The Armies of Heaven

by Jane Kindred

  “The bleeding. Helga’s causing it, so the wound is the result of magic.” I jumped up. “Vasily is here. We have to get her to him—he can’t fit through the passage. We have to take Lively to him so we can use the aether.” I crawled into the cupboard and Margarita lifted Lively in her arms and crouched before it, laying the motionless head and shoulders in my lap. Wrapping my arms through Lively’s and beneath her chest, I scrambled backward, calling for Vasily’s help.

  As he pulled us into the room, our radiance came together, the pale violet of the aether already slipping along our skin. Vasily didn’t need to ask questions as we set Lively on the floor and brought our hands together over her bloody gown, though he hesitated to touch her at the source of the bleeding. Ignoring propriety and his discomfort, I wove our fingers together and pressed both of our hands between her legs. The aether spread, seeming even to find its way inside her.

  Unlike with Kae, it didn’t consume the blood, nor did it burn brightly, but it drifted over Lively’s body like a slow and steady pulsing wave. With each oscillation, her breathing seemed to grow stronger, and her heart seemed to beat more certainly. I began to suspect the wound we were healing wasn’t the bleeding, but psychological wounds Helga had been inflicting upon her from within that had caused her body to react in this manner.

  The waves of rippling aether began to dissipate, floating up into the air and disappearing like water vapor, and Vasily pulled our hands back with a flush of embarrassment as Lively opened her eyes. Behind her, Margarita knelt with Lively’s head in her lap, tears of relief on her cheeks.

  “What’s going on?” Lively struggled to sit up.

  Margarita supported her. “Nazkia and Vasily stopped your bleeding. They used their aether.”

  Lively stared up at us with a look of shock, and then her surprise turned to suspicion as her eyes narrowed on me. “What do you need me to do now?”

  “Nothing,” I assured her.

  “Then why would you heal me?” Her grey-green eyes held frank disbelief. “You wanted me dead.”

  “I might have,” I admitted. “For a day or two. But you are not a ‘wretched, wicked woman,’ Lively, and you didn’t deserve what Helga was doing to you.” I pressed her hand and she flinched as if expecting me to strike her instead. “I’m sorry. I’ve been unkind to you, and I’ve pushed you too hard. If I could bring Early back…”

  “Where is he? I want to see him.”

  I exchanged a look of dismay with Margarita.

  “Lively.” Margarita spoke quietly. “Early died.”

  “I know that,” snapped Lively, brushing away an angry tear. “I just want to see him. I just want to hold him.”

  “The doctor took the body this morning,” I told her.

  Lively’s face seemed to crumple.

  I guessed at what she might have been thinking. “Even if he were here,” I said gently, “Vasily and I couldn’t bring him back. His lungs were just too small. I think he must have stopped breathing as soon as you fell asleep.”

  Lively nodded, staring wordlessly at her lap.

  Vasily put his hand on her shoulder, not noticing his palm was still damp with her blood. “I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t yours,” she gasped without looking at him, fighting tears.

  “I know. But I’m still sorry.”

  “And I’m sorry I deceived you.” Unable to hold the tears back any longer, she turned to Margarita for comfort. Vasily and I sat back, feeling awkward, as Margarita rocked her.

  “I don’t know how you bear it, Nazkia,” she said against Margarita’s chest. She tried to wipe her eyes, though the tears were still flowing freely. “I never thought about what it was like for you, losing Ola.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to this, but the door opened at that moment, circumventing whatever I might have said.

  “Well, isn’t this cozy.” Helga turned to the guard. “Put them all in separate rooms. With no adjoining cabinets. Except for Lively. I want her brought with me.”

  Shestnadtsataya: Mixed Messages

  The gypsy underground was back in play. Word came over the laptop Belphagor had rented for Love that the Parliament of Night Travelers had taken their vote. The message arrived from possessed85 shortly after noon. He couldn’t tell them the outcome of the vote, only that it had happened, but from the sudden activity Love was picking up it seemed clear it had gone in their favor.

