by Jane Kindred
“A nice demon!” Gaspard’s face blazed with anger and humiliation. “And you don’t like them nice, do you? You like that prissy Silk who doles out whippings to you like a schoolmaster, and your precious rogue Belphagor, who sells you, bets you, and physically assaults you on a regular basis.”
Vasily clenched his jaw. “You’re crossing the line. I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline any future engagements with you.”
“The hell you will.” Gaspard had the audacity to grab him by the hair. Closer to Vasily’s height than Belphagor was, Gaspard didn’t need to pull him down to reach his mouth. Vasily stood frozen in shock for an instant with Gaspard’s mouth trying to force his open before he pulled away in outrage.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“You know exactly what I’m doing. You’ve been asking for it.” The demon tried to move in toward him once more, and Vasily acted on instinct and swung at him. Gaspard stumbled back in shock when Vasily’s fist clipped him on the cheek.
Vasily opened his mouth to apologize, and then closed it. Gaspard had essentially assaulted him. He had nothing to apologize for. He buttoned his shirt and went past Gaspard to the door.
“Vasily—”
“Save it, Gaspard. The only reason I’m not pummeling your face right now is that I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt this was an error in judgment. But if I ever find out you’ve treated any of the boys at the Horse that way, I will bloody you.”
Gaspard shouted down the stairs after him from the doorway to the studio. “I should have known better than to waste my attentions on a demon of your poor breeding!”
“Yeah, you probably should have,” Vasily replied and let himself out.
He fumed as he headed back to the Brimstone. He could still feel that clammy, unexpected kiss being forced upon him, and he wanted to wash his mouth out with soap. If he’d been anyone else but who he was, he wondered whether the kiss would have been all he suffered. And if this had happened when he’d been a few years younger, he doubted he’d be walking away from it right now. Vasily sighed and shook it off. At any rate, that was the end of his career as a spy. There would be no more salons, demonic or angelic. He hoped what he’d already learned was enough to stop them from carrying out their plan.
Though he’d told Belphagor about the alarming decision the Traditionalists had come to today at Gaspard’s “salon”, Vasily was keeping something from him. Belphagor didn’t press. With this urgent development, there was no time to waste in taking action to protect the queen. He sent a messenger to Phaleg to meet him this evening. Such sensitive news couldn’t be delivered in the gaming room of the Brimstone, and for an angel of Phaleg’s stature, escorting him back to his room for a private discussion wasn’t an option—the atmosphere in Elysium had changed drastically since the last time he’d had him there.
Had him there. Belphagor smiled to himself at the phrase. He certainly had. Watching Vasily’s generous cock being swallowed up by the angel’s sweet ass while the angel’s mouth was busy swallowing Belphagor had been one of the highlights of his life. Delicious memories aside, a den of iniquity was far too public a place, and rumors would spread. They had no other option but to meet at the Stone Horse, as uncomfortable as it might be for Phaleg.
He let Silk know Phaleg would be coming. The young demon said nothing, giving Belphagor a sharp nod with his lips pressed together in a thin line. He understood the importance of the information Belphagor had to give the angel. But if Belphagor thought Silk wasn’t anticipating his arrival, acutely aware of the moment Phaleg entered, any such notion went out the window when Silk had a perfectly timed and extraordinarily enthusiastic orgasm standing right out in the open in the parlor with Khai kneeling before him, happily reaping the rewards of his oral attentions.
Phaleg stood stiffly in the entryway after Belphagor ushered him in, his formal uniform and his stony expression making entertainers and members alike nervous. Belphagor quickly led the angel to a private room, motioning to Vasily at the bar to join them. Khai grinned up at Phaleg as they passed, licking his deliberately sticky lips, while Silk pretended to be unaware of the drama he’d created and unaware of Phaleg’s presence, leisurely stroking his softening cock.
“Sorry about that,” said Belphagor when he’d closed the door. “I warned him you were coming. I didn’t know he was going to put on a show.”
