by Jane Kindred
“I know, love. And I’m sorry.” Damn, he was tired of saying those words. “I don’t even know how to—”
“Which means you’ve earned a pretty awful punishment.”
Belphagor fell in love with him all over again with that single sentence. “Pretty awful,” he agreed soberly. “It might take me days to atone.”
A visible shiver ran down Vasily’s spine. He nodded. “Days.”
Belphagor stepped up to the Brimstone door and held it open for Vasily, following him down the stairs into the dark, warm interior. When they reached their room and he’d unmagicked the lock, he let Vasily enter ahead of him once more, cupping his ass as he shut the door and enjoying the little jump this elicited.
“How’s your ass, sweet boy?” he murmured, pulling Vasily back against him and wrapping his arms around the firespirit’s chest. “Still bruised?”
“A bit.” The words crackled like the voice of a fire itself.
“I was hard on you. And you took your punishment without complaint.” Belphagor dropped his hands to Vasily’s waist, sliding the belt from its buckle and unbuttoning him to slide the jeans down the muscular thighs. Lowering himself to a crouch, he peeled the shorts down to bare the exquisite ass and slowly licked one of the fading bruises, earning a soft, firespirit gasp. “We’ll start my penance here.”
Odinnadtsataya
Phaleg might still be the owner in name of the Stone Horse—successfully reimagined as Raqia’s first establishment dedicated to sexual entertainment without solicitation—but he wasn’t welcome there. In his investigation into the authorization of the raid, Phaleg had found an overzealous captain on his way up in the ranks had overstepped his bounds, hoping to impress the principality. An anonymous tip had given him the names of suspected liberationist agitators. While the raid had planted the seeds of doubt in Principality Helison’s mind, which had been Phaleg’s aim all along, shutting down the Stone Horse had never been his intention. And hurting Silk? He deserved the demon’s scorn.
But it was just as well he’d been cut off. He ought to have sold his interest in the place before now. Cavorting with demons and indulging his secret perversions was not the job of a senior staff officer of the Supernal Army. His responsibility was to his principality and his queen, and he had to focus on their safety to the exclusion of all else. As Silk had once said, his loyalties lay with the House of Arkhangel’sk.
Arkhangel’sk. The thought of the safe word Silk had established for him made him feel hollow inside, as though Phaleg himself were a hole that could never be filled.
He had to stop thinking about Silk and put all that nonsense behind him. The prelude to Elysian winter had begun, and with the heightened revelry and the temporary swell in population, security in the capital was on high alert. Phaleg hadn’t quite persuaded the principality to give up his plans to endorse the Liberation Decree, but Helison had at least agreed to be cautious. After cutting short his holiday at the Summer Palace to welcome Lebes, who’d arrived last night with his family for wintering at his Elysian domicile, Helison had consented to keep Phaleg at his side with a small unit of bodyguards in addition to the Seraphim Guard who accompanied him everywhere. “If a pair of flaming Seraphim aren’t going to keep me safe,” he’d grumbled, “I don’t see how the added presence of a few mere waterspirits is going to make a difference.” Nevertheless, he’d agreed.
Phaleg was anxious to hear what Soluzen and Anzhela had learned at Iriy. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of a good excuse to get either of them alone. He’d have to wait for news from Belphagor after the tutor reported back. At least Belphagor was still speaking to him.
One of the Lost Boys had been dispatched to the Brimstone this morning with happy news: Anzhela and Ruslan were home for the day. Only one thing marred the homecoming; Vasily had been invited to another “secret salon” with Gaspard. Belphagor was on his own.
The match with Kezef hadn’t been rescheduled, and Belphagor had spent plenty of time atoning for his breach of trust—so much time, Vasily had needed a day or two to recuperate—but there was a tense, silent acknowledgment between the two that the game would eventually be continued, and it would be up to Belphagor to keep Vasily safe as he’d promised. And there were the girls, whose fate Belphagor still didn’t know. He’d hoped to have news for Anzhela by the time she returned from Iriy.
