by Jane Kindred
“I’ll tell you all about it later,” she promised with a hand on his cheek. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve put you through. But I should go find Love.”
Considering what the poor girl had been through in the last twenty-four hours, Belphagor couldn’t agree more. “She’s asleep in her tent. Better let one of us tell her first. You don’t want to give her a shock.”
§
Joy and sorrow ebbed and flowed through Love in competing waves as she lay in Kirill’s arms. He stroked her skin, his lips brushing her temple repeatedly like petals raining down on her, as if he must keep touching her to make sure she was real. She’d never felt so safe and comforted in her life, but it was a comfort tainted by guilt. Anazakia was gone, and yet Love had let herself be carried away by desire at such a time, and perhaps worse, she’d let Kirill fall from his own concept of grace. But she’d needed him so, like nothing in her life before. The need had overwhelmed her after depriving herself for so long, and she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of being denied his touch once he’d kissed her at last.
Kirill, amazingly, didn’t seem troubled. On the contrary, he seemed more at peace than at any time since she’d known him. She’d been afraid he might be immediately stricken with shame and guilt at having broken his vows. But the way he touched her now…there was no shame, no guilt in it. Perhaps everything would be all right. Perhaps she hadn’t done a terrible, foolish, irreversible thing out of selfish desire in the wake of her best friend’s death.
§
Belphagor pulled back the flap of Love’s tent to wake her with the news, nearly bursting with it. He wasn’t expecting the sudden flurry of movement as Kirill leapt to cover Love first with his robes—robes he wasn’t wearing—and then with his own body, face down across her, as though protecting her from an explosion. Belphagor couldn’t help but notice the monk had a startlingly exceptional backside. He stood speechless for a moment, and then closed his eyes and retreated.
“Sorry!” He held the flap shut. “I should have announced myself.” He paused a moment, hearing nothing within. “You may want to get dressed, Love,” he said more quietly. “There’s someone out here who’d like to see you.” He glanced at Anazakia standing puzzled behind him and mouthed, “Naked. Stark. Both.” This time, he heard scrambling from within, and in a moment, Love peered out.
She stared, uncomprehending, and then her eyes grew wide and she flew out of the tent and threw herself at Anazakia, leaving the flap hanging open as Kirill hurriedly buttoned his robes. “Nazkia! You’re alive!”
“I’m so sorry.” Anazakia tried to calm her, nearly smothered by Love’s embrace. “I thought I was only below for a few minutes. It was the rusalki. But I’m all right— Oh, please don’t cry, sweetie.”
After the news had spread through camp and Anazakia had been thoroughly welcomed back, the battalion gathered around the bonfire with an air of excitement, toasting her as if she’d already won some great victory.
Motioning to Vasily and Margarita—with Lively hovering like a shadow at the Nephil’s side as usual—Belphagor managed to draw Anazakia away from the gathering after a bit. He’d detected a guarded note in her voice before, and now he was certain of it. There was something she wasn’t telling them.
The syla, she said, had confirmed what she’d dreamt about Ola, but it was the little grand duke they’d wanted to tell her about. Her eyes were troubled. “Apparently, he isn’t well.”
Vasily tensed with alarm. “Not something contagious?”
“No, nothing like that.” She bit her lip. “Not well in his head.”
Watching her from where he sat beside her on the beach, Vasily frowned. “Forgive me, Nazkia, but he’s not our concern.”
“He’s my sister’s child.”
“And he’s being groomed to be Helga’s puppet on the throne that should be yours. If he’s a halfwit or a lunatic, all the more reason to put a stop to it.” Vasily shook his head. “They had nothing else to tell you of Ola? They dragged you under the lake and scared us all half to death to say they don’t know where she is?”
From the furtive glance she darted his way, Belphagor knew Misha must have told her something else. He cleared his throat. “I told her not to tell you, Vasya, but it was Misha who kept her. Who knows what his motive was.”
Vasily stared at him. “You told her not to tell me.”
“I knew it would make you angry.”
Vasily continued to stare without expression. It wasn’t a good sign.
