The Armies of Heaven

by Jane Kindred

  But Belphagor was also mourning the death of Loquel, and though it made Vasily ache to think of Bel touching the beautiful Virtue with the same fierce hand that cherished him, in the face of such sorrow, he couldn’t begrudge Belphagor whatever they’d shared.

  Anazakia at first refused a public coronation, but her advisors managed to convince her she needed to make a grand and victorious debut before her people in order to solidify her reign. She demanded then that it be immediate, rather than waiting for the elaborate plans they recommended for restoring the ransacked palace and repairing the damage done to the square and the city during the weeks of fighting. It took place within a day of settling in Elysium.

  Vasily was stunned by her beauty during the candlelit ceremony, draped in a magnificent, snowy gown Lively had altered for her from among Aeval’s wardrobe. It had been embellished by Aeval with thousands of supernal facets and Anazakia had argued that Lively should remove them rather than make a callous display of wealth in the face of the city’s suffering, but to her great frustration, she had again received unanimous counsel by the noble houses supporting her that a show of highest ceremonial grandeur was necessary to earn the respect of her subjects in the angelic peerage.

  The coronation was held in the Great Hall and she insisted the palace be open to the people—Host and Fallen alike—for the event. The Ophanim were there to see that no one got out of hand, she said, and if they couldn’t handle a few eager citizens, then what hope did she have of holding the city against further revolution from those who were not so eager to see her crowned?

  He watched with Belphagor from the wings of the crowd, though she’d wanted them with her. Belphagor had managed to convince her that having her lover—and her lover’s lover—attending her at her coronation would be in bad form, and Vasily was glad of it; he’d had enough of the curious looks and vile rumors as it was. Belphagor had to remind him that most of the “vile” rumors were in fact true: they were sexual deviants and petty thieves, and Anazakia had been profligate with a man believed to be a demon and had borne a child to him outside the sanctity of marriage.

  “She wasn’t profligate,” he’d protested, but Belphagor had silenced him with a bit of profligate behavior of his own behind the curtains before the ceremony began.

  Anazakia wore her hair down, with the curls falling over her back beneath a single braid from two thin plaits at her temples, and it glittered in the candlelight as if it too were embroidered with facets. He nearly wept at the sight of Ola dressed in a matching gown Lively had somehow whipped up from the extra fabric where she’d taken up the hem. Belphagor did weep, though he tried to deny it later.

  Both mother and daughter were barefoot as a symbol of walking upon the same ground as all of Heaven’s citizens, and when Anazakia took the vow to protect the Firmament and all the Heavens and knelt to receive the crown, Ola knelt beside her, making everyone gasp and murmur at how precious she was despite her “unfortunate” heritage.

  A surge of rage nearly overtook Vasily when he recalled what Anazakia had told him of young Azel’s report that Helga had kept Ola starved and drugged, carting her from Aden in a metal box like an animal. Belphagor seemed to know exactly what had struck him and he grasped Vasily’s hand fiercely for a moment despite the danger of drawing attention, whispering in his ear, “She’ll pay for it.”

  Holding her train, Love and Lively knelt behind Anazakia as her attendants, and when she’d been crowned, she turned and knelt before them both and kissed them each on the cheek to show she was the servant of the people. Love burst into tears and Ola went to Love and kissed her, too, and everyone broke down at that. One woman fainted, though it might have been the oppressive heat with so many crowded together.

  It was what Anazakia did after the ceremony that shocked everyone. She stepped from the daïs and walked through the crowd, snipping facets from her dress and pressing them into the hands of her subjects. Carried by Love while Lively held Anazakia’s train, Ola began pulling facets from her dress as well and holding them out, causing more women to cry.

  The gesture didn’t win everyone over, however. Pamphlets of protest were printed the following day, calling it a vulgar display on a par with the legendary humantale of “Marie Antoinette and the Three Little Cakes.”

