“Jamiason wants to get home to the twins.” Paul replied to this.
“The twins will wait.” Iykva’s eyes narrowed as he tried to tame the bite to his tone. “Your army needs to see you. To be bolstered by an appearance from you.” His lips curled at the left corner in a sardonic grin. “Unless you don’t mean to stand beside them should war erupt. As a real Prince would do.”
Paul’s eyes flashed with unmasked loathing. They trailed over Iykva’s face before he looked swiftly away. “Of course I mean to stand beside them.”
“Then tell Jamiason that it is important that you visit them.” Iykva advised him. “And that his penchant for young boys can wait another day.”
Paul was on him in a flash. His hands were around Iykva’s neck and his green eyes were blazing. Iykva, who hadn’t been expecting any kind of attack from the laughing fool, had been unprepared to defend himself. As a result, Paul was able to pin him to a tree.
Paul leaned forward, his lips mere inches from Iykva’s own. When he spoke, his tone was laced with venom.
“Never let such blasphemy escape your lips again.” He seethed.
Iykva raised his hands to those at his throat and began clawing at them. It was useless. Though he was a demon and Paul was a mere vampire, the child had fed from Jamiason’s neck. He had drunk of the Gods blood that Evanbourough had given James. Even if diluted, such blood as ran through Jamiason’s veins was more powerful than that which ran through Iykva’s.
“You will respect your King and keep your opinions about him to yourself.” Paul seethed as he flung Iykva around by the neck and threw him to the ground. “Do you understand me?”
Swallowing, and scooting away from Paul, using his hands for leverage, Iykva nodded. He would do well, he knew, to hold his tongue.
At least, he thought, for now.
-42-
“What is he playing at?” Jamiason groused.
“I know not.” Paul muttered. “Something doesn’t sit well with me over this.”
“Nor with me.” James admitted.
Turning away from Paul, he reached for a scrap of paper and a quill. Though he wasn’t certain what mess Iykva was leading him into, he knew that he must be at the ready. The only way to be so was to make certain that the people that he trusted were also at the ready.
He scrawled a note to Marchand and Louis, then reached forward to hand it to Paul. “Send Blackheart home.”
“Iykva will notice if—”
“I doubt it.” Jamiason shook his head. “The falcon comes and goes at his whim. It is unlikely that Iykva is paying enough attention to even recognize that I’ve made him a pet.”
“Then he’s an unobservant fool.”
“No.” Jamiason corrected him, shaking his head. “A self-preserving fool.” His lips thinned. “And that type of fool is the most dangerous kind.”
Paul, nodding his agreement, took Jamiason’s note from the grip of the demon’s hand.
-43-
Once secured within his library, Wisterian began pacing furiously.
Jamiason had gone back on his word.
“And to my son.” He seethed, his eyes leveling upon Jeanir.
“It makes no sense.” Jeanir agreed. “Jamiason is not one to make false promises.”
“This time he did.”
“He can’t have known that—” Jeanir shook his head. It didn’t matter if he had known or if he hadn’t and Jeanir understood that. “He can’t have condoned the attack, my Lord. Even if he must now defend it.”
“That’s twice, that we are aware of, that his people have fallen out of his control.” Wisterian seethed at him. “Twice that his people have attacked mine!” His fists flew, pounding the wood of his desk. “I could destroy Iykva! And with my bare hands!”
Jeanir didn’t dispute that Iykva had to be responsible for this fracas and Wisterian was glad of it. Though, not surprised. Iykva had made no bones about the fact that he was displeased with Paul’s promise to Iladrul that war would wait until his people were adults.
Or that he had been barred from the negotiations, for that matter.
“How do you mean to order me to respond?”
Wisterian raised his gaze and met Jeanir’s own. He felt his blood run cold as he thought to the image burned within his mind of his son bent over the vampire with his wrist bleeding into her mouth.
“My son sacrificed his own life’s blood to keep that cunt of a vampire alive.” He hissed. “Find out what she knows. No matter what means it might take.”
Jeanir, who had been schooled in the art of war by two Master swordsmen, paled.
He did not hesitate, however, in his agreement.
-44-
They travelled miles out of their way to reach the camp where the demons and vampires had settled in preparation of war. When they crested the hill that overlooked the camp, both Jamiason and Paul found great relief to see the rows upon rows of campfire’s glittering in the distance. Enough so that they did not question the many red tent roofs which separated one row of fires from the other.
“So many . . .” Paul muttered.
“Ta.” Iykva grinned at him. “We’ve been breeding sons and daughters as we travel across the lands.”
“In anticipation of war?” Jamiason asked, a chill running through him as he did so.
“In anticipation of our salvation, your Highness.” Iykva corrected him. The smile that he suddenly wore was telling and troubling. As he raised his hand and swept it toward the rows of tents in the valley beneath them, Jamiason suddenly understood way. “In anticipation of our redemption.”
“The tents!” Paul voiced the thought that James was unable to.
“My Lord,” Iykva’s strange smile spread across his handsome face, making his features ugly, as he turned his gaze to meet Jamiason’s own. “Welcome to the Feast of Light.”
