“I must hold palaver with your mother.” Loki tells them now, his purple eyes darting from one to the other. “The matter is private.”
“Yes, Fete.” It is Siren, oldest amongst them now that Gorgon is gone, who speaks on the behalf of all of them. I find myself smiling at this because of the dark parallel that these children have found to the structure of my own brothers and sisters in following Metatron without question. “Will you say goodbye before you leave us?”
“I wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight unless I do.” He grinned at her as he pulled young Banshee, who was barely old enough to toddle at the time, into his arms to plant a kiss on her well-made brow. “Go now. And put your younger siblings to bed.”
“Goodnight, Fete.” Those who could speak said in unison.
Loki grinned as he watched Siren herd them all away. I knew that, despite their odd magic, he loved each and every one of them in like kind.
“So early?”
Sappharon started at the sound of Lady Lucias’ voice. She was pregnant with her seventh child. This one, it would seem, took a good deal of her energy to brew. She was always tired during this pregnancy. Something which troubled Sappharon to no end.
“You’ve slept the day away, met paken.” Loki muttered under his breath, his eyes turning to Sappharon.
Though I could no longer read his mind, I had long ago come to understand his facial expressions. He was contemplating letting her stay or asking her to leave. Sappharon understood this as well and was waiting with curious intent to see which choice he would make. When he smiled at her and returned his attention to Lucias, she was pleased.
He was coming to trust her. It was a trust long, and hard, earned.
“Rumor has it that your husband is obsessed with the first bred elf.”
Lucias’ brow furrowed at that. As the baby in her belly turned, her thoughts reverberated through my mind.
With a male?
“Oh?”
“So Aiken says.” Loki shrugged. “I understand he’s been watching Noliminan rather closely.”
Lucias chuckled under her breath and rubbed her belly. She wasn’t, I suspected, surprised by this turn of events. “Aiken is a disobedient child.”
“He is of your seed.” Loki reminded her, unnecessarily. “He seems troubled by it.”
“Why?”
“He keeps one foot in the mortal world.” Loki shrugged. “He’s sided with the elves in their war against the vampires and were-creatures.”
“Against Jamiason?”
Sappharon was surprised by this question. It was no secret that the affair between Aiken and Jamiason ended upon Jamiason’s exile.
“It would seem that was James’ choice.” Loki shrugged again. “He wants to raise against your husband.” Sappharon noted that Loki’s eyes narrowed slightly. He was waiting to see how she would respond, the demoness knew. “I told him to stay out of it.”
“Yes.” She muttered as she ran her hand over her swelling belly again. “Good advice.”
“Is it?”
“Of course it is.” She snapped, almost as though she were irritated with him. “You know that Aiken cannot stand against Noliminan.”
“I do.” Loki conceded.
“Well.” Lucias seemed to be forcing herself to smile as she raised her hand to her brow as if to salute him. “Here’s to hoping that Aiken, for once, has the better sense to mind.”
-26-
The dathanorna was hungry. It had eaten bear and bovine, so it was sated. But, what it wanted was the sweet delicate taste of elf on its tongue.
It licked its lips and stepped toward the road.
Although it wasn’t ready to be seen—it was a master tracker—it needed to ensconce itself in the scent of that sweet flesh lest it go mad. Especially that earthy, sugary taste of the young Prince that led them.
There was something salty in their taste tonight. Something different. It enticed the creature beyond telling.
Until it smelled something unassociated with the elves.
Something base and unclean.
Its nose curled as it turned toward the oncoming army.
There was death in the air. Death enveloped by the sweetness it coveted.
Smelling the death, a taste that should have been its, alone, it growled. And, though it did not know it at the time, flew toward its unsettling future.
-27-
Iykva felt the burn on his skin as he clashed swords with the young elfin Prince. The creature fought bravely for a boy. And with more skill than the demon could have ever suspected to have encountered.
The hunger burned within him as well. The smell of the elf’s blood flowed within every bead of sweat that he expired.
It was distracting. As was the scent of smoke that beat off his own body as the sun rose in the east.
“Retreat!” He screamed as he clashed his sword one last time against the elf’s. He turned and saw his men, smoke beating off their bodies. The frustration that had been burning in his mind since he had come to the realization that his prisoners had no intention of breeding overwhelmed him. “Now, the Gods damn you!”
One by one the vampires and demons fighting on Iyvka’s side pulled away from the fray. And, one by one, the elves chased after them.
They were swift, these creatures. Being born of the forest, they were deft on terrain that tripped Iykva and his people up.
“Damn it.” He muttered under his breath as he jumped upward and into the trees.
He didn’t make it.
As his wings spread to take flight, the dathanorna changed its form from that of the wolf it was most comfortable wearing to that of a griffin. Its body collided with Iykva’s as it let out a murderous cry and wrapped its claws around his neck, ready to rip his throat open to eat him.
Intent on its prey, it didn’t see the branch that the pair of them were hurtling toward. Its head hit square on, knocking it unconscious and sending it into a spiraling huddle toward the ground.
Iykva, seeing no reason, followed. He meant to kill that son of a bitch griffin if it were the last thing he ever did.