  Anazakia’s first official act as queen generated even further controversy when she signed the Liberation Decree that had languished on the desks of the rulers of Heaven for three generations. The wide-sweeping law not only granted the indentured Fallen their independence and the right to be paid commensurate with their work, but also abolished the proscriptions against the settlement of demons within the city of Elysium and against miscegenation among the Fallen and the Host.

  In addition, Anazakia amended the decree to include a repeal of the Writ of Exile against the Grigori and their descendants. Belphagor convinced her to stop at that, though she had wanted to allow free travel between the realms. Leave it restricted, he advised, but enforce it with laxity. Her desire to restore the Princedom of Raqia shocked them both, and though Vasily adored her for it, he and Belphagor both argued that Heaven wasn’t ready for such drastic change. It had taken Lively’s added insistence to get her to abandon the idea. In private, the three of them had agreed there was a certain pride and mystique in the lawlessness of the District that such legitimacy would destroy.

  As it stood, the signing of the Decree spawned riots and calls for Anazakia’s head. Vasily feared civil war might break out before her reign had even been established, but the support of the demon community and of forward-thinking angels who had long argued for emancipation soon eclipsed the criticism. By the end of her first week in power, the bitter Archangels and Principalities who’d lost their free labor had dubbed her Queen of the Fallen, which pleased her immensely, though the less popular term, the Harlot Queen, she wasn’t quite so fond of.

  She visited Vasily that night for the first time as queen of Heaven, still deferring to Belphagor for permission. They had to be discreet, and she would be back in her own bed before morning, but for these few hours, she belonged to him.

  The idea of bedding the queen both frightened and excited him—as did the punishment he was sure to get for the pleasure. He whispered in her ear that he was defiling her as he tore off her silk corset and lace petticoats and ripped holes in her stockings, and she shivered beneath his rough touch as he swung her over to straddle him.

  “Some Supernal Majesty,” he growled derisively. “Letting a filthy demon inside you.” He looked up at her with flaming eyes as he punctuated the words with a thrust of his hips.

  “You’re not a demon.” The words escaped her in a gasp of pleasure, the electric sparks of their element flowing over his skin where they came together.

  “Be quiet, you dirty little angel,” he growled. “I am tonight.”

  As she lay in his arms later, she stroked his piercings lightly with the tip of her finger, painting the aether across them. “I don’t know how often we’ll have this. They’re already calling me the Harlot Queen.”

  “You are the Harlot Queen.” He nipped at her throat. “You’re my Harlot Queen.”

  She tried not to let him see her smile. “Stop it,” she said, making no attempt to enforce this decree, and then sighed in his arms. “Belphagor thinks you should leave the palace.”

  This stopped him. “He what?”

  “He’s right. It looks bad. It will only breed resentment.”

  “Belphagor is not always right.” Vasily pulled her hand away from his neck. “And sometimes he’s right and he’s an ass, all at once.”

  “Vasily, I don’t want you to go. I’m not telling you to go.”

  “Where the hell would I go? What about Ola? After all we’ve been through!”

  “I don’t know.” She clutched her curls in frustration as she rolled over. “Never mind.” Anazakia reached for him again. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I don’t want to think about it now. I don’t want to waste this time.”<
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  Neither did he, and he proceeded to not waste it rather forcefully.

  §

  In the morning, she’d not only gone from his bed but from the palace as well, taking a trip to the northeast to accompany Captain Iaoth and his men back to Iriy, where they were to be awarded the Supernal Medal of Valor for their faithfulness during the war. Belphagor seemed to know of the trip already, and Vasily fumed at being kept in the dark.

  “Kept in the dark.” Belphagor repeated the phrase as if it had an interesting ring to it. He crossed his heavy black boots on the edge of the table in the Queen’s Dining Room and leaned back in his chair as they ate a late breakfast together. He was peeling a bergamot with a knife rather sharp for the purpose, and as he pulled the segments apart, he speared one on the end of the knife and held it out for Vasily to open his mouth. Vasily took the sour fruit with a glare and then hissed in indignation as Belphagor pulled the knife away just swiftly enough to nick the end of his tongue. The juice stung like hell.