Realizing that Iykva had damned them all, Jamiason turned his gaze to Paul, saw the horrified expression upon his features, and swallowed.
Part Two:
Fallen Heroes
-1-
“What is this nonsense?” King Noliminan, who was sitting behind his desk, sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Lucias would never sully herself to bear that fool’s child.”
“I have come to understand she intends to, your Grace.” Raphael muttered under his breath. “Lucias is building a Quorum of archangels.”
“Who told you this?” He snapped.
“Your Grace,” Raphael swallowed, “a reliable source.”
“What reliable source?” He growled. “I’m in no mood for your damn games this morning.”
“Your Grace, I’m not playing games.” Raphael shook his head.
“Then tell me who is brokering these rumors.”
“Your Grace . . .” Raphael muttered under his breath. He hadn’t wanted to share this news with King Noliminan. Yet, he knew that if he didn’t, and King Noliminan learned that he had known and hadn’t told him, every debt promised to the Hells bound Kingdoms would become Raphael’s, alone, to pay. “Zamyael.”
“Damn her black heart.” The King of Lords’ fist flew, slamming against his desk. Raphael, who was still terrified of everything and anything since he had been Lucias’ prisoner during the first rebellion, flinched backward, crossing his arms over his chest as if that would protect him. “Where is she hiding?”
“I know not, your Grace.” Raphael muttered. “I was visiting one of the Hells bound courtyards and I happened across her, Emissary Lord Darklief and Prince Ishitar. The trio of them were sharing cups.”
“Ishitar was seen?” His eyes grew wide. He flew to his feet. “Aiken took him to a public courtyard?”
“No one realized who he was, your Grace.” Raphael swallowed the lump that immediately rose in his throat. “He cloaked himself with the face of another.”
“Find Michael.” King Noliminan seethed. “Tell him that I must speak with him immediately to deal with Aiken and his constant m
ischief making.”
“Your Grace, no one recognized the fact that—”
“Bring him to me now!” He roared. “This is unforgivable on the heels of his ill begot creation of a new race!”
“But, your Grace,” Raphael tried, “the dragon men will be just the thing to—”
Raphael didn’t see the blow coming. King Noliminan, already standing, leaned across the desk so swiftly that his movements made him little more than a blur. One moment Raphael was standing in front of him; the next he was sitting upon the ground staring up at him after having tripped over one of King Noliminan’s chairs.
“No more of your delay!” King Noliminan barked at him. “Find Michael and order him to appear before me! Now!”
-2-
Marchand wasn’t good at telling lies. Because of this, he let Louis spread the tale. “We’ve been ordered by Lord Jamiason to leave the castle to join him and Prince Paul on the field.”
“Jamiason would never order you from the castle.” Stephen was one of James’ most loyal followers. He saw to every order that was made of him to the barest detail. The last order that he had received was to protect the twins at all cost. “What madness do you speak?”
Louis, who had stayed up well into the day to draft a forgery of Jamiason’s orders in their Maker’s hand—James, himself, had forgotten about this particular detail—thrust his letter toward the demon. “This comes from Lord James, himself.”
Stephen looked doubtful as he flicked the parchment and raised it to his face. Louis was cunning, however. He had pulled the paper from a desk drawer in Jamiason’s apartment. Thus, it permeated with Jamiason’s essence of an orange grove at harvest time.
Stephen read ‘Jamiason’s’ orders and, wearing a weary expression, lowered the paper. His tone, when he spoke, was heavy with doubt. “Without escort?”
“Those are the orders.” Louis shrugged. He raised his hand and pointed to the parchment. “So he’s scribed.”
“Madness.” The demon shook his head. “Especially in these times.”
“Yet, I cannot deny him.” Louis turned his gaze to Marchand, who forced himself to bite his tongue. “Nor can Marchand.” He returned his attention to Stephen. “As he is our Maker, we must obey his every command. We must go at once. Or we shan’t make any miles before it’s time to go to ground for the day.”
The demon raised his brows, assessed Marchand and gave him a reluctant nod. “Very well. If this is Lord Jamiason’s order then I must comply.”
“Grea—”
“But with a condition.” Marchand and Louis exchanged a furtive glance before returning their attention to the demon. “You’ll go with my prodigy.”
“She’s—”
“Young.” He agreed. “But she was a Princess, and a warrior, before I turned her.” He flicked his gaze to Marchand, who hadn’t spoken a word during this conversation. “And fond of you.”
“Of me?” Marchand started.
“Ta.” He nodded. Though his lips thinned.
Marchand blinked at that. He had no idea how he was supposed to respond. Given the years he had lived, he thought of himself as a man. Yet, he had never dared to hope that anyone would look past his face to see his nature.
Never mind that he couldn’t remember ever having met the girl.
“This is my condition.” The demon returned his attention to Louis. “Do you accept? Or must I write to Lord Jamiason?”
“We accept.” Louis answered for them both.
Marchand wanted to strike him.
“Good.” The demon nodded at Marchand. “Go to ground come morning. And, come evening, Melody will be ready to join you.”
Melody? Marchand shivered. It was a lovely name.
Does she have a lovely face?
