Ashes to Ashes

by Carrie F. Shepherd

  “Good.” He turned to Jeanir again. “Rally the men, Jeanir. You’ll leave tomorrow at first light.”

  Jeanir bowed to him and took his leave. When he was gone, Wisterian turned to Iladrul.

  “My son,” he said, “now is the time to prove your quality.”

  “I won’t let you down, Father.” Iladrul promised as he toyed with the talisman.

  “No.” He sighed. “I don’t believe that you will.” He turned to his wife then. Iladrul realized, as he did so, that she had been weeping. “Go to the Temple of the Charbala. Pray with the Priestesses there. Beg Lady Theasis that your son will be returned safe unto your bosom.”

  She rose, stepped toward Iladrul as if to take him in her arms, thought better of it, and did as she was bid.

  Iladrul knew, as he watched her go, that she would remain in Charbala prayer until the war was over and he was safely home.

  -5-

  Raphael was reading one of the King of Lords books aloud to him when Michael knocked on the door. He rose to answer, but King Noliminan flicked his hand at him and told him to sit down. He barked his order to Michael through the door that he should enter. Michael did and, irritated with his warrior, King Noliminan raised his gaze to meet Michael’s own. “You’re tardy.”

  “Forgive me, your Grace. I was delayed by Emissary Lord Darklief.” Michael advised him as he stepped forward and found his knee. King Noliminan flicked his hand upward and toward the chair beside Raphael. As obedient as he ever, Michael rose and took his seat. “He’s extremely satisfied with himself.”

  “So I assumed that he would be.” Raphael watched with keen fear as the King of Lords glared at Michael. Though Raphael didn’t understand why, he had been angry with the archangel ever since the war between himself and Lucias. Raphael had asked Michael more than once what he had done, but Michael had ever refused to divulge what had crossed the King of Lords. “I told you very recently that we live in a time of peace.”

  “You did, your Grace.” Michael’s brow rose slightly.

  “That being said, I can spare the General of my army to other tasks.” Michael’s eyes flicked to Raphael. Raphael swiftly lowered his. “For the time being, that is.”

  “Your Grace?” Michael’s voice shook slightly.

  “This new race . . . these . . . things,” King Noliminan’s nose curled slightly in distaste, “are going to need someone to look after them until such time as a God can be bred among them.”

  “I agree, your Grace.” Michael replied, his tone now guarded and curious.

  “It comes to my mind, given the benandanti are disappearing in vast numbers, that despite Aiken’s mischief, this race couldn’t have come about at a better time.” He sighed and sat back in his chair. “We could invoke in this race a sense of duty and protection.” His eyes trailed over Michael’s face for a moment before proceeding. “I want you to live among these creatures as their King so that you might teach them all things that you know.”

  “Your Grace, I . . .” Michael shook his head. His expression was that of both surprise and, though such was so rare since the end of the war that Raphael scarcely recognized it for what it was, expectant hope. “I am to be their God?”

  The King of Lords narrowed his eyes slightly. “Why on which moon would I make you, of all people, a God?”

  Raphael felt the verbal sting as if it had been a physical slap. He sensed that Michael did too. Though, Michael was obviously better able to stay his immediate reaction than Raphael, who let out a nearly inarticulate groan of pain on his brother’s behalf.

  “No. You shouldn’t. I misunderstood and thought that—”

  “Your betrayal against me with Raguel is unforgivable.” He barked. “And you are well overdue your punishment.”

  Raphael snapped his gaze to Michael.

  The Queen of Ladies? What had he done?

  “Your Grace, I swear to you that nothing passed between myself and the Queen!” Michael pleaded with our Lord and Master as he found his feet. “I merely mourned her when she died! That was my only sin! And someone had to! Since you were angry with her, I—!”

  It was Michael’s turn to be struck now. And harder than Raphael had ever been. Unlike Raphael, he was able to plant his feet to the floor and stand his ground. When the pair of them had recovered from the moment, he merely swallowed and lowered his gaze.