It might well have been had the elf not interfered.
An arrow flew past Iykva’s cheek, tearing into his flesh. The pain of this, coupled with the agony of his searing flesh, brought him to his senses. He hissed at the elf and spun around, his wings catching the air so that he could fly as swiftly as possible into the shadows of the forest
He entered the cave where the demons and vampires had determined to bide the day mere moments before he would have, otherwise, burst into flames.
-28-
“What do you mean to do with it?” Sezja whispered, shivering.
“We haven’t time to worry about that now.” Iladrul muttered under his breath as he watched the griffin return, unconscious, to its wolf form. “We have miles to make.”
“You can’t leave it.” Raystlyn shook his head. “It will track us.”
“Then let it track us.” Iladrul snapped, glaring at Raystlyn. “Now is our chance to free the doxies! Another opportunity will not present itself!”
“They’re still guarded by the wolves.” Gregor reminded him.
“Aye.” Pialoron replied, biting his lip. He turned his gaze to Xylon. “Isn’t the leader of their pack friend to your people?”
“I wouldn’t call Thamores a friend.” Xylon shrugged. “But he and my father are amiable with one and another.”
“Will you bring me to him?” Iladrul asked. “Can you get me near to the blonde king?”
“Lord Scrountentine?” Xylon blinked his strange, almost transparent eyes. “I suppose if I invoke my father’s name.” He shrugged. “But, then again, perhaps not. They aren’t on speaking terms.”
“Your father gave his people the benefit of his grove for the purpose of palaver.” Trevor reminded him. “He owes Emissary Lord Darklief a favor.”
“He owes him more than one.” Raystlyn muttered under his breath.
“Pardon?”
Iladrul frowned at him.
“Never mind.” Raystlyn replied. He turned his attention to Xylon. “Trevor’s right. Invoke your father’s name and Jamiason will meet with the elves.”
Xylon, having watched the dance between his father and the demon for the full of his life, was doubtful.
-29-
Thamores stood at the edge of the camp, scouring the forest with his wolfish eyes.
He had seen the changeling and he knew damn well and good what it was. He had the better sense to be troubled by his knowledge of its existence.
If the words whispered on the wind were to be believed, the Gods had taken enough of an interest in the war between the elves and the vampires to be troublesome. The last thing that they needed was for one of the damned ones to draw attention to them.
“We’ve lost this war.” He muttered to Jamiason. “You do realize that.”
“I realize it.” Jamiason grinned at him. “I thought that was what we wanted.”
“Ta.” Thamores kicked his boot into the dirt. “But I’d as soon keep my soul intact if it’s all the same to you.”
Jamiason shrugged.
“You saw that changeling?” Thamores growled at him, incredulous that he was taking this matter so lightly. “You saw it transform with your own two glams?”
“I did.” Jamiason’s brow furrowed. “Everyone did.”
“And, you saw the elf protect Iykva.”
“He wasn’t protecting Iykva.” Jamiason assured him. “He was stopping the dathanorna from putting itself before the eyes of the Gods.”
“Why would he care?”
Jamiason leveled his gaze on Thamores, making the benandanti shiver. There were few things that frightened Tham. Yet, lately, the intensity of Jamiason’s gaze held the quality to do so.
“What are we to do now?”
“Give him what he wants.” Jamiason muttered as his gaze flew to the mouth of the cave where his brothers lay sleeping. “Let him take the doxies.”
“Iykva will never stand for—”
“There is little Iykva can do while the sun crests the sky.” Jamiason reminded him. “And, given he retreated, he can’t exactly blame you and your people if you retreat as well.”
“I can lie to him.” Thamores felt his nostrils flare. “Not to my own people.”
“These aren’t your people.” Jamiason leveled his gaze upon Thamores. “These are werewolves. Not benandanti.”
“There are no more benandanti!” Thamores cried.
“Yet, before me stands one.” Jamiason replied, turning away from him. “And he is the God of his people.” Thamores swallowed the bile that rose up into his throat as Jamiason walked toward the mouth of the cave. He stopped just at the lip and returned his gaze to the benandanti. “A God, as Aiken would counsel you if he could, with one foot in the mortal grave.”
“As are you.” Thamores whispered.
Jamiason merely gave him a tight lipped smile before slipping into the cave to join his brethren.
Their positions were nowhere near the same.
Jamiason, unlike Thamores, was an exile.
-30-
Xylon smelled the benandanti long before he saw him.
Above and beyond that, he smelled the flesh of elves.
“What . . . ?”
“Silence.” The benandanti muttered as he turned his dark profile upward to look into the shadow of the sun. “Our time is limited here.”
“I’ve come to—”
“Ask for the doxy elves.” Thamores turned his yellow, wolfish eyes toward Xylon. As he did so, his nostrils flared and his tongue darted over his lips as if he were hungry. “Take them.” He stepped out of the way, opening the camp to Xylon and his small band of fairies. “And be quick about it.” The benandanti growled deep within his throat. “Before I change my mind and sup on them myself.”
Xylon, although confused by this turn of events, directed his men in the manner in which a future King must.
