Wisterian’s lips thinned again. “Who would dare poison my son?”
“At war?” Balean shrugged. “Loyalties are going to be tested. It isn’t going to be just elves and angels fighting at his side. You know we’re going to have to call in our allies. With the humans fighting wars amongst themselves, who is to say what tricks they will play to garner power?”
“The Devonshires—”
He stopped midsentence. He knew that Balean was right. The Earls of Devonshire had long been their allies. They trusted the King of Devonshire, whose name was Jon, above all other humans. That didn’t mean that the Devonshires didn’t have enemies of their own.
“What does Jeanir’s girl look like?”
“She’s pretty.” Balean assured him. “And the lads are strong.”
“Have the boys see to their vasectomy.” Wisterian looked swiftly away. “And pass the gold.”
Balean narrowed his eyes. He understood the importance of ensuring that only doxy females breed. That didn’t mean he was comfortable with the idea of cutting boys before they could become men.
Regardless of his personal thoughts on the subject, this had been something that all of the angels had agreed upon when it came time for the first male doxy to be sold upon the block.
“It will be done tonight.”
“Do not speak of this to Jeanir.” Wisterian rounded his gaze upon Balean. “He won’t be pleased that his sons are being cut ten years too early.”
Balean shook his head. He understood that Jeanir would be furious. He wasn’t going to be the one to navigate that conversation.
“Tell the children’s mothers to keep quiet as well.” Wisterian counseled him. “Pay them extra gold if you have to.”
“An easy enough thing.” Balean grunted at him. “They all share the same mother and she happens to be my preferred whore.”
Wisterian started at that. “You jest.”
“Nit.” He lowered his gaze, ashamed of his actions. “In fact, I think the girl might, actually, be mine. She has Faunus’ look about her.”
Wisterian, frowning, shook his head. Balean wasn’t certain he cared for the tight lipped smile his friend was trying to hide.
“Come to me in the morning.” Wisterian muttered. “I’ll have my orders for Jeanir ready by then.”
Balean gave Wisterian a cautious bow and backed, very swiftly, out of the room.
-11-
Ishitar knocked on the open door, smiling at Loki, who sat behind his desk rifling through paperwork. His dark brown hair was slightly disheveled and his purple eyes were bright with what seemed to be amusement. When he looked up and saw that it was Ishitar who came to call, his cocky grin widened.
“Your Royal Highness.” He planted his hands upon his desk and stood before raising one of them toward Ishitar so that he could shake it. “How are you this morning?”
“Well.” Ishitar stepped forward and took the proffered hand. “May I steal a shift of the shadows?”
“Undoubtedly.” Loki replied, indicating one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. “May I offer you something to drink?”
“I prefer wine.” Ishitar smiled as he lowered himself into his chair. “If you have it.”
“I do.” He nodded and stepped away. Ishitar watched him with keen interest as Loki set about his task. “How may I help you, your Royal Highness?”
“Please, Loki.” Ishitar smiled up at Loki as he looked over his shoulder. “I prefer to simply be called Ishitar by you. Leave your fealty aside when we are in our privacy.”
“Very well.” Loki shrugged and returned his attention to the bar. “How may I help you, Ishitar?”
“I have very much appreciated your tutelage.” Ishitar explained. “But I fear I need more from you.”
“Such as?” Loki turned toward Ishitar, holding out a glass of wine. He, himself, had a glass of whiskey.
“Zadkiel is a bit . . .” He chuckled and shook his head. “I love my Da. Never doubt it. But every bird must eventually leave the safety of their preening parents’ nest.”
“Are you asking my permission?” Loki teased.
“No.” Ishitar smiled at him. “Of course not. I am informing you that I intend to stay with you. I chose you because I can explain to my father that the reason I must is to learn my mother’s arts. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to live with him. And I require more freedom than he would, necessarily, afford me.”
“I see.” Loki lowered himself into his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “My problem is that I don’t know where to put you. Sam is in my old room and Aiken Darklief has been staying in Sappharon’s when he isn’t in the Oakland Grove.”
“I regret that I will be displacing Aiken.” He informed Loki. “But I’ve already made myself comfortable in Sappharon’s room.”
Loki’s brow furrowed slightly as his purple eyes assessed Ishitar. Finally he smiled and shook his head. “Regret is unnecessary. Aiken is only here on occasion. He can sleep on the sofa when he pays a visit.”
“I do hope that he doesn’t mind.”
“It’s not a problem.” Loki assured Ishitar. “Aiken has never been picky about bedding where he lands.” Then with a furrowed brow, “How will Zadkiel take it? Your moving in with me?”
“Hard.” Ishitar sighed and immediately changed the subject. “How is my mother?”
“Well enough.” Loki looked swiftly away.
Ishitar’s eyes narrowed and his smile grew tight.
“Aiken intends on making a stew for dinner tonight.” Loki’s tone was cautious. “It’s been on the fire all day. You don’t want to miss the first night of it. It’s when it tastes the best.”
Ishitar gave him a guarded chuckle in response. “What meat?”
“Lamb.” Loki muttered under his breath. “Or, so, that’s what he tells me.”
