-6-
“Where, exactly, have you been?” Karma snapped as she swung the little lizard creature that she was tending from one hip to the other.
Michael turned to her and glared. “None of your concern.”
“You’ve been gone for three morning suns!” She groused. “And left Max and I alone with these little monsters.”
After a full moon of taking care of the little beasts, she was tired and frustrated. Of the four thousand eggs originally laid, a little less than fifty of them had survived the incubation period. And half of those that had were now ill with a virus that was spreading among them swifter than a fire amongst dry kindling.
The Gods only knew how they would have managed had all of the eggs survived.
“There was somewhere I was meant to be.” He growled at her. As he did so, he turned his head away from her. When he spoke, his voice held a distant quality. “It couldn’t be avoided.”
“You could have at least told us that you were leaving!”
“I tried.” He muttered, turning his head so that he was looking at her again. As he did so, she felt her brow furrow. His black eyes were moist and puffy. And his lips were set in such a way as to suggest that he was biting the inside of his cheek to stay his words.
Is he about to cry?
She found herself blinking at him. She didn’t want to feel any type of regard for him, but if something had upset this particular man enough that he would cry over it then the world had most definitely come to dire straits.
Michael wasn’t they crying type. He was gruff and mean and with never a kind or understanding word.
“What’s the matter?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” He snapped, reaching for the babe in her arms and bringing it to his lips so he could bury his face in its thick, black hair. “He has a fever.”
“You don’t say?” Her lips pursed. “They all have fevers.”
Sighing, he lowered the babe so that she could see his face and gave her a snappish nod.
“If we don’t do something soon—”
“I know.” He replied, frowning at her. As he did so, he handed the baby back to her. “Here. I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going now?!” She was infuriated with him!
“To visit my father.” He replied turning away from her. She forced herself not to start. Lord Lucias had been exiled. If it were learned that Michael had gone to visit him, Michael could be severely punished. “He’ll know what to do.”
“Are you certain that’s wise?”
He glowered at her.
“Do you have any better ideas?” She shook her head. “Didn’t think so.”
“But, if the King of Lords—”
“Oh.” Micheal replied, his expression drawn and tight. “Haven’t you heard?”
“Heard?” She didn’t like the fire that suddenly lit his eyes.
“I no longer serve Noliminan.”
“What?” She started; as much from his disrespect from saying the King of Lord’s name without adding fealty as from his angry words. “Why do you blather?”
“You heard me right.” He muttered as he turned away. “I’m an Exile.”
“But—” Despite her personal feelings about Michael, she felt a tug of unwanted pity for him in that moment. “What—Why?!”
He turned to face her again. The tears that she had seen earlier had sprung back into his eyes. “For breaking the one rule that would most bruise Noliminan’s pride.”
She shook her head violently.
Michael? Breaking a rule?
“I made the fool mistake of falling in love with his wife.”
The ground seemed to open up around her. She couldn’t comprehend his words to possibly mean what they must. “Michael . . . Surely, not with Raziel?”
His lips pursed and he looked swiftly away.
When he spoke, it was in a low whisper.
“I fell in love with Queen Raguel.”
“Raguel?” Her nostrils flared in anger at the stupidity of the idea.
“That’s where I went.” He growled at her. “When I received my orders.” He looked away from her again, infuriating her. She deserved his attention in that moment. “To her grave.”
Karma felt the anger within her soul explode around her.
She and Max had been busting their humps taking care of Michael’s charges and the archangel had been wasting his time mourning over the grave of a long dead woman that he had no business having ever loved in the first place.
“I should make haste.”
She glared at him, watching his back as he walked away. Long after he was gone, she found that she was still staring at the spot where he had stood.
She knew she would eventually cross words with him over this.
-7-
Jamiason watched with deep intensity as Evanbourough paced back and forth across the tent that had been constructed for James’ use. He had been expecting this lecture since the moment that Iykva had stepped out of line. And, he understood that, given the rest of the Council believed Evanbourough to still be the reigning God of his race, he had no choice but to allow his old friend to rant.