  Following the message’s instructions, Belphagor waited for a representative of the Night Travelers at a back table deep within the winding basement interior of a restaurant off Millionaya Ulitsa. He was working on his second vodka by the time Pyotr appeared.

  “You again,” said the gypsy with a sigh.

  Belphagor set down his empty glass. “I’m getting the distinct impression,” he said with a wry smile, “that I’m not your type.”

  Pyotr observed him with a look of puzzlement. “How do you mean?”

  “Never mind. Please sit down.”

  “We were expecting Lyubov Andreyevna.” Pyotr sat across from him at the small wooden table and gave the waitress an order for a mug of kvas. “Our contact said he spoke with her this morning, so we assumed you’d found her.”

  “Oh, I found her.” Belphagor’s tone was clipped. “Beaten up by a pair of sadistic Nephilim. She’ll mend. But your ‘Malak’ was an Angliski Nephil, as I suspected.”

  Pyotr looked ill. “I’m sorry, Belphagor. I truly am. I had no idea why he was asking about her. I still don’t understand what they wanted from her.”

  “My little girl. She’s gone missing, and they thought Love knew where.” Realizing he was on the verge of taking his rage out on Pyotr, he signaled for another vodka.

  Pyotr waited until after the waitress had brought their drinks to lean across the table with a conspiratorial air. “Well, I think you’ll be pleased to hear the underground network has been reestablished. The alliance with the Malakim has been severed and we’ve already sent word throughout the Fallen community that we wish to reestablish our traditional relations. It’s been well received.”

  “I am very pleased to hear that.” Belphagor exhaled the tight breath in his lungs with relief.

  Pyotr took a sip of the thick kvas. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll be pleased to hear the rest. The terrestrial Fallen have informed us they stand firmly with their celestial brethren behind the Social Liberation Party.” He gave Belphagor an apologetic shrug.

  Belphagor sighed. “Well, I thank you and the Night Travelers, Pyotr Alexeyevich, for what you’ve done. The fault lies with me. I’m afraid I wasn’t very persuasive when I made my case with the Exiles.”

  “For what it’s worth, I got the impression the network would function outside of celestial alliances. It always has. So there’s still a good chance you’ll be able to use it to find your little girl.”

  Belphagor laid some bills on the table for his vodka and caviar. “And I intend to start on that right away.”

  Pyotr hurriedly finished his drink and stood with him. “Listen, I hate to do this, but Elena will have my head if I come back without having met Lyubov. It’s not that we don’t trust you, but you’ve now served as her proxy on both occasions. She is one of our tribe, after all. Do you mind if I accompany you back to your hotel so I can tell Elena I’ve seen her?”

  Belphagor shrugged. “As you wish.”

  When Pyotr saw Love, he couldn’t contain his dismay. The bruise on the side of her face had darkened overnight to a purplish hue, including a black eye that looked painfully swollen, and marks were visible on her neck and arms from the grip of large fingers. She’d refused to go to a doctor, but Belphagor had insisted she stay in bed and recuperate.

  In typical Love fashion, she was excessively gracious. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for the meetings,” she said as she shook Pyotr’s hand.

  “My God, don’t apologize.” Pyotr’s eyes widened. “I’m the one who’s sorry. If anything I said to that Nephil put you in
harm’s way…”

  “I doubt it was anything you said,” Love assured him. “My sister Nadja had that all taken care of.”

  Pyotr shifted his weight awkwardly. “Well, I just wanted to tell you in person. The vote went in favor of restoring the alliance.”

  “Oh, I know.” Love’s grin was incongruous amid the bruising. “I’ve already started picking up chatter on the underground.” The grin was replaced by a worried frown as she looked at Belphagor. “And I’m afraid it’s not good. The chatter is that the demons have overrun Elysium.”

  This wasn’t the news he’d wanted to hear. “Anything of Nazkia?”

  Love frowned. “There are rumors she’s joined forces with Helga.”

  Belphagor snorted. “Impossible.”

  “Or that she’s a prisoner. I think I can get a message to Lively through her Chora to find out.”

  “That fortune-telling nonsense?”