“Then I shall pretend that he isn’t lying.” Ishitar winked at him.
-12-
Aiken shut the door to Loki’s apartment, frowning.
A prince from one of the water fairy tribes had visited the Oakland Grove to look at his youngest daughter. He had hoped, desperately, that the pair would be a match. But the youngling hadn’t been serious about the courtship and was there only upon the orders of his father.
The prince, himself, was still grieving the death of the woman that he had intended to marry and had no interest in replacing her given that his grief was still raw.
Aiken understood the youngling’s position. Because of this, he wasn’t offended by the boy’s rejection of his daughter. But he needed to get her married off and he knew that she wanted desperately to marry a prince rather than one of the common people.
“Loki?” He called.
There was no answer.
That was alright. Loki was probably in the basement dealing with the damned.
He threw his bag of vegetables onto one of the chairs and made his way down the hall to the room where Loki allowed him to stay when he came to visit. When he reached the door he opened it, stopping short as his eyes fell upon a very tall, broad backed man wearing nothing more than his small clothes.
Smiling to himself, Aiken cleared his throat and said, “Loki is overly generous with his gifts these days.”
The man started and turned swiftly around. The very moment Aiken saw his face he was overcome with embarrassment.
“My Gods.” He said, shaking his head. “Forgive me, your Royal Highness. I was only teasing.”
“Never mind it.” Ishitar smiled at Aiken. “I should have locked the door.”
“No, I—” Aiken lowered his gaze. “I should have knocked.”
“On your own bedchamber door?” He asked as he reached for the white linen shendyt he was known for wearing and wrapped it around his hips. “I’m an unexpected guest and I’ve taken over your living quarters.”
“They aren’t really my living quarters.” He shook his head. “I have my own apartment. I just prefer to stay with Loki when I’m visiting the
Hells.”
“I understand.” The Prince of Providence smiled at him. “I hear you’re brewing a stew?”
“It’s lamb.” Aiken grinned at him. “Whatever else he told you—”
“He told me it’s lamb.” Price Ishitar replied, clearly amused. “I hope you don’t mind but I intend to redecorate your room.”
Aiken looked around. He, himself, hadn’t bothered. He’d always felt that it was Loki’s place to disturb Lady Lucias’ things. Given that Loki hadn’t changed anything else in the apartment, Aiken didn’t think that he would have wanted to change Sappharon’s room either.
“It’s your mother’s home, so such is your right.” He muttered. “By any road, these are Dame Sappharon’s things.”
“Oh.” Prince Ishitar’s lips twitched. “No wonder the place is so . . . eh . . . womanly.”
“I see.” Aiken winked at him. “You thought these were my things because I’m a fairy.”
“The thought did cross my mind,” Ishitar teased.
“Very nice.” Aiken rolled his eyes.
“Sorry.” He shrugged.
“Right.” Aiken, smiling now, turned away. “I have vegetables to chop.”
“Would mind my company?”
“Not at all.” Aiken replied, surprised.
“Do you know how to bake a pie?”
Aiken shook his head.
Ishitar gave him one of his contemplative smiles as he pointed to a bag upon his bed. It was filled with the gourds he had picked from Noliminan’s tree. Irritated by his antics, I shook my head.
“I mean to make Loki a special one to thank him for allowing me to stay with him. Would you care if I baked it while you finished the stew?”
“Certainly not.” Aiken grinned. “He told me about your last pie. I would like to try a slice myself.”
The Prince of Providence considered him for a moment and then gave him a slight nod. “Of course. But just a small slice if you please. The rest, you must understand, is meant for Loki.”
“I only want a taste.”
“Then a taste you shall have.” Still wearing his contemplative smile. “But no more than a taste shall you crave.”
Aiken furrowed his brow. Though he had wanted more than a single slice if the pie were good, suddenly the idea of more than just that one taste made his stomach churn.
A single slice, it seemed, would be far more than enough to quell his curiosity.
-13-
Iykva waited for thirteen days for an audience with Jamiason. This didn’t trouble him, however. Audiences with a King are hard to come by in the most peaceful of times. These days, Iykva was lucky to have been granted Jamiason’s attention at all.
The demons had been uprising for far too many passes of the sun for Iykva to count. Jamiason had seen it coming and had been able to quell it thus far.
Iykva knew that he would not be able to convince the demons to bide much longer. The time for war had come. The time to overtake the angels now that their earthen children were close to reaching adolescence so the demons and their descendants could utilize their strengths and farm them for harvest.
The doors to the great throne room opened and two childlike, dark haired vampires stood to either side. Iykva knew these two well; they were the first ever made. The twins, they were called more often than by their actual names. Had they been singletons, one of them would have been in line to become God of the vampire race once Jamiason deemed them ready. Because they were not, and because they had been made too young, it was the third that Jamiason had turned who would claim this honor.
Iykva had never seen or met Prince Paul. Though, gossip of Jamiason’s fledgling had reached his ears. By all accounts the once human prince was a laughing, idiotic fool who was less than adequately qualified to rule.