Anazakia broke the tension. “The syla asked Misha to tell me what they knew because we were having trouble understanding each other. It’s not as if he had some ulterior motive.”
Belphagor gave her a rueful look. “I think it’s fair to say Misha always has an ulterior motive.”
With a decisive movement that shifted the dynamic from that of a group of squabbling friends to a leader addressing her subordinates, Anazakia rose. “Misha told me what I saw in the dream was real. Ola is in a palace in Vilon. There can’t be that many of them, and as we’ve already speculated, it’s probably the abandoned capital of Aden, because it looked so empty. The syla insisted that what they see is what I see, and so I must believe they know no more than I or they would have told me.” She straightened her uniform and looked at Belphagor. “Helga must be planning to move on Elysium, but she hasn’t yet if I’m to trust my dreams. When we reach Iriy, I want you and Vasily to head for Aden with the troops to take Ola and Azel from her.”
“The troops? Just a moment—” Vasily objected, but she cut him off.
“That was an order from your sovereign.”
Vasily had been about to get up, but he sat back on the ground with a look of surprise. It was novel to see that look on his face when it wasn’t Belphagor’s doing.
“And what do you plan to do?” asked Belphagor.
Anazakia was firm. “I’ll continue on to Elysium with Margarita. And Lively, we’ll come into the city through Raqia, so you’ll be free to go home.” Lively appeared just as astonished as everyone else. “Margarita and I will announce my intent as planned, and then we’ll wait for the rest of the forces to arrive.”
Belphagor shook his head. “I cannot recommend this plan, Your Supernal Highness.”
“Nor can I,” said Margarita.
“You’ll represent me as my herald,” Anazakia told her. “You can announce my intent and then return to me with their response without being detained.”
Margarita looked offended. “Being detained wasn’t my concern. Tactically, if you don’t mind my saying, it’s insanity. Walking straight into the city to essentially turn yourself over to be thrown into the queen’s dungeon to wait for the rest of the troops to arrive, with no one here to tell them what’s happened? Who knows what will have become of you in a week.”
Anazakia’s face was stubbornly set. “You’ll be there to tell them.”
Belphagor stood to confront her. “Not to mention you’ll be betraying everyone you swore to serve.” He wasn’t about to sugarcoat it for her. “If you don’t take Elysium, Aeval won’t bother breaking off her attack on Aravoth to return until she’s done. And she won’t be done until every last Virtue is dead. By the time the bulk of the troops arrive, Elysium will be well prepared, and you’ll sacrifice them, too.”
Anazakia’s eyes flashed with anger. “So you’ll all defy me?”
“No, we’ll do exactly as you ask, no matter what the consequences are, as will all of your men. You should take that into account when you ask people to die for you.”
“But Ola…” As her confidence faltered, her voice lost its air of authority.
Belphagor was firm. “We’ll take the troops south as planned, just as soon as the city is secured. I want her back as desperately as you do, Nazkia. But this isn’t the way.”
Vasily had said nothing since Anazakia’s rebuke, and Belphagor could tell he’d been hoping they would implement her new plan after all. His face reflected the loss of that f
leeting hope. Belphagor took his hand, and he didn’t resist. For the moment, at least, he’d forgotten about Misha.
Anazakia drew in a resolute breath and nodded. “All right, I’ll accept your counsel. I guess we should get some sleep.” She shrugged apologetically, the “queen” put away as quickly as she’d put her on. “I have no idea of the time.”
§
After Anazakia had fallen asleep snuggled against him, Vasily extricated himself and made a quiet exit, heading into the woody area beyond the lakeshore for a walk to blow off some steam before he ended up melting the tent.
The pain of believing he’d lost her had been supplanted by mounting anger at Belphagor. It had been building since the first night at the lake when Belphagor had admitted—only after Vasily had demanded to know what was going on, since it was obvious he was up to something—that he intended to take his little “fall.” He refused to say anything more, as if Vasily had no right to know. In all the years they’d been together, this secretiveness, this refusal to fully let Vasily in, remained his most irritating trait. And Belphagor knew it fueled Vasily’s worst trait—his jealousy and insecurity—yet he persisted in it.
