Ashes to Ashes

by Carrie F. Shepherd

  “Would Lord Scrountentine attack your people?” He finally asked.

  “I wouldn’t have thought, after promising your people a temporary truce, that he would have attacked yours.” Aiken shrugged. “The survival of his race is at stake. There is no telling what lengths to which he might go to protect them.”

  The boy nodded. What choice did he have? Aiken was offering him an army. Right now, he had only a rag tag team of angels and elves and a thrice beaten army of thin and ill trained humans.

  “You would ally your people with mine?”

  “I would.” Aiken agreed. “With the understanding that, should I ever have need of you, a favor would be returned.”

  The boy considered, for a moment, then nodded. “Of course. It would be understood.”

  Aiken turned his face slightly away lest the boy see his lips twitch. The fool of a child hadn’t asked what the favor would be, which left the barter open ended. This was a position that suited Aiken just fine.

  “Very well.” He raised his hand, palm to the sky, returning his gaze to Iladrul. As he did so, the pixie souls embedded upon his flesh rose up to dance upon light feet to hear his command. He brought them to his face and blew, giving their wings the slight puff of air that they required to bolster their flight. “Seek the river fairies nearby and instruct them to come to Prince Iladrul’s aide.” He told them. “I, myself, must travel farther.”

  “Where do you go?” Iladrul asked, his eyes wide with fascination as the pixies scattered in all directions around them.

  “There is a tribe of water fairies in the direction in which you currently travel.” Aiken replied. “I must put them on the march this way. Otherwise, Jami and his warriors will, most assuredly, destroy them to clear their path.”

  There was another stop that he had to make first, however. Though, he didn’t share this with the elf in case there were spies about. When it comes to war, nothing is a more powerful weapon than the element of surprise.

  -35-

  Pialoron stood against the far wall of his bedchamber, next to one of the great glass windows. His arm was raised above his head and his forehead was set against it. His eyes danced over the gardens below him and a soft smile played upon his thick, silver lips.

  Under the hood of his modest robes, he had long silver hair, braided so that his plait danced between his iridescent wings. He was tall, even for a fairy, at eight branch and nine twigs. His body was long and lithe, though hard and muscular. His skin was pale white, though it shimmered slightly with a rainbow of color when he was in the sun. His eyes were vibrant and a penetrating silver in color. Running over the left side of his face from his hairline to his chin, curling around his left eye, was a shimmering plate of silver filigree.

  At another wall, and to Pialoron’s back, stood another fairy of the same age. He was of average height, at seven branch and two twig, and was emerald green in color by way of his hair, eyes and filigree.

  “He’s not going to be happy with you.” Aminar said softly as he looked at his emerald fingernails, which he had buffed to a shine. “You were supposed to come home betrothed to Lord Aiken’s daughter.”

  “She was unfitting.” Pialoron muttered softly as he turned his silver eyes toward one of the females, who was darting across the garden lawns with a basket under her arms. “Not at all my type.”

  Aminar let out a soft snort of laughter and lowered his hand to his side. “And what was wrong with this one, my Prince?”

  “She isn’t Aminas.” Prince Pialoron said softly, shrugging his shoulders and pushing himself away from the window to turn and face Aminar.

  His silver eyes glowed with grief, breaking Aminar’s heart.

  Three years earlier, Aminar’s twin sister had drowned at sea trying to save three young ones who had gone fishing during a brutal storm. Pialoron, who had intended to marry Aminas, had been devastated. “Perhaps I’m just not ready.”

  “Perhaps you never will be.” Aminar voiced his frustration. “But if you do not marry—and soon—the rumors regarding you and I will bury us both.”

  Pialoron sighed at that. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I love you as a brother, my Prince.” Aminar told him now as he stepped forward and toward the man that he served. “You know that I do. And I will bear the rumors and their consequences if it is what you require of me.” Pialoron gave him a painful smile at that. “But consider this: all that your father wants is an alignment with a stronger tribe. Lord Aiken’s daughter could provide that to him. If you were to marry Princess Triyana, you and I could live in peace.”