Phaleg shrugged, though it was the stiffest shrug Belphagor had ever seen. “That’s his specialty, isn’t it? Getting attention.” He remained by the door with his hand on the knob in a nervous gesture while Vasily and Belphagor sat on the bed. Perhaps his initiation into the pleasures of being fucked was on his mind as well. “So, you said Vasily has vital information?”
Vasily, who’d looked smugly amused at Silk’s antics, grew serious. “The Traditionalists are planning to stage an accident. The next time the queen goes out, they’re going to make sure her supernal carriage will cross the Neba at a weak spot.”
Phaleg scowled. “Despicable cowards. But that’s easy enough to prevent. I’ll just advise the principality not to let her go out by carriage, and certainly not to cross on the ice.”
Belphagor couldn’t hold in a snort. “Most husbands don’t get to ‘let’ or not let their wives do anything. Not even the principality of the Firmament of Shehaqim and All the Heavens.”
Phaleg looked bemused. “It’s for her own safety. I’m sure she’ll heed his counsel.” It was clear he had little experience with women.
Belphagor hadn’t been closely acquainted with many, but he’d been alive long enough to know better. “All the same, try to come up with some other method to ensure she stays out of harm’s way. These angels are determined.”
“A pair of Seraphim will be with her at all times. It’s tradition. I don’t see how they can pull off something like that in plain view of two elemental firespirits.”
Vasily made a derisive sound in his throat, and Phaleg looked perturbed. “Firespirits don’t like water.”
Belphagor had to agree. “And they like ice even less.” Seraphim were born in the Pyriphlegethon, a molten river of fire that circled the icy tip of the Empyrean, the northernmost of the Heavens, surrounded by a wasteland of permafrost. Conventional wisdom suggested the reason the Seraphim were subordinate to the lesser angels of the Fourth Choir was the threat of being exiled to the place of their birth, forever surrounded by ice. He’d used his knowledge of their hydrophobia to his advantage to evade Seraphim bounty hunters on more than one occasion in the world of Man.
Phaleg looked unconvinced. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying an accident on ice is probably the most ingenious plan they could have come up with. The moment the horse team drawing the queen’s carriage sets hooves on the ice, the Seraphim will take wing and circle overhead, observing from a comfortable distance. It would be a simple matter to distract the Seraphim for a moment, taking their attention just long enough to pull it off.”
“How do you know what a Seraph would do?” It was rare that Phaleg sounded like a haughty angel, but he had his moments.
“I would venture to say, my dear boy, that I’ve been in much closer proximity to Seraphim than you have.” Belphagor let his tone inform Phaleg he’d stepped in it.
Phaleg’s manner was instantly subdued. Belphagor could see the almost imperceptible movement as the angel resisted the conditioned response of dropping to his knees. “How? When have you been around Seraphim?”
“I have been tracked and arrested by them in the world of Man. The supernal family uses them to protect Heaven’s interest by ensuring demons who fall are swiftly dealt with when matters of human law are in play. The Seraphim, incidentally, are far more elemental in the earthly plane. Being at their mercy is an extremely unpleasant experience and one I wouldn’t recommend, even to a masochist such as yourself.”
Phaleg blushed in the manner only an angel could, the pale skin enflamed in its full angelic glory from
his throat to the tips of his ears, as Belphagor had hoped. “I’ll take your word for it. I still find it hard to credit the idea that the conspirators could manage to lure the queen onto the ice in just the right spot to carry it off. It would take incredible planning and coordination. I just don’t see a bunch of aristocratic angels of the blood being that clever and calculating.”
“What’s ‘of the blood’?” Vasily asked.
“Of the same element that flows in the Principalities’ veins. The waterspirits. The Fourth Choir.”
“I know what damned choir you’re in,” Vasily growled. “The Fallen aren’t simpletons.”
“Sorry.” The blush was reinvigorated. “I don’t really know what demons know. I’m not trying to be condescending.”
Vasily shrugged in acknowledgment. “So you’re assuming all of the conspirators are of the blood.”
“I can’t imagine the higher orders taking an interest in who sits on the throne, and the firespirits are sworn to protect the House of Arkhangel’sk.”
Belphagor raised his eyebrow. “Tell that to the Cherub assassin Duke Elyon hired.”