  Love’s tone, though muted by the swelling, managed to be rife with reproach. “That ‘fortune-telling nonsense’ is what got us in touch with the Night Travelers. I kept in contact with possessed85 from Heaven. He made all the arrangements here.”

  Belphagor remained skeptical. “You’re welcome to give it a try, but we’ll be there soon enough.” He took an envelope full of train tickets from his coat pocket and held it up. “We leave tonight.”

  “So soon?” said Pyotr.

  “There’s no point in arguing with the Grigori chieftain. He’s made up his mind. There’s nothing else we can do here.”

  “Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Belphagor.” Pyotr held out his hand. “In spite of your reputation.”

  Belphagor laughed as he shook the gypsy’s hand.

  “And Lyubov—”

  “Love,” she said swiftly.

  “I’m sorry. Love.” Pyotr took her hand and kissed it, and Belphagor could tell that if her mottled skin had allowed it, she would have blushed. “I hope you’re feeling better soon. If there’s ever anything the Night Travelers can do for you, we’re at your service.”

  §

  Helga had kept Lively standing for nearly two hours while she went over her plans with her lieutenants at the large malachite-topped desk. Lively had at least been allowed to clean up and change clothes before the command audience, but though her bleeding was under control, she was still terribly sore as well as exhausted. Nevertheless, she stood stoically by the desk, unwilling to give Helga the satisfaction of her tears, until her aunt finally dismissed her lieutenants and turned her attention on Lively.

  “You may have managed to fool simpleminded Anazakia and her silly polovina-Seraph into thinking you’re a poor, misused innocent, my dear. But you are not fooling me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of trying to fool you, Auntie Helga. You seem to know everything.”

  “You’re being impudent, but that’s immaterial. What matters is that you obey me.” Helga paused as if waiting for a response, but when Lively said nothing, she went on. “This isn’t a matter of your choice, Lively, and it isn’t a matter of my whim.”

  She stroked her infernal locket as if she were doing it secretively, when everyone knew it was the source of her newfound power. It hardly mattered; no one could get near her as long as she wore it, but she clearly thought she was being clever.

  “It’s a matter of loyalty. I cannot be loyal to you, my brother’s own child, if you are incapable of being loyal to me. It must be clear to you by now what will become of you without the protection of our familial bond.”

  “Perfectly clear. I do as you say, or I’m dead.”

  “You might wish you were dead,” said Helga flatly, and then appeared to soften, and spoke with almost believable sincerity. “My dear, I am doing this for our people. Do you think that pampered little angel would give a damn about you or any other demon if she were queen?”

  “She says she’ll sign the Liberation Decree.” Lively bit her tongue as soon as the words were out.

  Helga laughed. “You’ve made a fool of yourself, Lively. Becoming her little pet. Perhaps you even imagine she thinks of you as a friend.”

  Lively felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She’d harbored no such delusions, but the way Helga spoke made it seem as if everything Lively had done for Anazakia had been to curry favor like some child desperate to be liked.

  Helga gave her a thoughtful look. “Anazakia had a demon as a friend once. When she was a little girl. The child was a kitchen maid’s daughter, and Anazakia played with her to irritate her mother, who found it unsavory—just as she later began to sneak out to go slumming in Raqia because of its disreputable mystique. I myself had to administer a beating to the little girl when I caught her playing with Anazakia in the nursery. Anazakia hadn’t given a thought to the consequences for the poor child. She simply treated her like a toy she owned, and one she soon grew tired of. If you think she’s changed so from that spoiled, ignorant girl that she suddenly cares what happens to the Fallen, you’re a bigger fool than you seem.”

  “You used to talk about her as if she were your darling,” Lively dared to scoff. “I remember you brought me some of her old clothes once and you went on and on about what lovely golden curls she had and how sweet she was.”

  Helga laughed. “Well, of course I did. I took pride in my work. It was my job to spoil and pamper her. But I was never fool enough to forget she was spoiled and pampered.”

  Lively must have made a sound of discomfort, focusing all her attention on standing still.

  Helga pulled a chair out from the desk. “Sit down, dear. You seem to be reaching your limit.”

  Grateful for the respite despite her resentment, Lively sat.

