The Midnight Court

by Jane Kindred

  They took Gehenna in less than a week, quickly overtaking demons armed only with knives once the walls were breached. The field marshal did not feel inclined toward mercy, and he permitted the soldiers to slaughter as many demons as they wished, provided the leader of the insurgence was captured for interrogation. The Virtues his men hadn’t dispatched he ordered lined up on their knees in the snow-covered yard to be dealt with once he determined the full extent of their princedom’s involvement in the rebellion, while the prisoners they’d brought from Elysium were bound and taken with him into the keep in the custody of the Ophanim.

  As for the Cherubim, there were none to be found. As soon as the traitors had seen that the citadel was lost, they’d risen on their fourfold golden wings and fled like cowards.

  The field marshal was somewhat surprised when a middle-aged demoness was brought before him and identified as the demons’ leader. She smiled at him as if he were a guest in her castle and she was merely welcoming a weary traveler.

  The field marshal’s expression remained flat. “By what authority do you claim possession of Her Supernal Majesty’s property?”

  “Which property would that be, dear?” Her matronly smile gave him an unpleasant feeling, as if she knew something about him.

  When he struck her for her insolence, his hand stiffened up and began to ache as if the joints were suddenly swollen. Perhaps he’d used too much force on the Virtue Haniel in beating out his confession.

  He flexed his fingers within the glove. “The dominions of all celestial princedoms belong to Her Supernal Majesty.”

  “They should belong to the people.” She seemed unmoved by his correction. “After all, it’s the people whose labor builds the manors and the palaces and the fortresses throughout all of Heaven. It is the sweat and blood of the people who maintain them.”

  “And I suppose by ’people,’ you mean demons.”

  “Are we not people?” She wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth and held her hand out. “Do we not bleed?”

  “You’ll bleed more if you don’t answer my question. By what authority have you occupied this estate?”

  “By the authority of the people. I represent the people’s Social Liberation Party.”

  The field marshal made a dismissive noise. “All such parties crumble under the weight of their own folly. What I want to know is who has fomented mutiny among the Host against their queen. They would not have bowed to the authority of a Raqia bawd. I believe there is someone of importance here in the keep.”

  He turned to the Ophanim that held the earthly monk. The creature looked beyond mad now. Trails of frozen spit stained his beard from having his mouth forced open by the leather bit, and he was unable or unwilling to stand on his own.

  “This terrestrial claims you’re harboring the last heir of the House of Arkhangel’sk.”

  The demoness looked upon the mad monk with disgust. “This is why the queen has sent you to attack us unprovoked? Preposterous. I know nothing about this person.”

  “Yet he spoke the truth about the presence of the Cherubim. How do you suppose he knew about that?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea. Lucky guess?”

  The field marshal raised his hand to strike her again, but the ache throbbed in it once more, like daggers thrust between his bones. He looked at the drooling monk and began to doubt himself. Something about the man had convinced him he spoke the truth and caused him to turn his men around for this foolhardy trek to the north in the midst of winter, but he felt none of that certainty now. He was not used to doubt, and it wormed inside his veins like a prickling heat.

  The Cherubim and Virtues were here consorting with demons, however. It had to mean something. He would have the remaining Virtues tortured until they told him what he wanted to know.

  He turned to give orders to one of his men but was interrupted by a pair of soldiers coming down the steps of the keep’s tower.

  “There’s a locked room at the top, sir.”

  “Well, break down the door.” What were they teaching at the Academy these days?

  “It’s iron, sir.”

  “What’s in that room?” He turned to the demoness, but she pursed her lips stubbornly. “Search her for the key.”

  They probed her unceremoniously until a key was found on a chatelaine beneath her skirts.

  A dozen soldiers mounted the steps, and within minutes they returned escorting a tall, fiery-haired brute, along with three women and a young child. The demon buck glared at him defiantly as he was brought forward, but the field marshal was uninterested in him. It was the child he’d come for.

  He ordered the dark-haired maid holding the child to be brought to him, but one of the other women, clearly an angel, stepped forward and took the girl from her arms.