Ruslan was the star of the day. Dressed in fine, angelic clothes, he looked like a proper little angel—or, with his chestnut hair and tea-brown eyes, at least a proper little angel’s bastard. He was brimming with pride and excitement.
“I’m even farther along in my studies than Grand Duke Kae,” he announced as the other boys crowded around him. “Of course, he’s just a little boy,” he amended graciously. “I’m sure he’ll be smarter than me when he catches up.”
After a few minutes of Ruslan’s tales of the splendor of Iriy, Anzhela announced she was putting on tea, and Belphagor took this as his cue to head downstairs with her and find out what she and Soluzen had discovered. The tutor was already waiting in the kitchen.
Belphagor sat at the table and waited for the water to boil. “So, what conspiracies did you two uncover?”
“Frankly, none,” said Soluzen. “I wasn’t privy to the grand duke’s private audiences, of course, but I didn’t hear so much as a whispered word against the principality. I believe Anzhela’s experiences with the grand duchess have been the same.”
“Not exactly the same.” Anzhela spooned tealeaves into the warmed pot.
Belphagor lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Tsirya seems to think there’s a conspiracy against her husband.”
“Tsirya?” Belphagor smiled. “We’re on a first-name basis with the grand duchess of Iriy?”
Anzhela blushed as she put up the tea tin. “She said I should call her that. She’s been very nice to me.”
“I’m just teasing. Go on.”
“She doesn’t trust the principality. She thinks he’s behind a plot to make the grand duke look like he’s trying to steal his throne. And she thinks the queen resents her for having produced a son while the queen herself has been unsuccessful.” The kettle whistled, and she took it off the stove and filled the teapot.
Belphagor pondered her report. “Not an altogether unreasonable assumption—at least the last bit. According to Phaleg, the queen is afraid her cousin will have another boy, and the people will take it as a sign Lebes was meant to be principality.”
“It’s more than that, though.” Anzhela’s voice was troubled. “I think one of her ladies-in-waiting may have been filling her head with such fears. And I’ve only been with her a month, but I think the pregnancy might be affecting her mind. Her fears and obsessions border on paranoia. When the grand duke insisted she and Kae come with him to Elysium after she begged off, citing her physician’s orders of bed rest, she told me in private she wouldn’t have any of the queen’s attendants or physicians touching her because she fears they’d harm the baby on the queen’s orders. She doesn’t want anyone at the birth except me.” The blush crept up her cheeks again as she poured the tea. “I told her I’d attended a few births—didn’t tell her where, of course—and she insisted I would be her midwife.”
Belphagor dropped a sugar cube into his tea, watching it dissolve. “The lady-in-waiting whom you suspect has fueled her paranoia… I wonder if she could be a Traditionalist trying to stir up mistrust of the supernal family.”
Anzhela nodded. “I thought that too.” She joined them at the table to have her tea, warming her hands with the cup. “I have an idea who it might be, so I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”
“Excellent. And stay close to the grand duchess. Perhaps you can keep the influencing lady-in-waiting at arm’s length if you’re indispensable to her, and maybe undo some of the damage by giving her more rational counsel.” He sipped his tea and glanced at Soluzen. “So how is Ruslan getting on with the little grand duke?”
“Even better than we’d
hoped.” The angel set down his cup. “I think he’ll prove very valuable. Adults tend to say things in front of children they wouldn’t otherwise reveal, discounting their intelligence and attention. But Ruslan is nothing if not intelligent and attentive. If any conspirators visit the grand duke’s residence, I’m confident he’ll be well placed to obtain the information you need.”
They were as well situated within Lebes’s own domain as they could be. Now it was up to Vasily to see what he could glean from the Traditionalists. He just hoped they could come up with something concrete soon to ensure the queen’s safety. Not only for the queen’s sake, but for his own. He was tired of letting another demon dominate Vasily’s attention. He would happily admit it now, if only in his own head: he was jealous and wanted his boy to himself.