Iykva rose from the chair upon which he had been waiting and swallowed his discord. Though he, too, was a demon rather than merely a vampire, he had heard rumors of the favor that Lord Evanbourough had bestowed upon Jamiason and his lineage. To displease Jamiason, or his fledglings, was to displease their God, himself. To displease Lord Evanbourough could bring about the punishment of the rising sun.
As his eyes fell upon Jamiason for the first time since their turning, Iykva was stricken by the changes that had overtaken him since their turning. James’ blue eyes were preternaturally cold and appraising. The expression that he wore was stony. He was still, looking to be little more than a statue.
It was the other that commanded him; the fool of a Prince. “Come forward.”
Iykva did as he was bid, looking to the left of Jamiason’s throne. There was the other; the carrot top that he had heard about. How very human he looked with the tumble of copper hair over his brow and trimmed, bearded face.
Though pale, how easily must he be able to dwell, unnoticed, amongst his own kind?
Iykva loathed him for his all too human appearance, which would allow him to more easily beckon his prey.
Forcing himself to ignore his distaste for the Prince that would one day govern him, Iykva stepped before Jamiason’s throne and bowed low, his left foot back and his black wings spread wide. “Your Highness.”
Jamiason didn’t respond or move. He merely sat and watched. His cold blue eyes and unmoving expression were unsettling.
It was the other, the one that had bid him to come forward, who asked, “What gift have you brought our King for his audience?”
Prepared for this eventuality, Iykva reached into the folds of his robes and brought out a rolled tapestry that had been woven by the mischief fairies of the Blackwood Grove. Knowing that Jamiason had once served the Emissary God of this race, and so had a fondness for these people, Iykva had bartered much to obtain this bit of artistry.
The other stood and stepped forward, taking the tapestry from Iykva’s hand. He stepped toward Jamiason and unrolled it. It was larger than it appeared as a scroll and, because of this, Iykva was unable to see his King’s face or expression behind it. He was able to see Jamiason’s hand rise—ever so slightly—however, and wave his companion to the side.
The other nodded to Iykva and bowed.
“It pleases him.” Prince Paul said as he took the tapestry from Jamiason and begin to roll it back into a scroll. “You may speak your mind.”
Behind him he heard the light footsteps of the twins and the heavy clanking of the doors as the throne room was sealed shut. Iykva bowed to the other and then returned his attention to King Jamiason. He bowed to him again for good measure and began.
“I come before you to speak on behalf of our race.” He said. “Not those made, but we true demons.” Jamiason said nothing. Nor did his eyes—or any other part of him for that matter—move. Yet, he was watching Iykva, so the demon knew that he was listening, and, more importantly, that he was hearing. “We believe the time for striking the elves has come.”
Silence. No movement. Still just watching.
“Our army has trained and is ready at your will, your Highness.” Iykva advised him. “We are strong and we can, and will, overtake them.”
Jamiason continued to stare at him as Prince Paul spoke. “Do your people not think it wise to first meet with King Wisterian to discuss your demands? And then strike if they are not met?”
“Our demands are that they freely supplicate their children to our will, your Highness.” He replied to Jamiason, not the other.
This was a nearly fatal mistake.
Jamiason’s eyes widened and he bared his fanged teeth in a growl. Before Iykva had a chance to mark his anger for disrespecting his progeny, Jamiason advanced upon him and thrust the demon upward with hand clinched tightly around Iykva’s neck, choking him. Iykva felt his feet dangling beneath him as his hands grasped desperately for the one around his neck, but he was helpless against the strength of his King.
He felt the grip release from his neck as he fell to the floor in a heap. Before he had time to even raise his head, Jamiason had returned to his seat and was staring at him,
wearing that same, cold expression that had darkened his features before.
It is as though he hasn’t even moved!
“You will address me directly, if you please.” Prince Paul counseled him in a cool, somewhat amused tone.
“Yes.” Iykva swallowed as he found his feet. He wanted to raise his hand to soothe his crushed throat but he knew that to show weakness would defeat his cause for seeking King Jamiason’s audience. “Forgive me, my Prince.” He bowed to Jamiason’s companion. “I meant you no disrespect.”
The vampire nodded and replied. “Regardless of what your demands are, Wisterian deserves the opportunity to meet them of his free will before we attack his people. He would grant us the same courtesies, were our situations reversed.”
“Begging your pardon, my Prince,” Iykva bowed to him again, “but he will not meet this particular demand with his free will.”
“Which is when you may gather your army and strike the elves.” The vampire said with his head cocked slightly to the side.
Iykva realized something of overwhelming importance in that moment. Prince Paul was listening to something. Yet when he turned his gaze toward Jamiason he noted that his King’s lips were not moving. Rather, he was as still as he had ever been.
“If you mean to attack King Wisterian and his people, then his Highness first bids that you arrange a meeting between the two. King Jamiason will present your demands with a deadline. Should that deadline not be met, then you have my permission to proceed.” His head straightened. “But not a single shift of the shadows before. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my Prince.” Iykva replied, bowing. He had gotten what he wanted, even though it would be delayed.
Yet, perhaps, the delay was wise. Nothing good could come out of an attack made upon children. One God, or perhaps another, might be offended and exact his revenge.
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