Training that pretty Virtue of his as a submissive was bad enough. Belphagor said Loquel had asked him to. It wasn’t sexual, he claimed, and that much Vasily could believe; as often as Belphagor had wandered in the years before their breakup, he had a type, and Loquel was far too feminine for him. Though it still drove Vasily mad with jealousy to think of someone else kneeling before Belphagor, at least he’d told Vasily about it and given him the option to veto the relationship. If Vasily found it too upsetting, Belphagor had promised, he’d tell Loquel no.
Try as he might, however, Vasily couldn’t stop thinking about the sleek and sinewy Misha touching Belphagor when he’d found him in the Unseen World. They had a history together that, unsurprisingly, Belphagor had told Vasily nothing about until the leshi sought him out in St. Petersburg. Misha had been Vasily’s replacement while they were apart.
Vasily had stopped to relieve himself, watering the ground harshly as if it were the object of his resentment, when he heard a crack in the brush behind him. He jerked his head around to find Belphagor watching him from a few feet away.
“What the hell are you doing skulking around behind me?”
Belphagor gave him a devilish smile. “Just admiring your aim.”
He thought he was so damned cute. Vasily turned, still pissing, and let it splatter Belphagor’s boots.
“Ne baluysya!” Belphagor swore as he jumped back. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Guess my aim isn’t that great after all,” Vasily growled. “I meant that to be higher.”
Belphagor’s dark eyes were bright with anger in the moonlight. “All right, malchik, let’s have it out.”
Vasily buttoned up, glaring fire at him. “It’s not enough you lie to me. You have to tell her to lie to me, too?”
“I haven’t lied to you about anything. And I didn’t tell Nazkia to lie to you. I just suggested she leave out the bit about Misha because I knew you’d overreact.”
“Oh, so now you’re the judge of what an appropriate reaction is.”
“You just pissed on my shoes. You don’t think that’s a little over the top?”
Vasily breathed out a thin sigh. “You almost left me for him, Bel. After everything. After Ola—” His voice caught on the name and he took a step back, horrified to realize he was on the verge of tears.
Belphagor’s demeanor changed instantly. “Lyubvi moyey.” He stepped toward Vasily with his hand held out. “We’ll find her.”
Vasily wanted to slap the hand away, to stay angry, because anger didn’t hurt, but Belphagor’s fingers brushed his and Vasily was in his arms in a heartbeat.
Belphagor held him tightly. “She’ll be home soon. Everything’s going to be all right. I promise.”
He hated when Belphagor made promises about things he couldn’t control, but this once, he let it go. This time, a lie was what he needed.
“And I didn’t almost leave you.” Belphagor kissed his throat, as high as he could reach without pulling Vasily’s head down or pushing him to his knees, and whispered against his skin. “I will never leave you. I thought you were leaving me, and I was being a fool once more and letting you go. But I have no intention of doing that ever again, either.”
With Vasily’s defenses down, it took him completely by surprise when Belphagor grabbed his locks at the crown and twisted, spinning him onto one knee.
Stepping in and pinning the leg with his boot, Belphagor forced Vasily to look up at him, his face the hard stone that made Vasily’s spine tingle—among other things. “You are to trust me, malchik. Ponimayesh?” He loosened his grip just enough to let Vasily nod. “I will never do anything to hurt you. That we haven’t agreed on.” The addition of the last phrase made Vasily weak with need. A slight smile crept into the dark glint of Belphagor’s eyes. “And if you ever pee on me again, Vasya…so help me, I’m going to make you sorry in a way you won’t like.”
§
Kirill lay awake beside Love after he’d sinned with her again. She’d fallen asleep with a smile on her face, snuggled against him, her curls damp against her temple and forehead. He felt himself blush at the thought of what had put the smile on her face and caused her to work up such a sweat. He’d known nothing at all about a woman’s body before except the shape of it.