  “You’re insolent this morning.” Belphagor gave him a dark look.

  “You told Nazkia she ought to give us the boot,” he snapped, wiping the back of his hand against the blood. “You want to leave her? Leave Ola?”

  “Do you think that’s what I want?” Belphagor closed the knife and put it in his boot. “Do you trust my judgment or just take me for a great fool, Vasily?”

  “A great ass,” he muttered.

  Belphagor’s chair dropped forward with a bang. “What did you say?”

  “I said you have a great ass.” Vasily gave him a defiant stare.

  Pushing back his chair, Belphagor stood and pulled Vasily up by the collar. “I want to see you in that room in five minutes.” His mouth was so close to Vasily’s ear as he gave the quiet order that the words vibrated against his skin. “That room where you apparently had such a wonderful time violating the queen of Heaven that you’ve suddenly put on airs.” He dropped Vasily back into the chair and went to the room ahead of him, putting the onus of submission on Vasily to follow. Vasily waited for five and a half minutes before rising and sauntering into the room as if he weren’t afraid of what that extra thirty seconds had bought him.

  Standing against the far wall, Belphagor waited with arms crossed. “Crawl to me and kiss my boots.” He planted his legs solidly apart.

  “Kiss my ass.”

  A long, slow sigh of displeasure from Belphagor sent shivers along Vasily’s skin. He came forward and stared unsmiling into Vasily’s eyes. Vasily always intended to stare him down but had never succeeded, and he lowered his eyes first, knowing that would be the moment Belphagor grabbed his hair and forced him to his knees. He wasn’t disappointed.

  With a sharp yank of his locks, Belphagor pushed him down and pressed him toward the polished boots. He wouldn’t issue a command more than once, but the intent was clear.

  Instead of kissing them, Vasily spat on the boots, and for a moment, he thought he’d gone too far. Belphagor let go of him and stood still, and Vasily didn’t dare look up. Then he walked away and returned with something from the bed and Vasily gasped as a black silk pillowcase dropped over his head. He grabbed at it uncontrollably—Belphagor knew he was claustrophobic—but Belphagor yanked Vasily’s hands behind him and ripped off his belt, securing Vasily’s wrists and straddling him like he was tying down a calf.

  Vasily jerked in panic. “I can’t breathe!”

  “Yes, you can,” said Belphagor without sympathy.

  “Please. I’m sorry!”

  “Chto?”

  “Pozhaluista!” Almost too panicked to remember the words, his mind raced, trying to think in Russian. “Ya ogorchen!”

  Belphagor crouched over him. “Do you trust me?” While Vasily tried to still his pounding heart, Belphagor’s lips brushed lightly over the pillowcase at his temple. “Do you trust me?”

  “Da, ser,” Vasily choked out.

  “Breathe, malchik moi.” The beloved words were calming, and Vasily felt himself breathing more easily, though the closeness of the cloth still terrified him. “You don’t like being kept in the dark.”

  “Nyet, ser,” he managed.

  “Let me assure you, malchik, I would never do anything to you in the dark that you don’t like.”

  “Ya eto ne nravitsya.”

  “Yes, you don’t like this, you don’t like the dark. But you like what I’m doing to you.” Belphagor slid his hand inside Vasily’s pants, his palm encircling the telling erection, and elicited an involuntary moan. “I thought so.” He deftly undid the buttons restricting his access. “Now I’m going to have you in the dark, because I want you in the dark, and you are my dirty little angel.”

  Vasily sucked in his breath in surprise and Belphagor tightened his hand on him.

  “That’s right. I listened. And you like that, too, don’t you?”

  Vasily nodded, unable to speak.

  “Good boy.” Belphagor used the belt at Vasily’s wrists to pull him to his feet, and let the pants drop and tangle about Vasily’s boots as he hauled him forward onto the bed. It aggravated Vasily not to be able to move his legs as he pleased, and Belphagor knew it. “It makes it harder for you to get away, should the notion take you,” he’d said once when Vasily had grumbled about it, adding, “Besides, they are down as far as I need them.”