“Point taken,” said Phaleg. “But surely he was an exception.”
Vasily drew one knee up onto the bedframe and hooked his arms around it. “There were more earthspirits in the gathering I saw—a Dominion and two Powers—and there was mention of a ‘larger group’, though I didn’t get a sense of how large it might be or who belonged to it.”
“Powers?” Dismay dissipated the lingering flush in Phaleg’s cheeks. As a military officer, he’d obviously been trained to have great respect for the order of angels bred to lead the Host in battle.
Vasily saved the real bombshell for last. “And the angel who appears to be the mastermind of the whole thing?” He paused for effect. “He’s a Virtue.”
Phaleg couldn’t have looked more shocked. “This goes so much higher than I imagined. I was thinking in terms of the Union of Liberation, a secret society to be sure, but restricted to an elite membership within the Supernal Army.” He pushed his curls back from his forehead and flattened them with his palm as though buffeted by a high wind. “If only we could find a way to delay their plans just a little longer until I can convince the principality of the seriousness of these threats.”
Vasily rested his chin on his knee. “There might be a way to buy some time.”
“What way?”
“The Virtue said they need Lebes to be in Elysium when they make their move so he can be convinced to take the throne immediately, during heightened anxiety over the principality’s failure to secure an heir.”
A warm rush stole over Belphagor at his boy’s cleverness. “So if Helison were to send Lebes on some sort of diplomatic mission—brief enough that he wouldn’t be concerned about missing the birth of his child, of course—”
“Then Lebes wouldn’t be in Elysium,” Phaleg finished, his face washed with relief. “That’s perfect. There’s been some squabbling among the nobility in Arcadia; I can recommend the principality let his brother handle it. And while he’s away…” He glanced at Belphagor. “If there were a demonstration that got out of hand—nothing violent, just rock throwing at the palace windows—Helison might come around.”
Belphagor frowned. “Wouldn’t it be better to try to expose these Traditionalists as we did with the Union of Liberation? They’re the ones who pose the threat, not the Fallen liberationists. I’m still bothered by the idea of convincing the principality not to sign the decree.”
“If we could expose them, and if the principality could be convinced of their guilt, yes. But this goes too high up and too deep. You heard Vasily. A Virtue—at least one—is behind this conspiracy. The Virtues are the angels who investigate such claims and ensure the tenets of angelic law are followed, while the Dominions are the ones who make and interpret the law. And Powers? What is that phrase you demons are so fond of? Bozhe moi. There were two Powers just at that small gathering. Depending on their rank, they could influence a great number of supernal soldiers.”
“A brigadier and a major general,” Vasily supplied.
Phaleg’s face went pale. “There are five thousand soldiers in a brigade alone. A major general commands an entire division. We could have a civil war on our hands.” Phaleg gave Belphagor a pleading look. The sort of look the angel might have given him if he’d been naked and bound: desiring to please but unable to take another stroke without breaking, though Belphagor knew he would if commanded, to his own undoing. “The Fallen simply can’t be liberated. Not now. It would end in bloodshed on a scale you can’t imagine.”
Belphagor rose and went to him to comfort him as if the imagined discipline had actually taken place. “Phaleg.” He took the angel’s hand and found it shaking. He pressed it gently. “Don’t fret. I’m not blaming you for the state of affairs in Heaven. It’s been this way since long before you were born. It will likely always be this way.”
“I’ve been working on several proposals the principality might introduce to improve the lot of the Fallen. Something the majority of the Host couldn’t possibly begrudge the less fortunate among them. Small steps, but a beginning. Change must be gradual.”
Belphagor squeezed his hand. “Knowing you have the principality’s ear makes me feel proud, Phaleg. I know you won’t let us down.”
Phaleg blushed, and Belphagor let go of his hand before his baser instincts kicked in and he proposed Phaleg submit to a punishing two-on-one that would give the angel a climax so loud and ecstatic it would curl Silk’s hair.
“You’ll have your demonstration,” Belphagor promised. “Just tell me when and I’ll make it happen.”