  “This I know.” Pialoron said as he reached forward and took a lock of Aminar’s long green hair, which tonight was unbound for Pialoron and hanging in loose waves over his bare shoulder. He let it slip between the tips of his fingers and Aminar could not stop himself from shivering as he watched Pialoron’s eyes trail it. “But it isn’t the ideal thought of marriage, is it? One would think that if one bound himself to another for the full of a lifetime that it might be for love rather than convenience.”

  “Neither princes nor eunuchs have such luxury as to believe in love in lieu of convenience.” Aminar replied gently. “Especially not when the Prince has developed the unnatural habit of slipping into his eunuch’s bed.”

  A frown crossed Pialoron’s fair silver lips and Aminar immediately regretted his words.

  “Do not mimic my father, Amin.” He said coolly as he released the hair that he had been so lovingly caressing. “Or I’m likely to put you in your place.”

  “Of course, my Prince.” Aminar muttered, lowering his gaze. “Please forgive me.”

  He felt Pialoron’s silver eyes as they roamed the contours of his face. “No, Amin.” Pialoron replied before turning and walking soundlessly away upon his bare feet. “It is I that must beg your forgiveness.”

  “You have every call, my Prince.” Aminar replied softly, still looking downward. “I take advantage of your kindness where I am concerned.”

  “At times.” Pialoron replied as he found his place back at the window overlooking the gardens. “Yet, I made you my friend when you and I were but boys. As such, I come by calling you so now in honest nature.”

  Aminar raised his gaze slowly and allowed it to wander over the curves of Pialoron’s back to the sliver of profile that he could see of his Prince’s face beneath the silk hood of his robe. Pialoron seemed to be watching something through the window that gave him peace. His expression was one of serenity.

  “I come by calling you so now in honest nature as well.”

  “I know that you do.” Pialoron said softly. “It is quite possibly why I love you, my dearest friend.”

  Aminar lowered his gaze, frustrated with his lot in life. “Thank you, my Prince.”

  Pialoron nodded but said nothing further. Whatever it was in the garden now had the full of his attention.

  -36-

  Michael glared at Karma’s back, hating himself for the lustful thoughts that enveloped him as his eyes trailed downward to her well-made bottom. She might have donned a frock, but it scarcely covered her backside. The round muscle of her fleshy buttocks was far too visible beneath the hem of the dress for Michael’s tastes.

  “You’ve turned enough of them.” He barked irritably.

  “Not those two.” She returned, not granting him the courtesy to turn toward him. “And they’re all growing cold. We could do with more straw to cover them.”

  He didn’t want to be touched by her motherly concern for what he was coming to consider to be his eggs, but he was helpless to feel otherwise. She might have been thrust unwillingly upon him and this task, but she had taken to it with a gusto that Michael never would have expected from a mischief fairy.

  Never mind the fact that she was Emissary Lord Darklief’s daughter to the very core of her soul.

  “I’ll tell Max to bring some in.” He muttered.

  She nodded, almost dismissively, and then turned toward him. Her face—he
had to admit that she was pretty in the patches of sunlight that streamed from the thatched roof above them—bore a resolved expression that made her seem stronger and wiser than her years. “The nights are getting colder.”

  “They are.” He admitted with a sigh. “Autumn is coming. Followed by winter.”

  “Does it snow here?” She asked, clearly surprised.

  “Here?” He nodded. “Yes.”

  “I’ve never . . .” A childish quality washed over her features which made her even more beautiful still. “I’ve never seen snow.”

  He smiled, despite his better judgment. “It’s very pretty.” He reached forward and flicked at the scant sleeve of her garment. “And very cold. This will never do.”

  She snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

  He chuckled under his breath and shook his head.

  Yes, he thought as he watched her bound away and out of the rookery, we shall, indeed, most definitely see about that.