Vasily tried to remain as unobtrusive as possible—or as unobtrusive as a six-foot-five firespirit with flame-red locks and piercings in his neck could be—while playing Gaspard’s houseboy once again. The mysterious Virtue was in attendance as before, along with a heavyset Dominion and a pair of Powers who seemed fairly high up in the military. He listened attentively for their names, but they were never used, only their ranks: a brigadier and a major general, whatever those were. Perhaps there weren’t many officers at their level, and Phaleg would be able to identify them from their descriptions.
The Virtue, Auria, wasted no time in returning to the subject he’d broached at the previous salon, and this time he was less subtle in his intentions. “There are a number of ways our aim might be accomplished,” he said as Vasily served them afternoon tea. “None need go so far as to risk harm to the queen herself. It’s the birth we want to prevent.” He smiled as he spoke, nibbling one of the little sandwiches, as though what he was talking about weren’t both treasonous and demented. “This could be accomplished with a simple herb tincture introduced gradually into her food to induce an early labor. Any common demon knows how to make the preparation. They terminate their own pregnancies when they’ve overproduced due to their inability to use any sort of restraint in their carnal appetites, or, if you’ll excuse the indelicate reference, are whores who’ve failed at—or simply don’t want to bother with—the various demonic methods of contraception.”
Vasily swallowed the growl that threatened in his throat. Who the hell was this pompous Virtue to make such assumptions about demons? An honest one, he supposed. The other angels he’d met probably thought as this Virtue did and simply kept it to themselves, given the nods of affirmation from the rest of the gathering. It was eye-opening to hear what they actually thought of his kind. And extremely insulting that they considered him such a nonentity it didn’t occur to them to be more restrained.
Since his own mother had been a whore who’d abandoned him before he could remember, it was a sensitive subject for him. Belphagor had helped him to see that women in his mother’s position might have little choice. Vasily couldn’t forgive his nameless mother; he didn’t care what her choices were. But he could be more sympathetic to strangers.
He realized he’d stopped listening when one of the Powers spoke in his deep, booming voice. “The queen is due to deliver in a month. What if the herbal tincture induces premature labor yet the child manages to survive? I think this is cutting things too close for such methods.”
“What would you suggest, Major General?” Auria smiled sweetly at him, but the luminous silver of the angel’s eyes didn’t share in the expression. “Spearing it on your sword as soon as it breathes air? That would be a bit conspicuous, don’t you think?” The others laughed nervously, as if they weren’t quite sure whether Auria was serious.
“If it cannot be accomplished in an efficient, discreet way, we will have to take more drastic measures. An assassin must be hired.” For the first time since he’d arrived, Auria glanced at Vasily, acknowledging his presence. “Perhaps your houseboy, Gaspard. He seems particularly suited to the task.”
Vasily froze, not knowing how to play this one, but luckily Gaspard answered before he had to think of anything. “He’s far too conspicuous to expect him to be able to get anywhere near the queen.”
Auria inclined his head in acknowledgment and went back to his fussy little sandwich. Vasily had never seen anyone spend so much time consuming such a tiny food. “It was only a thought. I’d still much prefer we find a less drastic method of stopping the birth. But whatever move we make must be now, while Lebes is in Elysium, so the people can call for him to take the throne in the aftermath of the loss while worry for the stability of the princedom is at its height. I will abide by the group’s decision—the larger group, of course. I’ll take our recommendations to them when we convene tomorrow.”
This was the first Vasily had heard of a larger group or a meeting tomorrow. He tried to keep his face neutral, refilling the teapot with hot water from the angel’s warming stove.
“Could we induce an accident?” suggested one of the demons. “A runaway horse drawing the supernal carriage? The roads will soon be wet, and the days darken early.”
“Or a soft spot on the river’s ice if she were to cross it,” offered another. All manner of conveyances used the frozen rivers in winter as a sort of high-speed thoroughfare—sleds and skaters predominated, but it wasn’t unusual to see a full set of horses drawing an aristocrat or two across the Neba as a shortcut through Elysium.
