you feel to die then you come back five days later to find your wife in a brothel?"
Jaylen suddenly had the overwhelming need to come clean. "I came here directly after the ship blew up. And I haven't left. I've been working in here and sending messages by birds. It was one woman, then another, then two, then four . . . I needed attention. I needed to feel loved and comforted like I felt when I was with Kato. But I have an embarrassing confession."
"Let me guess. You didn't actually sleep with any of them, did you?"
"No. We talked and cuddled. I just wanted to be held. Once they saw me crying, the women doted on me and started fixing me tea or giving me massages. That's what you interrupted. Yes. I pay them to hold me."
Zeriel sighed and took Jaylen in his arms. "Oh, Jay. I must say I am relieved. Though this certainly isn't an acceptable place for you to be. And smoking is deplorable."
"I don't actually enjoy it. It made me feel like I was being manly, but that was dumb."
"I know you couldn't have changed that much in a few days."
"Don't get me wrong. I have changed. Why do you think I'm not a sobbing emotional wreck? I got straight to work between my sessions with women. I had to do all I could to ensure that I could avenge Kato's death. She was right. It's time for me to grow up. It's time for me to be a man."
Zeriel smiled as he slipped the necklace over Jaylen's head. "I bestow upon you the soul of your wife. Guard her with your life."
"I will. Now, we have work to do."
"The first order of business is getting you some proper attire."
Chapter 3
One Thousand Two Hundred and Three Years Earlier
Tall friezes of intricately engraved ivory from the northern coast of Ka'tayl and bronze-inlayed paintings depicting the vast and varied landscapes of the continent blanketed the vaulted ceiling of the dining hall. From inside the twisting sculptures of blown glass around the doorways, water flowed from the collection basins up on the roof where the snow was warmed by the druids. The steam filled the entire palace, carried down the doorways and along the baseboards into the various rooms. It was a decent enough form of heating for the massive building, but the purpose of the water-filled glass sculptures was primarily a decorative one. While the rooms nearest the collection basins would remain warm, the long hallways that were composed of tall glass windows on all sides would not. Square chandeliers carved from mammoth tusks and topped with multi-colored glass cups held balls of popping electricity and flickering flames, just as much to prove the power of the Sultana's druidic guards as their functionality to illuminate the dining hall. Aside from the permanent fixtures, most of the jade vases, mammoth furs, expensive watercolor paintings, and lace curtains had been removed for the slaves to clean.
The Sultana's palace was rarely this quiet or this bare in terms of decor, but it was the dead of winter when not many citizens would visit the capital of Akalam-Tirya. The elaborate feasts and complicated social dances would not come until spring, or at least until the snow storms died down from where they developed high up in the mountains surrounding the plateau where the city rested. Though not the most beneficial in terms of climate or accessibility, the capital city of Akalam-Tirya was extremely defensible. If it ever came to that. But with every pure male citizen having a small personal army of demons at their command, the chances of the volunteer military ever being called to action was nonexistent.
The thin wooden rod slapped across the young Ka'taylin boy's bare chest, causing him to grit his teeth in order to not yelp at the stinging welt that rose up against his black skin. The pain broke him out of his daydreaming about the spring festivals and the thoughts of what a real battle would look like.
The scathing female voice screamed at him from beside the table and echoed in the nearly empty room, causing some of the slaves to stop dusting and turn to gawk at their young Master being reprimanded. "Pay attention, Xair. Daydreaming is for the young girls of common birth who will never amount to anything but being wives and giving birth to strong pure males. Are you one of those women? Are you? Every Ka'taylin boy must be taught dining room etiquette before age ten. Now, where does the fourth spoon go?"
A very thin and young Xair blushed from the quiet giggling of the female slaves who had gotten back to work on the windows. He blinked away the tears that swelled in his eyes as he looked up at the headmistress. Her sharp nose and glaring purple yes made the boy even more frightened. This session had been going on for six hours straight with Xair's thin ankles tied to the legs to the polished mahogany chair with silk scarves to ensure he could not run off before the lesson was finished. Xair's stomach growled with hunger, not having been given breakfast or lunch during this grueling session.
"I asked you a question, boy. Place the fourth spoon in its correct place."