  -37-

  Aiken heard the door to his hut open, but he didn’t turn that way. What he was telling his son was far too important for distractions. By any road, the moment that the air permeated with the scent of cloves and old spices, he knew immediately that the intruder was Prince Ishitar.

  “As many men as we can spare, Xylon.” He advised his son. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Fete.” Xylon nodded, his long white hair—so alike to Aiken’s own; if any of them bore a resemblance to Aiken it had to be this boy—dancing around his face. “I understand.”

  “See to it.” He replied, somewhat doubtfully.

  Gods how I miss Karma! I need her here for this task! Not prancing about the forest seeing to the hatching of eggs.

  He didn’t voice this thought aloud because, honestly, there was no point. Xylon’s feelings would be hurt and Ishitar would remind him that his daughter was being punished for his own sins.

  He waited for the door to close behind Xylon before turning to face Ishitar. As he did so, he gave the young Prince a guarded smile. Seeing it, Ishitar smiled in response. “I’m unable to find Loki and Zuko is on task.”

  “Loki is probably with your mother.” Aiken replied. This must have annoyed Ishitar, because his lips thinned. Pleased by Ishitar’s reaction, he threw in another jab meant to wound. “And their new son.”

  “Have you seen him yet?” Ishitar snapped. “The babo, I mean?”

  “Not yet.” Aiken admitted.

  He had asked Loki if he might visit Lucias and take a peek at the child, but Loki had advised him that he would prefer that Aiken wait. That he didn’t want Aiken to see his first legitimately born heir had hurt the fairy God’s feelings. But he was too prideful to tell Loki this and he had learned, through far too many hard trials, to at least try to mind his place.

  “Nor have I.” Ishitar sighed. “I really should visit the child soon. But I’m still angry with Lucias.”

  Aiken’s brow furrowed at that sentiment. He had overheard Ishitar telling Loki that Lucias had denied that she was his mother. He supposed why, initially, that sentiment would have stung.

  Now, however, Aiken thought that the entire argument was being overblown. Ishitar was, after all, supposed to be an unknown secret. Lucias couldn’t admit to being Ishitar’s mother without the rumors of his existence being confirmed.

  “I suppose when you’re ready, you’ll take a look at him.” Is how he responded. “I’ve got business to attend to. You’re more than welcome to join me.”

  Having Ishitar join him wasn’t something that Aiken truly wanted. He liked to keep his secrets and he wasn’t certain, just lately, that he trusted the youngling. It wasn’t fair of him to hold grudges against his Prince simply because of an unguarded smile of amusement at Loki’s misery, but he held them all the same. Something about Ishitar just didn’t sit well with him.

  Today, he couldn’t afford the distraction of having to watch his back.

  “Something troubling you?” Ishitar asked, his caramel eyes assessing Aiken’s features.

  “Not really.” Aiken shrugged away the lie. “It’s just that these are a modest people. It’s one thing for me to traipse into their home as I am.” His eyes flicked the length of Ishitar and grinned. “Would you be offended if I asked you to don their smocks? To pretend that you are my man servant?”

  Ishitar first started, then smiled.

  “No, Aiken.” His tone held a note of respect that I rarely have ever heard him command for others. “I would be honored.”

  Aiken nodded and reached toward Ishitar. One moment, he was wearing his famous shendyt, and the next he was swaddled head to toe in silken finery with only his face bared. He smiled and looked down, admiring his new garments.

  “You did say modest.” He chuckled.

  “They hold to their traditions.” Aiken shrugged. “In fact, they don’t even believe in the Gods.” Ishitar appeared to be surprised by this, so Aiken decided to explain. “Well. That’s not entirely true. They believe in a God.” He shrugged. “Tristan, in fact, as he was originally their God. But they have no concept of who or what the Heavens or the Hells are really made to be.”

  “Who, then, do they think you are?” Ishitar asked, clearly he was genuinely curious.