  “Temporarily,” King Noliminan was literally growling at Raphael’s brother, though he ignored Michael’s denial completely. “I will give you the powers of a God. After you have propagated an appropriate heir you are to return to me and we are never to speak of your betrayal against me again.”

  “Your Grace?” Michael’s eyes were dark and brooding. “What betrayal?”

  “I did order that you be chaste.” King Noliminan’s eyes narrowed. Raphael realized at once that Michael had just been baited.

  “Yes, your Grace. And I have been—”

  “Yet, you cannot remain chaste whilst breeding a proper son with these disgusting creatures.” King Noliminan growled at him. “Now can you?”

  “You mean for me to . . . to breed with them?” Michael looked so affronted that to look upon his features was almost painful. How he managed to keep his tone respectful, Raphael would never know. “And then you mean to consider my following your orders to do so to be a betrayal against you?”

  “I do.” King Noliminan nodded and tented his hands at his chest. “The twelve of you are always complaining that I bind your hands idle.”

  Raphael, understanding that Michael had the right of things, wanted to scream on his brother’s behalf. The King of Lords was ordering Michael to do something that he did not want to do and was then going to punish Michael for having done it.

  “Your Grace, we only ever begged to find love with—”

  “My wife?” King Noliminan raged his question.

  Michael’s reaction was far calmer than Raphael’s would have been trapped in the same conversation.

  “This is not a request, Michael.” King Noliminan glowered at him. “It is an order. So make peace with it in whatever manner you think best.”

  Michael’s skin was as pale as parchment. His black eyes were swimming with discontentment.

  “Of course, your Grace.” He finally managed. “When do you wish that I leave you?”

  “Now.” King Noliminan replied, his expression one of pure irritation. “Remove the eggs from their mothers and then guard them until they hatch.”

  “How many are there, your Grace?” Raphael braved, in shaking tones.

  “A little over four thousand.” King Noliminan muttered, ignoring Raphael’s obvious discontentment all together. “Plenty to give a good start to a new race.”

  “I am to guard four thousand eggs?” Michael asked. His tone was so tight that Raphael felt that he might come unstrung at any moment. “By myself?”

  “Of course by yourself.” King Noliminan sighed his irritation. “I cannot afford to lose all twelve of my Quorum.”

  “Of course not, your Grace. But—”

  “Do you intend to fail me, Michael?”

  “Never in life, but—”

  “Then why are you arguing with me about this?”

  “I am not arguing with you, your Grace.” Michael shook his head. “I assure you.” His voice took on a trembling property that was entirely out of character. Raphael could feel the rage pounding off of him in the King of Lords’ direction. “I have never argued with you. But, if I could borrower even one of Lady Martiam’s angels, then my chances of succeeding will improve by a thousand fold.”

  King Noliminan seemed to consider this for a moment. Finally he said, “Very well.” He reached for a piece of parchment and his quill. He dipped the pointed end of the quill in ink and scrawled a letter to Lady Martiam, which he quickly handed to Michael. “Give the Lady my instructions. And then no more of your petty delay, Michael. I want this task seen to straight away.”

  Michael took the parchment deftly be
tween his fingers, standing as he did so. When he spoke, his tone was tight and his words were forced through his teeth. “As I ever do, your Grace.”

  He spun away, stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

  Raphael was left to stare upon King Noliminan with a wide eyed, puzzled and—he would never admit this last to anyone but himself—disappointed glare.

  -6-

  Thamores walked between two rows of tents, his lips pursed and his eyes glued to the ground. The sight of the children, huddled together in their tents wearing haunted expressions, was more than he could bear. He wondered how, exactly, he had given into Iykva’s pressure to set his wolves on guard duty during the daylight hours.

  For filthy vampires, no less.

  When he reached the end of the row, he turned so that he could take a pass down the next one. As he did so, he raised his gaze and smiled at the wolf who served as his second in command. “Nala.”