  The dark hood made Belphagor’s presence seem large and menacing as he crawled over him. “What’s the matter, dirty little angel?” He wrestled Vasily down as he tried in vain to fight it. “You don’t mind violating the queen, but you can’t take a little violation yourself?” Belphagor underscored the words with the force of his flesh, and Vasily groaned as he made good on the threat, slick with oil he’d palmed with airspirit finesse.

  “Hold still.” Belphagor yanked on his locks beneath the pillowcase when Vasily squirmed beneath him. “I’ll use you as I please.”

  Every nerve ending in Vasily’s skin danced with the heat of seraphic fire as Belphagor penetrated him, and he forgot his fear in the fierceness of Belphagor’s possession, aware only of the strength of the grip on his cock and the fury of the pounding thighs against his own. Belphagor brought Vasily to a merciless climax before pinning him with an elbow to the back of the neck and taking his time with his own pleasure. Vasily was moaning senselessly, transported to that place of transcendent release—fully Belphagor’s, fully safe—when Belphagor at last enveloped him in his arms and kissed the back of his neck.

  “My malchik.” Belphagor whispered softly against his skin. “My Seraph. You need never fear anything when I am holding you. I have traveled Heaven and earth and the Unseen World and I have had my share of men—both demon and angel, and a few other things besides—but there has never been anyone I’ve cherished as I do you.”

  Vasily bit back tears and then cried out in surprise as he felt something sharp pierce the nape of his neck.

  “Since you reminded me I was another year older, I’ve counted the years you’ve belonged to me.” Belphagor threaded a spiked bar through the skin without missing a stroke. “And we are off by two.” Echoing the movements of his body, he thrust the needle in again, and deftly threaded another beneath the first.

  Letting out a breath against the pain, Vasily yelped when Belphagor surprised him with a third.

  “I thought I’d get the jump on the coming year,” he said casually. “Since you will certainly belong to me still.” Capping the last of the new adornments, he pulled the hood away and forced Vasily’s head back by the hair just above the new piercings so he could reach his lips. Though his hands were hard, his mouth was soft and sweet. When he released Vasily, he brushed his lips over the tender wounds and murmured against them. “If I have my way, sweet boy, one day, people will be able to count these like rings on a tree to see just exactly how long the Fallen live.” He added in the tongue of Men, “Ya tebya lyublyu.” I love you.

  §

  For the first time in days, Kirill woke feeling something like himself, thou
gh he had no inkling where he’d woken. The bed was high and soft, and the room tastefully austere with a white-stained wooden floor and a creamy rug dotted here and there with hand-embroidered rosebuds. He sat up and saw he was dressed in soiled clothes that were not his own, and then he remembered the demon town and the demon market—and what he’d almost done to the little boy.

  Kirill slipped out of the bed and onto his knees and began to cross himself, reciting the Prayer of the Heart—until he remembered the angel of God himself had bidden him to kill the child.

  He stood slowly, recalling fragments of conversation from the past several days, people speaking over him while he raved. The angel of light who’d visited him was of the highest order, one called an Aeon. There was no higher being in Heaven than these.

  Heaven was devoid of God. Kirill’s prayers went to no one, and the forces that interceded in men’s lives were merely selfish beings with their own agendas. He took out the prayer rope still in his pocket and held it in his hand. He felt nothing. Kirill dropped it into the waste bin.

  A servant entered and told him the queen had inquired after his health, and that if he felt well enough, he might have a hot bath and a hot meal. Nothing sounded better to Kirill at this moment. He couldn’t imagine how he’d come to be a prisoner of the wretched queen of Heaven, but he might as well take advantage of her hospitality while her good mood lasted.

  When he returned to his room after partaking of both bath and food, wrapped in a clean, ordinary robe, he found Love sitting on his bed, idly turning in her hands the chotki he’d thrown away. His heart beat faster at the sight of her. He could think of nothing to say, and she said nothing, and then he studied the fading marks of bruises on her face and remembered seeing her when they’d been fresh. His heart turned black with fury.