  “Lord Aiken Briar Darklief of the Oakland Grove.” Aiken smiled. “A barbaric halfling who shames his people by forcing them to walk about without clothing whilst I allow myself the courtesy of my loincloth.” He pointed to his face. “And a bastard, at that, given my face lacks a scroll. But the most powerful fairy King of them all, so they hold their gossip to themselves when they know I am about.”

  “And you don’t correct them?” Ishitar asked, clearly perplexed. “You don’t show yourself as their God to them?”

  “They live as they do and they are happy as they live.” He shrugged. “They worship their God and love him. They don’t need to know that their God is me.”

  “That’s . . . an interesting notion.” Ishitar muttered, clearly contemplating Aiken’s willingness to not demand his people’s supplication to him.

  “It works for the fairies of this particular tribe.” Aiken felt profoundly unsettled by this line of questioning from one who could use the knowledge against him. “Besides, the mischief fairies, who are my true kindred, know the truth of what I am.”

  Ishitar could only nod.

  “Now as for you,” Aiken smiled, because he liked the idea of this next sentiment, “you must lower your gaze and stand three feet behind me and to the left at all times.”

  “Why?” Ishitar blinked at him.

  “This particular tribe of fairies trades in eunuchs.” His tone held a note of distaste. “They wouldn’t accept me bringing a human man with me and treating him as my equal. So, you must be my manservant. They’ll be offended that you aren’t a fairy, but—”

  “If I must don wings then I shall.” Ishitar offered.

  “No, your Royal Highness.” Aiken shook his head. “Unless hiding from your father, yours is a face that should never be masked.”

  Ishitar cocked his head at that. I understood the boy well enough to know that he found this to be a kind thing to say and that he believed that it came from Aiken’s heart.

  Which, to Aiken’s credit, it did.

  Though his motive for saying so had little to do with flattery.

  “Thank you, Aiken.”

  He shrugged. As he did so, he reached forward and toyed with the mantle that he had placed around Ishitar’s shoulders.

  “Why do they clothe themselves so?”

  “At this point?” Aiken’s brow furrowed slightly. He hadn’t expected this question. “Simple tradition and religion. Though it didn’t start out that way. The custom had, originally, been born out of practicality.” His smile became thin. “When Tristan was the God of we fairies, the water tribes were at war with the sea dragons. He taught the tribes how to make a silk that is fire retardant. They donned as much of themselves in this silk as they were able when anywhere bu
t in the privacy of their own homes because they never knew when a sea dragon would attack.” He chuckled to himself. “Most tribes of water fairies have been content to leave it at that. But this particular tribe is never seen without their silken robes by even other members of their family.”

  “Must I cover even my hair?” Ishitar asked, curious.

  Aiken nodded, pulling the mantle over the silk of Ishitar’s cowl. “Here, you wouldn’t show your hair to any but your wife.”

  Ishitar smiled at that. “I intend to take no wife.”

  Aiken gave him a false smile. “A man after my own heart.”

  Ishitar’s smile grew. “Yes. But I intend, even less, that I would ever take a husband.”

  “A pity.” Aiken flicked his violet eyes upward and met and held Ishitar’s gaze. He wasn’t offended by Ishitar’s joke; he had heard much worse, and often, about his affinity to bed either sex. “But I suppose that I must bide your rejection.”

  He stepped back and let his eyes trail over Ishitar’s well clad figure.

  “Good.” He muttered. “The shadows of your mantle will hide your face. They don’t believe in Lord Lucias. Yet, one doesn’t need to believe in Lord Lucias to know the moment that they lay eyes upon you that you are his kindred.”

  “Unless their name happens to be Lucias.” Ishitar muttered.

  “Znit, znit.” Aiken forced himself to give Ishitar a patient smile.

  His eyes were still darting over Ishitar with studious interest. As they did so, something burned within Ishitar’s eyes that I rarely, if ever, saw.

  He very clearly admired Aiken.

  He seemed to understand, as Aiken was examining him, that Aiken either didn’t trust him or didn’t like him. And that, whichever it was that Aiken felt about him, the fairy would never supplicate to him.