  “Thamores.” She returned.

  “Anything to report?”

  “No.” She shook her head. Her long blonde hair danced over her shoulders like spun gold. He felt a pull for her, as he watched this, which he couldn’t deny. He sensed by the smell of her, as she stepped toward him, that she was coming into heat. “The kiddies are extremely quiet.”

  “They are quiet.” He felt his lips purse as he looked toward one of the tents.

  There was a boy and a girl sitting within; just as there were in every one of the tents. Iykva had arranged them in pairs with the intention that they do what boys and girls of their age do when put in the same sleeping quarters.

  The boy held the girl tightly and stared back at Thamores with cold detachment. As for the girl, the moment the benandanti looked her way, she turned her face into the boy’s chest so that she wouldn’t be forced to look at him. He gave the boy a tight smile and returned his attention to Nala.

  “Any activity?”

  “No.” Her brow furrowed. “Not in a single tent.”

  “Queer.” Thamores muttered as he ran his arm across his nose to block the smell of her from his senses. It was damn distracting. “And, somewhat, unnatural.”

  “Do you think they are still too young?” She asked. “I’ve never seen an elf before.”

  “These are the oldest of them.” Thamores shrugged. “Could be that they aren’t interested yet.”

  “But Iykva said that the Prince has a set of them.” She sighed. “And he’s the same age.”

  Thamores let out a breath through his teeth and stepped toward the tent where the boy was still glaring at him. He lowered himself to his hunkers and forced himself to smile.

  “I must ask you something, boy.” The young elf’s jaw clenched and his chin thrust forward. He was strangely delicate. Strangely fair. “Answer me true.”

  “Mreck tat prewst.” The boy replied in harsh tones before his lips thinned.

  Thamores felt his brow furrow. “Don’t you speak the common?”

  “Mreck tat prewst!” He repeated angrily.

  “I don’t speak elfish.” Thamores returned, frustrated.

  “Go fuck your mother!” The boy replied in the common before leaning forward and spitting into Thamores’ eye.

  Thamores recoiled, though he had to admit that he admired the boy’s fire. He raised his hand to wipe the spittle from his face and then flicked it away. As he did so, he was unable to stay his amused chuckle.

  “Alright, then.” He grinned. “We’ve established our hostilities.”

  The girl began to whimper. She raised her head and admonished the boy in elfish. Though Thamores didn’t understand her words, he had a fair idea that she was telling him to give Thamores what he wanted so that he would leave them without harming them.

  The boy, clearly irritated, pushed her away.

  “Why are none of you doing what you have been put together to do?” Thamores asked the boy.

  He glared in response.

  “Answer me, elf.” Thamores raised his hand as if he meant to strike the child. He never would have. He just needed to scare an answer out of the lad.

  The boy flicked his eyes up to Thamores’ hand, saw that Thamores had pushed his wolf’s claws from his nails, swallowed and licked his upper lip with a swift, pink tongue.

  “We are doxies.” He said, his voice now shaking with fear. “We are not allowed to do our dirty business with one another.”

  “Dirty business?” Thamores’ brow furrowed. He was amused by the lad’s statement, though, given the elf’s heavy tones, he would never admit this. “Regardless, nature must eventually take its course.”

  The boy looked swiftly away. “Any man who would allow his nature to put a woman at risk of damnation has no right to call himself a man.”

  “You believe that all of the boys in this camp feel the same way?”

  “They had best.” He seethed, returning his gaze to meet Thamores’ own. “And you’d best tell your wolves to keep their dirty paws off as well.”

  “My wolves already have these orders.” Thamores growled.

  “Yet,” the boy’s eyes narrowed, “as you say, nature must, eventually, take its course.”

  Thamores gave him a perfunctory nod and found his feet. He turned toward Nala, who had been watching the conversation with unguarded interest, and shook his head. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her well away from the tents.

  Damn it . . . Now is not the time for you to come into heat.