-31-
At times the farce of the Council overwhelms me. Why do I bother to still attend? Yet, here I sat, on my pillow, watching my youngest brother as he lowered himself onto Michael’s as though it belonged to him.
Not that I begrudged him the pillow. It was simply that he appeared as uncomfortable lowing himself upon it as he felt.
I sighed my pity for him and shook my head.
He looked down the line behind his dark glasses but found no comfort there. Until, of course, his eyes landed upon Mihr. She noticed that his attention had fallen upon her and her face split into a brilliant grin. A grin that was compounded, in my heart and mind, with her hope that he looked upon her out of desire and respect.
Smiling, I lowered my gaze.
As I did so, I felt Uriel’s hand as it rushed through me.
“If you’re there, hello.”
“Hello.” I replied, sending the word to her mind as well as verbalizing it.
She turned toward my pillow and smiled at me. “How is Ishitar?”
I wish I knew. Though, this, I did not say to her. “Fine and well.”
“Good.” She turned away and found her place in line. I watched her with interest as Camael entered the room, passed her without giving her the slightest glance, and found his own pillow.
I decided, watching him, that I was tired of the requirement that we play our games in regard to those whom we loved. I wanted nothing more in life than to share with my brothers and sisters that I had finally won the heart of my beloved Zamyael.
What a foolish proposition that idea was.
To tell them that I’d bedded a demon would put them in their own precarious positions should Noliminan ever press them for the information.
Especially when he learned that said demon was Zamyael.
I would be forced to witness as he destroyed my brothers and sisters for the sole purpose of punishing me.
I shivered at the thought as Metatron lowered himself into the pillow beside Gorgon. He gave our youngest brother a tight smile and then turned his stoic attention to the Great Hall as the Gods and their servants rifled in.
Perhaps twenty shifts later, Noliminan entered with Raphael close on his heel. Following languidly after him was Raziel, taking great pains to make a dramatic flurry as she lowered herself onto Lucias’ throne. I rolled my eyes at her vanity and refocused my attention on my Lord and Master.
Lord Loki and Aiken were, very purposefully, the last to arrive. I assumed, based on the smug satisfaction on Loki’s handsome face, this was because he knew that his gaggle of geese would draw attention to him as he lowered himself into the chair which was surrounded by them.
If so, his plan worked.
Noliminan stood with violent quickness and made his way with heavy steps to the podium. As his hands fell upon it, Gabriel stood and blew his trumpet to announce this Council meeting as open.
“There will be no votes today.” Noliminan instructed the Gods. “There will be plenty of time for such foolishness later.”
There was a disappointed murmur that ran through the Council. They had all anticipated making their desire to manipulate the sex of their servants known.
“Many of you may have heard that I’ve sent Michael into exile.” He began. “My reasons are my own and not meant for discussion amongst the Council.”
Glances were exchanged all about. No one had ever anticipated that Michael would do anything which would warrant the consequences of exile.
“His replacement,” Noliminan continued, seemingly oblivious to the discomfort of the Council members, “is another of Lucias’ sons.”
There was a discontented murmur throughout the hall. Zuko, who was sitting behind Loki, shifted uncomfortable in his chair. His large, dark brown eyes fell upon Gorgon and his lips pursed as if he were angry. I knew that this wasn’t the case, however. He was one of the rare few who knew that this child was Loki’s son. Though he had never seen Lucias in her true form, he was uncomfortable with the knowledge that Lucias had
never truly been the God that he had thought her to be.
“Rise Gorgon.”
Gorgon, terrified and embarrassed, did as he was bid. As Noliminan called him forward he walked, rather gracefully, toward him.
“Michael’s replacement.” Noliminan growled, his lips thinning as his gaze fell square upon Loki. The proud expression on the younger God’s face was undeniable. “It is my wish that he is treated with the respect equal to his station.”
There was a murmur of agreement throughout the room, though glances were being exchanged all about. Noliminan, still seemingly oblivious, dismissed Gorgon to his pillow with a violent wave.
“The matter which brings us together today, however, is neither Michael nor Gorgon.” Noliminan began. “As you may all well know, a new war has broken out amongst the mortals.”
“The vampires are destroying the elves.” Aiken crossed his arms over his chest. Noliminan glared at him. “Adults attacking children. It’s a massacre. Not a war.”
“Yet a mortal matter all the same.” Noliminan replied, the anger clear in his tone. “One in which you have interfered, Aiken of the Oakland.”
“No, your Grace.” Aiken replied, standing. He was being addressed directly so custom demanded it. “My people were called to an alliance. I merely stepped out of their way and allowed them to keep the promises that they have made.”
“It is a mortal matter!” Noliminan cried, pounding the podium. His eyes darted around the Council. “One that we, as Gods, will steer clear of.”
“We, as Gods, have.” Aiken replied, shrugging. “My actions were those of a mortal King.”
“Six and half of twelve.” Lady Moira groused. “You’re always unstringing my tapestries.”
“My people are mortals.” Aiken replied, shrugging again. “I cannot control them when they chose to play with your knots.”
“You can and you will!” Noliminan ordered Emissary Lord Darklief. “Stay out of it, Aiken. I’m warning you.”
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