“Oh, I like that,” said Auria, his tiny sandwich finally finished. “The freeze is bound to be incomplete in certain areas. We could have someone scout it out to find a sure spot. If she were to go under in her condition, I’m sure there would be no question as to the outcome.”
Gaspard spoke up for the first time in the thoughtful, silent agreement that followed. “What if we simply waited for the grand duchess to deliver first? She’s bound to deliver before the queen, and my sources say the child’s sex has been divined. She’s carrying a boy. With two healthy sons produced, Lebes will be the certain favorite.”
“I’m afraid we can’t take the chance.” Auria was firm, and despite his insistence that he intended to abide by the group’s decision, he was clearly the authority here. “If Queen Sefira manages to give Helison a son, it won’t matter that his brother has two. The citizens of the Heavens will at last rally about the supernal ruler.” With impossible grace and elegance, he shook his head and rose. “I will carry our proposal to the larger group.”
“And what proposal is that?” asked Gaspard with a frown as he stood.
Auria regarded him with a look of tolerant disdain. “That the queen of Heaven shall meet an untimely end beneath the Neba due to an unfortunate accident, of course.”
Gaspard gave him a clipped bow. “Of course.”
When the others had gone, Vasily began to change out of his houseboy uniform and back into his own clothes, but Gaspard stopped him with his hands on Vasily’s biceps before he’d pulled his sleeves all the way on. Vasily regarded him with surprise. It was unlike Gaspard to be so physical.
“Must you leave so soon?” Gaspard slid the shirt down to Vasily’s elbows, admiring his pecs. “I was deprived of your company the other morning when you ran off, and I hoped to enjoy looking at you just a little bit longer. I meant to show you something.”
Vasily stepped out of his grasp and pulled the shirt back up but left it unbuttoned, tucking his hands into his pockets. “What is it? More pigments?”
Gaspard smiled. “You’ll see.” He went ahead of him up the stairs, and Vasily followed, not really wanting to see any more art with himself in it. In the studio, Gaspard approached a large canvas draped in a drop cloth, and unveiled it. Vasily nearly choked on his spittle. “What do you think? Still bashful?”
If the proportions of Vasily’s endowment had been rendered a bit unrealistically in the drawing, they were utterly fantastic in the painting. A phallus so large it would undoubtedly ruin any recipient of its attentions dominated the painting in vivid vermillion. But it wasn’t just the proportions that were alarming. Gaspard had painted h
im ejaculating a gush of lava. Drops of the glowing orange emission were splattered about the bed on which Vasily’s form lay, and where they landed, the bed smoldered and burned. With his head tilted back and his lips parted, Vasily’s image looked both savage and wildly alluring.
Gaspard was staring at him, waiting for his reaction.
“That’s…bozhe moi. That’s really…something.”
“It’s how I see you.” Gaspard smiled and stepped closer to him, dropping the cloth. “I see you when I close my eyes at night. I can feel your heat.” He ran his palm down Vasily’s bare chest, and Vasily jumped.
“Gaspard…”
“I would take such care of you. Forget about that wastrel, Belphagor.” He was touching Vasily again, resisting Vasily’s attempts to hold him away, one hand sliding around his waist and the other dipping into the top of his jeans. “These body-hugging garments from the world of Man make me want to peel them off you to reveal the virility barely hidden beneath them.”
Vasily grabbed his hand and held it forcibly away from him, causing Gaspard to let out a yelp of surprise. “Gaspard. I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression, but I have no intention of leaving Belphagor. And he is not a wastrel.”
Gaspard’s eyes went hard and his voice was bitter. “He beats you. I can feel the marks on your back. Do you think that’s love?”
Vasily pulled Gaspard’s other hand away from him. “It’s none of your business what Belphagor and I do, but I assure you, it’s not abuse. And you need to back off.”
“Back off?” Gaspard yanked his hands from Vasily’s grasp. “You came here to my house—wearing that—and you expect me to believe you don’t want my attentions?”
“This is how I always dress. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Gaspard, but I’m sorry. The attraction isn’t mutual. You’re a very nice demon, but I—”