  “Is there something that I need to know about the behavior of the pack?” He asked.

  “Not that I’m aware of.” She sighed. “Although, the child has a point. Our people aren’t exactly known for our soft nature. It’s only a matter of time before one of them takes matters into his own hands.” She looked swiftly away. “Although the sun still has to rise over thirty mountains, the golden moon shall wax before we reach the Northern Sea. Those of us who were made rather than born have no control over our curse when she becomes fat and full. You know this.”

  Thamores let out a deep breath through his teeth. “This is a bad idea all the way around.”

  “Why did you agree to it, then?” She asked, not exactly snappishly but neither was she coy. She was a wolf, after all. And second in command of her pack.

  He shook his head in frustration and turned away from her.

  “He reminded me that we are brothers.” He explained. “What was I to do? My father was an exiled demon. As was my mother. That their curse was different from his makes him no less my kindred.”

  “It’s wrong, Tham.” She stepped toward him and set her hand on his shoulder. Now her tone was calming. Soothing. “You know it is.”

  He felt his lips thin as he nodded his agreement. “Tell the men if I learn that even one of these young girls has lost her innocence to one of them, she will be the last girl that he claims of any race.”

  “Such a threat won’t stop them.” She warned. “You know it won’t.”

  “Perhaps not the first one.” He agreed as he returned his gaze to her. “But I guarantee, after they see what I do to him, there won’t be a second.” This was followed by words which had the potential to damn him. “If any one of them has a problem with that then they can meet me at moonlight.”

  She swallowed and looked swiftly away. She didn’t want him fighting with any one of the other male wolves because it meant that if he lost she was the victor’s to claim. She, in her own way, loved Thamores. Even if she had been thrust into his bed when he had taken over the pack when he had slain her prior alpha.

  He leaned forward, laced his hand around her neck and pulled her toward him to plant a kiss on her forehead.

  Loving her, in his own way, he had no intention of ever losing such a challenge.

  -7-

  Loki looked up from the tome he had no business reading when he heard the slam of his door. Then came the guttural roar.

  I watched his brow furrow as he began biting on the left side of his lower lip. No longer being able to
read his thoughts, I could only wonder what was going through his mind.

  Until, that was, Michael stepped through his library door. His expression of surprise could not be denied.

  “Tell me how on which moon I am to remain a virgin whilst breeding with one of Aiken’s Gods be damned, ill begot creations!”

  Loki, shaking his head swallowed.

  Aiken had told him about his mischief. Being Aiken’s closest companion, this was a given. But the rest of Michael’s diatribe seemed to confuse him.

  “I don’t . . .” He sighed and pointed to Lucias’ favorite chair. “I wasn’t part of Aiken’s misbehavior. What has this to do with you?”

  “I must live amongst them as a God would.” Here Michael’s expression darkened. “Though, I am not to be their God! Just to breed their God!”

  This part, Loki clearly understood.

  Michael was finally being punished for having the audacity to grieve over the Queen of Ladies’ death. Loki, who was the only man that Raguel had ever taken to her bed aside from Noliminan, had been told by Raguel that she was in love with Michael.

  I know that he suspected, by what Raguel had shared with him, that Michael was equally in love with her.

  “Then to be punished for returning to him as spoiled goods.” Michael turned his dark—and generally unreadable eyes—to Loki. His pain was palpable in his expression. “I am to adhere to one order whilst betraying another.” He grumbled. “Or to be considered as having betrayed another!”

  “What is he playing at?” Loki growled, his anger toward Noliminan palpable on every line of his face.

  Michael rolled his eyes closed and shook his head. “I know not.” Opening his eyes, he forced himself to meet Loki’s gaze, “My Lord Loki, please . . .”

  “You were never here.” Loki assured him. Then, licking his lips, he said, “There is a way to beat his trap.”

  Michael glared at him. This was followed by a disbelieving, almost mad, laugh. “How?”

  “Are you willing to disobey him?”