  “You will not touch her.” Her tone reminded him of the queen and there was something in her azurite eyes that unnerved him. Another unfamiliar feeling fluttered in his breast—a trickle of fear.

  He nodded brusquely to the Ophanim who held the monk, and they dropped him to the floor and stepped forward, reaching for the child.

  Two peculiar things happened at once. An arc of light in the color of an Aravothan sunset over Lake Superna in summer jumped from mother to child, causing the Ophanim to fall back as if stung, and the dark-haired maid cried out at the same moment and ran to the monk before anyone could stop her.

  Semnadtsatoe: The Man in the Leather Mask

  from the memoirs of the Grand Duchess Anazakia Helisonovna of the House of Arkhangel’sk

  Love fell on her knees before the madman we’d seen ranting in the Palace Square. “Kirill! What have they done to you?”

  This was her Kirill? She lifted his head into her lap, stroking the matted hair. His mouth was bound with a cruel leather strap, and Love began to work at the buckles to remove it. One of the Ophanim reached to stop her, and Love gasped and jerked at the touch, her hands flying away from the buckles.

  “Let her go,” I ordered, holding Ola tighter.

  The Ophan hesitated, looking to the masked field marshal, who was staring intently at me with his rheumy eye.

  “He’s no longer of any interest to me.” The harsh growl of the field marshal’s voice sounded almost painful. “Leave the girl.”

  The Ophan backed away and allowed Love to remove the strap, along with a damp rag that had been stuffed against the monk’s tongue as a gag. The poor man looked much the worse for wear, his lips cracked and bleeding and his skin nearly colorless. He also looked as if he hadn’t eaten in days. If this was Kirill whom Love had thought dead, I wasn’t certain she’d been wrong.

  Though I tried to hold her still, Ola turned in my arms and looked down at Love. “Ki’ill,” she said a bit mournfully, and sucked on her fist.

  The field marshal reached out as if to touch Ola, but then jerked his hand back, rubbing the palm between stiffly curved fingers as if he couldn’t quite spread them. The fourth finger of his glove was empty.

  “So it’s true.” He turned to me, his voice more gravelly than Vasily’s when he was angry. “She has seraphic blood.”

  I gave him no answer, and he didn’t seem to expect one. There was something familiar about his face despite the knot of scars that marked the only visible part of it, but before I could dwell on this, my gaze focused on the prisoners standing behind him in the great hall, escorted by his Ophanim. Belphagor and the others were here.

  Ola apparently noticed them just as I did. She pointed with certainty, announcing, “Beli.”

  Belphagor looked as close to tears as I had ever seen him. Beside me, Vasily smoothed Ola’s wispy curls, but his eyes were on Belphagor as well.

  “Well, now.” The field marshal looked from Ola to Belphagor. “This is interesting.” He raised his single patchy eyebrow toward Belphagor. “How does the Seraph-blood know Her Supernal Majesty’s favorite pet?”

  The way he said this phrase arrested me. It wasn’t possible. I stared at the scarred f
ace, searching for evidence of what might have been there before the tissue was damaged. The hair was swept back tight and slick, making it look darker than it was, making it look straight. But as it reflected the torchlight, I could see it was a pale golden blond.

  “It can’t be.” As the whisper escaped my lips, the field marshal cocked his head at me in a gesture that was unmistakable. “Kae?”

  Vasily gripped my arm, hard enough to bruise.

  The field marshal looked as if I’d slapped him. “What did you call me?” He flexed his gloved hand once more in my direction, still not quite daring to touch me.

  I shook my head, unable to repeat it.

  “She called you,” said Belphagor, “Your Supernal Majesty the Principality Kae Lebesovich of the House of Arkhangel’sk.”

  The field marshal turned slowly toward him, the long curls of his unmistakable ponytail slipping out from beneath the collar of his cape.

  Belphagor met his gaze and added with a sneer, “Her Supernal Majesty’s eternal slave.”