Truly, though, even if, by some miracle, a woman found him attractive, it didn’t matter. There wasn’t time for such nonsense. There was, he understood, only time for war.
-3-
“The King of Lords is most displeased with you.” Michael snapped at Emissary Lord Darklief.
What King Noliminan was most displeased with Emissary Lord Darklief about was his having arranged for a flight of female dragons and a travelling band of human merchants to drink from a spring that had been spelled—after bartering with Lord Eros. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that Moira has stolen more than her pound of flesh from me.” Emissary Lord Darklief shrugged at him. He wasn’t taking the matter very seriously. It was almost as though he found great humor in the fact that he was meant to be punished. “And I found an opportunity to repay her when the speaking ape made a deal with me. I held up my end of the bargain. He didn’t hold up his. Therefore, I got my price by other means.”
“Humans and dragons are not meant to interbreed.” Michael seethed, ignoring Emissary Lord Darklief’s reference to the human as a ‘speaking ape’. That had ever been Lucias’ quip. And, though Michael had never admitted it to a single living soul, the joke of it amused him beyond telling. “Of all the asinine . . .” He shook his head as he forced himself to bite the inside of his cheek lest he smile. “And, now, the King of Lords must figure out who is to lord over this new race of beasts.”
“Not my problem.” Emissary Lord Darklief shrugged again.
As he did so, Lord Loki and Prince Ishitar stepped into Lord Loki’s apartment. Michael was helpless but to smile at the younger of the two Gods as Ishitar called out his name and sprang forward. Michael took Ishitar into his arms, granting him the fatherly affection that the lad had always craved from him, and kissed him lightly on the forehead before pushing him gently away. He didn’t miss the amused exchange between Apprentice Lord Loki and Emissary Lord Darklief that this small bit of affection created.
Clearing his throat, he turned to Emissary Lord Darklief and frowned. “Don’t make him wait.”
“I wouldn’t dream.” Emissary Lord Darklief drawled, his lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk.
Michael turned to Lord Loki and Prince Ishitar and gave them both a perfunctory bow. “My Lord; your Royal Highness.”
“Brother.” Prince Ishitar replied, granting Michael a bow in return.
As Michael left Apprentice Lord Loki’s apartment, he heard Lord Loki chuckle and ask, “What, by the name of my goatee, have you done now?”
With no one around to see him, Michael allowed himself a rare smile.
-4-
Iladrul sat outside of the cell where the vampire had been imprisoned with his head bowed into the knuckles of his hand. He had been trying for days to extract information from her, but she was still grappling with her conscience and uncertain that she should tell him where her people had taken his elves.
Though he was ill equipped to be the one to interrogate her, he was the only one she would talk to. He had, after all, saved her life.
“I’m running out of time.” Iladrul sighed. “My people are going to be slaughtered if I don’t find them.”
“They won’t be.” Her voice quavered. “The vampires need them alive if they are to feed from them.”
Iladrul rolled his eyes and shook his head. “They only have so much blood.”
“Their children—”
“They can’t have children.” Iladrul snapped, raising his gaze to meet hers. “The boys of the breeding age were all castrated!”
She paled. Her eyes grew wide. “They weren’t.”
Iladrul, who had only learned this because he had asked Macentyx about the medical clearance he and his brother had gone through, shook his head in frustration. “They have.”
“But they were intact!”
“Only the seed was stopped.” Iladrul groused. “They were left with their stones and pillars.”
“How can that be?” She asked. “They aren’t eunuchs?”
“No.” He stormed. “Just . . . altered.” He felt his lips twitch. He loathed the practice and was angry that his forefathers had put it into place. “By killing those who had not yet fo
und the knife, your people have damned their own cause.”
“The children . . .”
“The children that you murdered.” He was getting tired of her self-pitying ways. “Where did they take the others?”
“Across . . .” She swallowed. “They are taking them to the sea.”
“Which sea?” Iladrul demanded.
“The Northern Sea.” Her voice was trembling. “They mean to cross to the Isle of Nononia.”
Iladrul flew through the room and up the stairs. As he ran across the courtyard he was forced to roughly push elves and angels out of his path. He had to speak with his father and there was no time to dally. If the vampires went to sea then all would be lost until Iladrul, himself, could procure a fleet of ships to follow.
Which could take months, if not years, to achieve.
“Father!” He called when he saw Wisterian, seated on his throne and watching the bustle of the courtyard before him.
Upon hearing his son call his name, Wisterian stood. Helena, Iladrul marked, remained seated.
He rushed before them and gave them both a bow before telling his father what he knew. “The vampire tells me they are to travel to Nononia!”
“Dear Gods.” Jeanir, who was standing behind Wisterian’s throne, as was his place as a doxy, intoned.
Wisterian spun toward him. “You must take your army and you must make haste.”
“What if they double back to get the rest of the elves?”
“Then I shall be here to deflect them.” Wisterian advised. “We shall move every elf and angel into the castle, which is the one place on our lands with the least entries which can be breached.” He turned his gaze to Iladrul. “You must go with the men in my stead.”
“Of course, Father.” Iladrul would have gone even if his father had forbade it. He suspected that Wisterian knew this, given it had been him who had found the Village in the state that it was.
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