Xair timidly reached out and picked up the tiny golden spoon. He met eyes with the headmistress, looking for any signs of correctness or fault. The truth was, he had no idea where the spoon was supposed to go. Xair looked out over the table that was covered in various plates, bowls, and saucers of different sizes and materials. He had set the table without much incident, but when it came down to the finishing touches, his knowledge faltered. With trembling fingers, he gently placed the golden spoon across the rim of the closest crystal teacup above the large plate. Xair clenched his eyes as he tensed in preparation for the next hit from the wooden rod.
"Open those eyes of yours, Xair."
As soon as he did, he jerked against the silk scarves that held him in the chair. The wooden rod slapped painfully against his exposed stomach. "Ah!"
"Silence. You will take punishment in silence. You want to grow up to be an honorable Ka'taylin man, do you not?"
A single tear streaked down Xair's cheeks as he sniffled. "Y-yes, Lady Headmistress."
"You had the correct placement, but the incorrect alignment. Turn the spoon just a bit to the right. Have it rest parallel to the butter tray."
Xair leaned forward to fix his mistake, but he was instantly caught off guard by the slicing slap from the rod across his spine. It made a sickening cracking sound as it popped him. He screamed out, despite that being a serious infraction in itself. He simply couldn't help it. The pain radiated down his back and up past his shoulders where a headache formed and his vision temporarily blackened for a second. Xair couldn't hold back the tears anymore as he slumped down in the chair, defeated.
"Mind your posture, boy." The headmistress raised the rod again in preparation to whip him into the correct posture, but her face relaxed and those glaring eyes softened. She gently pushed him forward and dropped the rod to the carpeted floor. With a gasp, she bowed to him. "Forgive me, Little Heir."
Xair didn't know what was going on initially. He was still writhing against the silk bonds and struggling to draw a full breath between his racking sobs. Then he felt it, the warm liquid sticking his back to the chair.
The headmistress stood back up and began clearing the table as if all of her initial concern had been a facade. "Oh, dear. It appears I was over-zealous in your physical training, Little Heir. Since I have broken your skin, you are dismissed for the remainder of the day. Report back here at sunrise so we can continue. In the meantime, I will suggest that you study more so this doesn't happen again tomorrow. Stand up, boy. It is improper to bleed on your mother's upholstery."
* * *
Xair held his fox fur-lined hood cl
ose around his face as the harsh winter wind blew the tails of his thick wool coat to the side. The twisted belt of tiny silver bells around his waist jingled their high-pitched ringing softly as they moved, his mother's addition to his outfit so the guards could easily find him by following the sound of his coat. After all, he was only nine years old, not even old enough to wear the traditional mammoth leather subligar of the adult druids underneath his pants. He longed for the day when he could exchange his rough cotton underwear for the leather band of straps and brass studs. He had watched the older men in the conjuring rooms where they would work on summoning and controlling their demons dressed only in their subligar and open silk robes. Xair wanted so much to be like them, with their smoothly-sculpted chests and lean muscles. But he had many years and many changes to go through before he could hope to be like them.
The icy water of the river flowed by over rapids and small cliffs where waterfalls fell into cattail-lined pools before joining up with the winding river once again on its way to the ocean. A snowy owl watched him closely from where it was perched in a barren tree branch a few feet away as the sun began to set from behind the thinning clouds.
Xair stayed there, watching the snow tapering off and shivering slighting underneath his coat. His heeled knee-high boots nearly came up to the hem of his soft wool short pants. Only an inch of his scrawny legs was exposed to the elements, but it was more than enough to make him wish he was curled up in his comfy bed with a pan of hot rocks to warm him. But he remained by the shore where the slick river rocks harbored blue frogs and clumps of their red eggs that were plastered to the undersides of leaves of dead grass. Xair needed to clear his mind from his earlier ordeal with his etiquette headmistress.
This place, this natural sanctuary was his one place to seek solace out of everywhere he had been around the continent. He was technically breaking his mother's rules by climbing down the mountain and being miles away from the palace, but he didn't care. Xair slipped his hand up underneath the back of his long silk tunic to rub the welt where blood had dried hours before. Every inch of his back ached. It had been a painful walk down from the city, but it was worth it.
Angel of Darkness Books 6-10 Page 27