  With a swift and brutal gesture, my cousin—there was no mistaking him now for anyone else—loosed an instrument of knotted hide and lead from his belt and struck Belphagor across his collarbone with it. Belphagor stumbled under the weight and force of the blow, and before I could stop him, Vasily hurled himself forward and tackled Kae to the ground.

  The Ophanim leapt upon Vasily and dragged him off, tossing him onto his back against the stone tile. Kae jumped up as swiftly, and the heel of one tall, shiny black boot struck Vasily in the head. I screamed, and Ola began to cry, frightened by me, I think, more than anything else. She twisted away from me and reached out her arms and wailed plaintively, “Lub!”

  Love jumped up and took Ola, soothing her as I relinquished her. “It’s okay, sweetie.” We had both acted automatically, and I realized too late what a foolish thing I’d done when my cousin turned and swept Ola away from Love.

  “Hold her,” he ordered his Ophanim before I could take a step, and two smooth hands that seemed both cold and hot at once gripped my arms. I’d felt their unpleasant touch once before, apprehended in Raqia after Helga sent me away, but it wasn’t a touch one got used to.

  A field of current prickled at my flesh like a swarm of fire ants, and the shifting impression the Ophanim gave when they stood close, like something seen out of the corner of one’s eye not quite in focus, made my stomach churn. Beside Kae, the other two Ophanim had dragged Vasily to his feet. Blood was trickling into his eye from the cut where Kae had kicked him, already swelling at his brow, and he looked as ill as I felt.

  In all the years the Ophanim had guarded the palaces in which I’d lived, they’d never laid a hand on me. Like the Seraphim who had guarded our persons, they had stood in their places and done their duty, decorative complements to the splendor of their surroundings. They were both unobtrusive and unimportant. I’d never given a thought to the power that surrounded us. It had seemed benign.

  I tried to focus on Kae. “Please. Don’t hurt my baby.”

  He was holding Ola up as if examining an interesting artifact, and she’d gone quiet, as uncertain what to make of him as he seemed of her. “Why in Heaven would I hurt the child? I’ve come all the way from Elysium to find the last scion of the House of Arkhangel’sk.” Apparently satisfied by his examination, he set Ola down and held her hand to keep her next to him. “And if such she is, then you must be Bloody Anazakia.” He spat the words as if they dirtied his mouth. “You and your accomplices will answer for your crimes in Elysium.”

  “Nogi yee niskhodyat k smerti.” The monk murmured the strange phrase from the floor and began to cough.

  “He needs water.” Love knelt down to him once more. “Please, can’t we give him some water?”

  “Bring it,” Kae ordered one of his men.

  The soldier went to the pump at the other end of the hall that brought water up from the cistern and filled a skin for the monk, bringing it to Love reluctantly. She lifted Kirill’s head and encouraged him to drink. I had the feeling he wouldn’t have done so for anyone but her.

  “Ki’ill.” Ola pulled on Kae’s hand as if to go to him.

  Kirill sat up with Love’s help and smiled at Ola. “Hello, little one.” A cloud came over his expression and he repeated in angelic the phrase he’d said in Russian: “Her feet go down into death.” He paused to control his ragged breathing. “And her steps go in as far as hell.”

  The captain of the company entered the hall at that moment and signaled for Kae’s attention. “What should we do with these?” He held up something that my mind at first simply refused to comprehend. “They’re becoming defiant.”

  “Oh my God,” said Love.

  Behind me, Lively turned away and vomited onto the stones. The object the captain held was the severed head of a Virtue.

  In a gesture that made me forgive just the tiniest piece of his cruelty, Kae dropped to his haunches and swiftly covered Ola’s eyes. “What in the name of the Firmament is wrong with you, man?” His rasping voice couldn’t quite yell. “Get that thing out of here!”

  The captain balked, staring at his commanding officer as if he were a complete stranger before handing the head to one of his men, who took it out into the yard.

  As the captain surveyed the rest of us, he paused when his gaze fell on me. “So you are alive, Your Supernal Highness.” He gave me a slight, unconscious bow. “I’ve never quite believed the stories.” He shook his head as if he still didn’t. “You look just like your mother.”