When Phaleg had gone, Belphagor closed the door and stood in front of it, staring at Vasily. “So when are you going to tell me what happened at that salon?”
Vasily narrowed his eyes, letting his propped-up leg drop back down to the floor. “What do you mean? I told you what happened.”
“Let me put it this way. Will you be joining your friend Gaspard at his next soirée?”
“What’s a soirée?”
“Vasya.”
“I don’t know what a damned soirée is!”
“It’s a party. Are you angry with me?”
The flickering fire in Vasily’s eyes suggested he might be, but Vasily sighed and shook his head. “I don’t want you to make a big deal about this.”
His pulse quickened. “About what?”
“Gaspard got a little carried away.” Vasily clearly didn’t want to tell him how. Belphagor took a step toward him, and he must have had menace in his eyes, because Vasily blurted it out. “He wanted more intimacy with me than I was prepared to give, and when I told him no, he tried to take it.”
If Belphagor had possessed the element in Vasily’s veins, his eyes would be shooting flames. “He tried to rape you?”
Vasily blanched. “No, nothing so crude. He grabbed my hair the way you do and kissed me without my permission. I had to shove him off. More than shove him, actually. I punched him.”
Blood pounded in Belphagor’s head. “I may kill him.”
“Beli, don’t make a big deal about this, please. It’s over, and he couldn’t have forced me to do anything. He doesn’t have the strength.”
“That’s not the point. The fact that he tried—”
“He didn’t try anything else. I think I may have given him the wrong idea, and he thought being dominant would excite me.”
“You’re blaming yourself because some ebanniyi zasranets demon merchant tried to force himself on you?”
“No, I’m just trying to explain this isn’t as one-sided as you’re making it out to be.”
Belphagor made himself respond evenly so Vasily wouldn’t feel the anger was directed at him. “Rape is always one-sided, malchik.”
He hadn’t meant to say it now, in conjunction with such an unpleasant truth, but emotion had propelled the word out of him. And with that single word, the tension of the argument fell away.
Vasily searched his eyes. “You said ‘malchik’.”
“So I did.”
“Does that mean…?”
Belphagor came toward the bed and stood between Vasily’s legs as he moved them apart. “It was a slip of the tongue.” While Vasily stared up at him, he ran his hand up the side of the firespirit’s neck, enjoying the roughness of the metal as his palm passed over it, and stopped at the jaw, tracing his thumb along the rough edge of beard. “But I expect my tongue will slip again.” He bent and let his tongue slip over the full lower lip while Vasily closed his eyes with a soft inhalation. “You know you’re mine, though, regardless of whether I ever manage to earn you back as my boy.” He gave him a proper kiss, taking his time to enjoy the smoky taste and the softness of the firespirit lips that always surprised him just a bit.
Breathless when Belphagor released him, Vasily’s voice was fiery gruff when he spoke. “Don’t you think you’ve been punished enough?”
Belphagor tugged at Vasily’s sideburn. “I decide when it’s enough.”
The hazel eyes smoldered. “Fucking masochist.”
Belphagor pushed him back onto the bed and crawled over him. “Damned right I am.”
Dvenadtsataya
Phaleg had tried not to look around for Silk when he left, but as he reached the exit, he made the mistake of glancing back. Reclining on one of the settees with his arms stretched across the back to reveal his sleek torso through his open shirt, Silk looked like he was holding court. Not only was Khai kneeling beside the couch, but a pair of angelic soldiers from Phaleg’s own unit were cuddled against Silk on either side. What happened at the Stone Horse stayed there; he wasn’t worried about being outed. Nevertheless, seeing Silk dominating other angels was a hard blow.
But Phaleg had other things to worry about. Like protecting the queen and preventing a war.
The principality was surprisingly receptive to his counsel. Phaleg presented the idea of sending Lebes to Arcadia as a means of demonstrating his trust in his brother. Relations between them had been strained, and serving as Helison’s ambassador in securing the loyalty of the house from which both the queen and Lebes’ own wife hailed was an honor. The grand duke would be gone less than a week. Belphagor’s riot would have to come fast, and it would have to be spectacular.