“Theasis is livid.” Evanbourough snorted as he made another turn, followed by another pass. “She says that if you don’t put an end to this madness—and soon—there will be the Hells’ fire to pay.”
“What can she do?” Jamiason asked, standing and spreading his hands. “Anyway, she isn’t angry with me and mine. She’s nattered with you and the manner in which you left things with her.”
Evanbourough’s thick lips thinned as he spun to face Jamiason. Though James had only recently earned his black wings at the end of the first revolution, he understood the price that many had paid when their ability to shift in and out of their essence had been stripped away from them. Theasis and Evanbourough’s affair had been only one of many which had been violently ended on that fateful day.
“She isn’t the only member of Council who has noticed the goings on between your people and the elves.”
“I’m doing what I can.” Jamiason forced himself to sigh. “I’ve engaged the wolves—”
“Madness.” Evanbourough snorted.
“Thamores will be loyal.”
“Perhaps.” Evanbourough shook his head. As he did so, his long black hair danced over his shoulders, catching the flicking light of the candles which surrounded them. To Jamiason, with his preternatural vision, it seemed as if Evan’s hair had literally caught fire.
He thought fondly, for a moment, of the archangel, Metatron, and repressed a smile.
“But he has no control over his wolves.” Evan’s lips thinned again. “No more than you do over your vampires.”
Jamiason’s lips pursed. “What would you have me do?”
“Set those damn elves free!” Evanbourough stormed at him. “Before irreparable damage is done!”
“It’s already been done.” Jamiason started at the sound of Paul’s voice. Distracted by Evanbourough’s presence, he hadn’t realized that the lad had slipped into the tent. “Aiken’s people will never back down. You do realize that.”
Evan growled under his breath. “And then there’s that one.”
“Aiken’s people are siding with Thea.” James countered. “Isn’t that what you wanted? An out for the elves.”
“In the form of the Gods be damned mischief fairies?”
“It’s all fairies, my Lord.” Paul corrected Evan. “From all tribes.”
This only served to annoy Lord Evanbourough. “Regardless.” He snorted. “I know how to placate Thea.” His nostrils flared. “But there are others, more powerful than I, who will ignore all attempts.”
“No one of any import gives a damn about the elves.” Jamiason groused.
“Not so.” Evanbourough stormed. “Raphael tells me that the King of Lords has taken an interest in the first one.”
“The King of Lords?” Paul started. “Why would he care about an insignificant
elf?”
“Who knows why the King of Lords ever takes an interest in what he does?” Evanbourough complained. “The point is that he has. So you’d best be wary.”
Wary, Jamiason thought, and weary.
His back already bore a target where the King of Lords was concerned due to an outburst that he had once had at Council. When it had been determined that James would be exiled without so much as the benefit of a trial, Jamiason had stormed toward his Ruler and demanded to know the reasons why. The one who had paid for that outburst had been Aiken. The King of Lords had turned his anger toward the fairy God for his failure to keep his property in line.
“I’ll take care of it.” He assured Evanbourough as his eyes flicked to Paul. “We’ll take care of it.”
“See that you do.” Evanbourough admonished before he was, quite simply, gone.
-8-
Michael stood before the door to his father’s cottage with his heart in his throat. The letter from the King of Lords, which gave him his orders and outlined the terms of his exile, burned in his hand.
How was he to face his father and admit his failure to him? What would Lord Lucias’ reaction be when he learned that Michael was now permanently in service to him rather than Noliminan?
Knowing there was nothing else for it, he raised his hand and knocked on the door. When he did so, he heard the barking of a dog on the other side and his brow furrowed. He recognized that bark. It belonged to the Prince of Providence’s lately come by pet.