  I realized with a shock that I’d danced with this man once, had flirted with him on several occasions during the single season in which I’d been presented to society before my life had been forever changed.

  “Shall we bring her a dance card for you to fill your name in?” Kae delivered this drily as he stood, and for an instant, he was the Kae I knew.

  Embarrassed, the captain drew himself up and saluted the field marshal as if he’d only just entered. “The Virtues, sir. They’re pushing the men to the limit. I believe they actually wish to join the rest of their platoon. Seems to be a matter of honor.” He glanced at Vashti and the red-headed woman standing next to Belphagor. “And I think we’ve found another Nephil.”

  Vashti made a movement toward the captain, but the soldier who held her jerked her back.

  Kae noted the movement. “I believe there is more going on with this rebellion than it would seem. We’ll set up operations here for now, and I’ll question the Virtues at my leisure. Put them in irons for the time being and throw them in the dungeon—and make sure they have no means of taking the coward’s way out before I’ve had my turn at them. As for the rest…” He paused and looked us over, and as he did so, Ola pulled from his grasp and ran to Love.

  One of the Ophanim who held me let go and moved to take her, and I grabbed his arm. A shock went through me that left me rigid and unable to move.

  “Never mind.” Kae waved the Ophan back. “You can let her go as well.” He looked at me as the other Ophan stepped away. “It doesn’t matter if she touches the child and activates her element. If she opposes me when I decide to take the child from her, I’ll simply start beheading her friends one by one until she gives me what I want.”

  We were returned to the tower room, but Kae had Vasily taken with the men to the dungeon. At least I was with Ola, though I didn’t relish being stuck with the company of Helga and Lively—or Vashti—for any length of time. The latter pressed me for news of Nebo until I gave her a look that seemed to remind her where she’d gotten the limp that had yet to heal completely.

  I was surprised to learn that the redhead, Margarita, was Nephil. I wondered at Dmitri’s choice. I couldn’t imagine her being useful in combat.

  Ola seemed enamored of her hair. She climbed into Margarita’s lap without hesitation and tugged on her ponytail, and Margarita was kind enough to indulge her. Ola’s hair had darkened since the summer, and while it was more golden than Margarita’s, it had taken
on a decidedly red hue. It made me wonder about Vasily’s natural shade, though of course I’d seen the muted reddish blond of his body hair. The thought of this made me blush, and I turned away to talk to Love.

  “So that was your Kirill.” I sat beside her on the bed.

  She nodded. “I thought the Cherub had killed him. I guess he only transported him somewhere else.” She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. “It looks as though they’ve been starving him. Or he’s been starving himself.” She blinked away the tears almost angrily. “This has been very hard on him, coming here. Seeing these creatures. He’s a very simple man who believes deeply in his faith. He thought he was doing God’s bidding, that he’d been visited by his messenger.” Love directed her angry gaze at Vashti. “He was completely taken in by Zeus.”

  Vashti rubbed the red marks on her wrists where they’d been bound with rope. “I’m very sorry, Love.” The small, penitent voice seemed utterly unlike her. She looked up to meet Love’s eyes. “You have to believe I didn’t know.”

  “Oh, I have to, do I?”

  “He was my lover.” Vashti’s eyes were rimmed with red. “You can’t think I would have been with someone who would—”

  “Don’t,” Love snapped. “Don’t you talk about that in front of Ola. There’s been enough in front of Ola.”

  As I watched the look that passed between them, I knew suddenly it wasn’t Vashti’s relations with Zeus that Love didn’t want her to speak of. There could only be one thing Vashti had been about to say that would put that look into Love’s eyes. It struck me like a weight in my stomach.

  “Oh, Love.” I took her hand, and she looked away from me, but I pulled her into my arms, and she cried silently against my shoulder. I gave Helga a dark look. “This is what you’ve done. All of this is on your head.”

  “Sacrifices must be made for revolution.” Her voice was cold and emotionless. “You have no idea of the sacrifices I’ve made.”