  “What I’m trying to tell you, Lively, is that you can only count on your own kind. We can’t wait for the angels to just give us our rights. That’s why I joined the movement when it first began many years ago, and when the time was ripe for action, I took it. Now we’re only days away from realizing emancipation in the fullest sense of the word. The angels will give us nothing, so we will take it ourselves.”

  “And what about the heir?” She ached all over and she wished Helga would just let her lie down, but something prompted her to ask. “You plan to put another Arkhangel’sk on the throne and make him principality. How is that emancipation?”

  “That, my dear, is the vehicle that will bring the angels to our side once Aeval has been defeated. He will rule in name only; there will be a democratic parliament elected from among the commoners to govern Heaven, but the nobility will have their precious principality. And that is why I need him. And that, dear girl, is where you come in.” Helga reached into a drawer and pulled out a pouch Lively recognized—her Chora deck. “I found these in your room and I would like you to put them to work.” She placed the pouch in Lively’s hands. “Find me the boy, and I’ll forget about the mistakes you’ve made.”

  In her room later, shuffling the cards as the incense burned in its censer beside her, Lively tried to keep her mind off the desolate emptiness of her womb. Helga had given her a job to do and she would do it. The fantasy of motherhood, of being someone special, was over now. It was someone else’s children who mattered.

  There was something puzzling about the cards when she laid them out. They weren’t answering the question she’d asked. The tone of the spread was familiar, like a person’s written “voice.” The order of its logic, the symbolic choices—she’d seen this voice before. Lively stopped laying out cards and stared as she recognized it at last. It was a message from Love.

  She was torn about whether to read it. Any information Love gave her could be used against Anazakia, and Helga would eventually have it of her. Her aunt hadn’t mentioned the communications Lively had undertaken for Love at Aravoth, but that might simply have been a matter of distance. Lively blinked back useless tears. If only she’d stayed in Aravoth.

  The cards were plain before her. There really was no un-reading it. Our trip has been only partly successful. The tra
velers are with us, but the demons are not. Travelers, she supposed, meant the gypsies. Lively had never fallen, but she’d listened to many stories from those who had and she knew there were some like Love who lived their lives in a kind of symbiotic service to the Fallen. Helga said they were as good as slaves, but Love hadn’t seemed to think so.

  But there was more to the message. It ended with a request: Send news of the angel. This could only mean Anazakia. Lively gathered the cards and shuffled feverishly, afraid Helga could read them somehow from her malachite desk. Receiving it was one thing. She couldn’t possibly answer.

  With a pang, she realized how much those few words had actually made her miss Love. Out of loyalty to Anazakia, the gypsy had disliked her intensely at first, but over the weeks of their march to Elysium, Lively had felt a certain bond with her, a respect she’d never felt from Anazakia. She had felt almost…liked.

  Margarita liked her, of course. But in a different way. Lively tucked her hair behind her ear with a smile. She hadn’t been sure of Margarita’s friendliness before, but when Margarita had thought Lively was dying, she’d whispered such sweet things while she held her that the nature of that friendliness had become obvious.

  It seemed impossible that such a beautiful creature could want her. Margarita was everything Lively was not: confident and strong—she could kick angelic ass like nobody’s business—and unswervingly loyal. Before Margarita, Lively had never contemplated whether she preferred men or women. Sex had been something required of her as her duty and something to use when it could get her what she wanted. The idea of desire, of being with somebody without it being some kind of transaction, was completely foreign to her.

  When Rita had given her a massage back in Aravoth, Lively had found herself unexpectedly aroused by the Nephil’s touch and had tried to hide it, thinking it must be the pregnancy hormones. She blushed at the memory; it seemed her unasked question of preference had an answer.

  Lively sighed. This was not a productive line of thought. She wasn’t free, and she would never be, no matter what fancy notions of liberation Helga dangled before her. She shuffled the deck once more and laid the cards out, concentrating on Ola and the little grand duke. The cards seemed murky, as if some magic permeated the air between them and where the children were. Lively studied them intently. Helga wouldn’t be pleased if she came up empty-handed.