He could see now why St. Pavel had warned men so of temptations of the flesh. Once tasted, he knew he could never resist her again if he stayed. And he wanted to stay. He wanted not to resist her, to give himself over to depravity for her. He would take eternal damnation for the chance to lie in sin with her. But this, more than anything, was why he must leave. He had promised the angel of light he’d follow the path set before him and find the children. He might have waited to part with Love until their paths diverged, but each minute with her made the leaving harder.
He’d written her a note, using his poor angelic to scrounge pen and ink from one of the Virtues, but nothing he could say was adequate. He placed the note next to her and tucked the blanket around her, and she rolled over without waking. Kirill kissed her forehead lightly, then kissed her again on the cheek and temple and nearly woke her before making himself stop.
“Da svedanya, maya Lyuba,” he whispered, and set out to find the angel’s path.
Sedmaya: Iriy
from the memoirs of the Grand Duchess Anazakia Helisonovna of the House of Arkhangel’sk
A light shower had begun sometime in the night, and by morning, the camp was awash in mud. The fire had fizzled out, but Vasily was keeping a kettle of water hot with his hand against it. I made myself a cup of Aravothan tea while the Virtues darted about breaking up camp, looking like silvery drops of rain.
I couldn’t stop thinking of what Misha had told me about Azel. Helga had captured my brother’s shade as he died and somehow forced it into my sister’s child. It gave me a terrible feeling, as if both of them had been obscenely violated.
The syla believed the flower of the fern had only recently given her enough power to accomplish it. This corroborated what Lively told me when I’d questioned her about whether she’d known about Azel. If Helga had been keeping him with her, Lively hadn’t been aware of it, but her aunt had acquired her newfound power among the Party just weeks before ordering Ola’s abduction. It had apparently been some time before Helga had tapped into the magic of the bloom after taking it from me.
Love appeared outside the makeshift mess tent, walking with her head down, but at a glance from her it was clear there was something other than rain on her cheeks.
I held out my hand. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Kirill left.” She handed me a note. “He’s got some crazy idea in his head he’s meant to go alone to save Ola and the little boy.” She paused. “I don’t mean crazy. He’s just…a little confused.”
“He’s gone to Arcadia?�
�� I frowned as I looked over the note. “They definitely weren’t in Arcadia. I’ve been there, visiting my mother’s family. The palace I saw in my dream was completely different. I wish he’d waited and just talked to us.”
“I think he was ashamed of what we’d done.” Love looked miserable. “It’s my fault.”
I tried to hide my surprise. “You mean you hadn’t before?” Lively had given us both charms against pregnancy some time ago, so I’d just assumed.
Love shook her head as if she didn’t trust her voice.
I put a comforting hand on her arm. “We’ll send someone after him. We’ll find him.”
“You read the note. He doesn’t want to be found. He believes he’s doing God’s work.” She sighed. “I think we should leave him be, Nazkia. I think this is the only way he can live with himself. I can’t take his last sense of purpose from him. Knowing me has destroyed him.”
“That isn’t true,” I insisted. “He loves you.”
“I know he does.” Love’s voice fell to a whisper. “That’s what destroyed him.”
We rode for Iriy in the drizzling rain. Perhaps because of the weather, we were greeted with little fanfare as we trudged over muddy ruts past a peculiar mix of farmland, humble cottages, and the sprawling summer homes of the nobility. The rain didn’t let up until the morning we reached Iriy proper.
We entered the city looking filthy and ragged after twenty days on the road, the last five through mud, and I tried to maintain my dignity and project authority as the curious citizens of Iriy lined the streets to see the duchess who dared to defy Queen Aeval. It wasn’t the joyous welcome we’d received in the countryside.
As we neared what had once been the palace of the grand duke of Iriy—the last of whom had been Kae himself—a small battalion of the Iriyan Mounted Guard came out to meet us, brilliant in rich maroon uniforms with braids of gold trim. Though officially they were part of the Supernal Army, Iriy maintained its own armed forces, called upon by the principality when needed to defend the Firmament.