When the door opened, Michael was less than surprised to see Sappharon on the other side. Her strangely beautiful face was drawn in its scowl of general irritation as she crossed her arms over her small breasts. Her hands began flapping wildly at him, but he did not understand their gestures. As such, he forced himself to straighten his back and respond with false brevity.
“I must see Lord Lucias.” He muttered. “Under orders of the King of Lords.”
She snorted, rolled her eyes and turned away from him. Terrified of what would come to pass, he swallowed the bile in his throat and followed her.
She led him down the hall to a closed door. Before knocking, she turned to him and made the odd flapping gestures with her hand again. When his brow furrowed in confusion, she let out another irritated snort and then knocked on the door.
It was Prince Ishitar’s voice that responded, “Come.”
Confused, Michael pushed past Sappharon and opened the door. As he did so, his breath caught in his chest.
The woman on the bed, holding the swaddled bundle, was more than beautiful. She was exquisite. Her features, chiseled to perfection, were set in an expression that was warm and content. Her full lips, pink as any rose petal that Michael had ever seen, were curled into a smile. And her eyes—dark brown eyes that were as familiar to Michael as his own mother’s—were soft as they caressed his features.
“Michael.” She said, her smile broadening. “My son.”
“My . . .” He swallowed and shook his head. “Lucias?”
“Ta.” Her smile softened. “And I have been expecting you.” She pressed the bundle toward Prince Ishitar, who sat on the bed at her side. He took it rather reluctantly as he gave Michael a grave, almost foreboding, smile. “Come, child. Meet your half-brother.”
Michael’s eyes flicked to Prince Ishitar, who was holding the bundle close to his chest. His brow furrowed with confusion as he took a step forward and reached for the edge of the blanket. As he pulled it away, his heart screamed with discontentment. As he looked deep into the baby’s vertical, yellow green eyes, every fiber of his being cried out in horror.
“What the . . . ?” He shivered and stepped swiftly away as one of the snakes that made up the baby’s hair entwined itself around Prince Ishitar’s wrist. “It’s a monster!”
“It’s a Gorgon.” She purred. “He’s my son.”
Shaking his head, Michael raised his gaze to glare at her. “The King of Lords’ . . . ?”
“No.” Her smile was tender and warm. “Loki’s.”
“Loki’s!” He cried out. Ishitar, he noticed, pursed his lips as if irritated. “What madness do you speak of?!”
“It isn’t madness.” Her smile widened. “It’s genius. This lad is the first of twelve.”
“Twelve . . . ?“
“Ta.” She reached for the babe and lovingly caressed the snake around Prince Ishitar’s wrist. “A Quorum of mine own.” Her eyes flicked up to meet Michael’s. “And you are to be the first member.”
“Madness.” He hissed again.
“Not at all.” She shrugged. “Surely, you didn’t believe I’d allow Raziel to warm my throne forever.”
“Well, no, but—”
“I don’t intend to return as Lord Regent.” She leveled her gaze on him. Her smile had fled her lips. She sat before him as he had always known her: all business. “I shall be the Queen of Ladies. And Loki,” her grin returned, “shall be my beloved Lord Regent.”
“Madness!” He repeated.
“Madness or not,” she shrugged, “you’d best come to terms with my plans. Because you, Michael, shall be the warrior to seat me on my throne.”
Clarity struck Michael in that moment. A clarity so vivid as to tear his sanity asunder.
She had been responsible for Queen Raguel’s death. She had been the one to take his Lady from him.
Now, looking upon her, he understood all too well her true motivation for having done so.
And, oh, dear Gods . . .
How he loathed her for this.
-9-
When Raphael opened the door to the King of Lords’ apartment to find Lord Loki standing on the other side, he couldn’t have been more surprised. Generally, the pair avoided one another like a well spread plague.
“Lord Loki!” He gave the young God a welcoming smile. Despite King Noliminan’s feelings for Loki, Raphael had always admired the man. “How might I help you?”
“I’ve been summoned.” He muttered, his lips drawing thin beneath his ever so famous beard. “Is he in?”
“Yes.” Raphael’s brow furrowed. “Please. Come in. I’ll announce you at once.”
“I have the feeling that I am more than expected.” He crossed his strong arms over his chest and cocked his head slightly to the side. “Didn’t tell you what he wanted me for, I take it.”
“No.” Raphael shook his head. “I had no idea that you’d even been requested.”
Loki snorted and waved his hand at Raphael. “I can find my own way.”
“I’d best follow.” Raphael granted him a thin smile. His presence in the room wouldn’t prevent the King of Lords from berating Lord Loki if that was his intent. But it may temper him enough to hold Raphael’s Master at bay. “He may need me to keep a history of the meeting.”
Loki looked over his shoulder at Raphael and gave him a strange, tight smile. “For prosperity’s sake?”
Raphael laughed in spite of himself. “Just so.”
Shrugging, Loki turned away from Raphael and continued to the library. Once there, he knocked on the open door and leaned in. “You summoned me?”
King Noliminan’s light brown eyes blazed as they scanned the length of Lord Loki before flicking to one of the chairs on the other side of his desk. “Sit.”
Raphael was relieved when Lord Loki complied without argument or comment.
“While you see to the aging of that monster you call a child—”
“Careful, you’re Grace.” Lord Loki’s eyes narrowed. Raphael flinched. “You speak of a member of your Quorum.” His lips thinned. “And of your wife’s son.”
The King of Lord’s nostrils flared as his own eyes narrowed. “What do you intend to do with your demon?”
“He’ll bide the damned ones.” Lord Loki shrugged and sat back in his chair. “By any road, I’ll only be gone for three waxing moons by your shadows.”
“But several cycles of the sun by yours.” The displeasure on his features as he made this statement caused Ra
phael to shiver. “Breeding more monsters, if my wife has her way.”
To this, Lord Loki only shrugged.
“Your demon cannot be free to wander about.” He snapped. “You will put him in Raphael’s care until such time as you return.”
“Prince Ishitar is more than capable of—”
“Ishitar has his own responsibilities to tend to.” The King of Lords grunted. “Your demon stays here. With me.”
Raphael watched Lord Loki stiffen. “I don’t think—”
“That is your greatest problem,” King Noliminan spat. “You don’t think.” He flicked his eyes to Raphael. Raphael swallowed back his fear and waited. “See that he’s moved, Raphael. And at once.”
“Yes, your Grace.” Raphael’s voice quavered as his eyes turned to Lord Loki. “I’ll see that he’s comfortable, my Lord.”
“You’ll see that he behaves.” King Noliminan corrected Raphael. “His comfort means little and less to me. His obedience, however, I demand.”
“You can’t expect Sam—” Lord Loki tried.
“I can,’ King Noliminan seethed, his eyes narrowing even further, “and I do.”
Raphael watched in silence as Lord Loki shifted in his chair. He appeared to be battling some internal demon that only he could see; grappling for the proper response that would convince the King of Lords to change his mind about Samyael.
“Very well.” He finally replied. “I will speak with Sam and I will order him to obey you.”
The self-satisfied smirk that crossed King Noliminan’s face was chilling.
Raphael, once again, shivered.
“See that you do.”
-10-
Wisterian bit the inside of his cheek as he raised his hand to knock on the door to Raystlyn’s library. This was the last place in any one of the inhabited worlds that he had any desire to be. Yet, after receiving Jamiason’s letter explaining the battle that had ensued between the elves and the vampires, he knew he had no choice.
Especially given that Iladrul’s letter had followed shortly thereafter, detailing his losses.
Were it not for Emissary Lord Darklief, Iladrul’s party would have been completely obliterated. As it was, the fairy tribes had arrived in time to protect Wisterian’s son. And the only thing that Aiken had asked from Wisterian, in return, was to seek Raystlyn’s aide and send him to join the fray.
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