Ashes to Ashes

by Carrie F. Shepherd

  “Perhaps.” Aiken agreed. “But now that they are—and one of them is my future son-in-law—what choice do I have but to see it has a quick end?”

  Evanbourough considered him for a moment, wondering if he were being lied to. Emissary Lord Darklief could be a very tricksey God. Never mind that he had an angelic face that was often times difficult to read. In fact, Theasis had often warned Evanbourough that, if it were Aiken’s will, the fairy God could convince a thirsting mortal into giving away the last cup of water from his long drying well.

  He finally settled on, “I see.”

  “I’m not asking much from you.”

  “You’re asking me to interfere in a mortal war that we were all, very specifically, ordered to avoid.” Evanbourough shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, Aiken. But I’m already on the short list of candidates to soon face the King of Lord’s rage.”

  Aiken snorted at that. The list that Evan spoke of could roll out for miles. I found myself smiling at the God as this thought crossed his mind. After all, on that score, Aiken was right.

  “Fine.” Aiken scoffed as he found his feet. “Be as you ever have been, Evan: a hypocrite and a coward. And let’s see how we all fare when this fracas is over.”

  -53-

  When trouble came, it came not in the form of soup or wine. Nor was it at the hand of the boy that Sezja had been watching so carefully. Rather, it came in the form of a silk shirt. Delivered to Iladrul from the hand of someone that Sezja had not suspected.

  Though she had been told at her selling that she must wear the clothing that was given to her Prince before it ever touched his flesh, she seldom took this warning seriously.

  And, honestly, the only reason that she threw the shirt over her shoulders, now, was because she needed to make her necessary and didn’t want to walk through Prince Iladrul’s apartment completely naked.

  Smiling, she leaned toward her man—she did think of him as her man now—and gently kissed him on his brow. He stirred slightly in his sleep but did not waken. When the time came for searching for something to be grateful for, it would be this that she would settle upon as her greatest relief.

  After reflecting upon his handsome features for as long as the press of her child’s foot against her bladder would allow, she spun on the bed and walked, with a smile on her face and a hand on the swell of her belly, toward the golden box with the pretty silver bow which bore the name of someone that Iladrul counted as a friend.

  She ran her fingers lovingly over the fabric for a moment before raising it out of the box and wrapping it around her shoulders. She relished in its smooth softness, lack of weight and cool, caressing properties as she buttoned it over her aching breasts and bulging belly.

  Smiling—feeling, in his shirt, that she truly was his woman—she made her way out of his bedchamber and toward the bathing pools where he kept his chamber pot. In the depths of their grief, her brothers would later conspire amongst one another with theories of what her fate might have been had she chosen the dressing room or the smaller room that was meant for whichever brother was in care of Iladrul that night.

  Questioning Moira, however, was a useless proposition.

  Sezja had chosen the chamber pot in the bathing room and all of her brothers were grateful. Even Haidar, who still fought and bucked against his station in life, kept silent toward Iladrul about how bad things might have been had it been otherwise.

  The burning didn’t start right away. In fact, she made it through her necessary, humming and rubbing her belly, before she realized something was not quite right. Even then, it was little more than an itch.

  Feeling that itch, she pulled the shirt off of her shoulders languidly believing that the thing had been laundered incorrectly. It wasn’t until she saw the pulsing, puss filled wound on her arm that she understood with sudden clarity that her beloved Prince had been betrayed.

  She bolted to the bathing pools, choosing the hottest so it would scald the poison from her body. Though it did remove the effects from her outer skin, the intended results could not be mitigated.

  The chemicals on the shirt was meant to kill a body from the inside out and that is exactly what they were doing.

  “Thirty Hells and Sixty Realms.” Sezja muttered as she realized the truth of what happening to her. “Iladrul . . . I’m . . . sorry.” Then in a whisper. “I failed you with my contentment.”

  “Sezja!” It was Jeavlin who was on duty that night and so it was Jeavlin left to comfort his sister and inform his brothers there was a problem. “Tell me! What—?”

  “Bring the guard.” She whispered as she scraped sloughs of skin off of her body as they burned from the acid on her flesh. “But, first . . .” She pulled herself out of the water and looked upon Jeavlin with imploring eyes. “First . . . Make me presentable to our Lord and Master.” She looked up with him with haunted eyes. “Hide my condition as best you can.”

  Jeavlin, ever as obedient as he had been trained to be, complied.

  -54-

  Ishitar turned up where I least expected him—his father’s library.

  When he stepped through the door, Samyael turned his gaze to Gorgon and the two shared a silent, concerned exchange. Sam didn’t miss that the strange creature’s black lips twitched slightly as the snakes that made up his hair began to dance.

  “Father.”

  “Ishitar.” The King of Lords’ tone was laced with surprise over Ishitar’s appearance. “Your visit is unexpected.”

  “What is your interest in the elves?” Ishitar asked as he lowered himself into the seat across from his father. “What is the story with the demons?”

  “It is a mortal concern, Ishitar.” Noliminan’s eyes narrowed. “Stay out of it.”

  “It’s not a mortal concern from my point of view.” Ishitar crossed his arms over his chest. “And certainly not a moral one.”

  “This happens every time a number of angels and demons are exiled all at once.” Noliminan advised him. “You saw this yourself when the benandanti went after the mages.”

  “You’ve managed to dissipate that race rather nicely, haven’t you?”

  “I’ve nothing to do with the bronzies and their carnivals.”

  Ishitar’s eyes were the ones to narrow now. Zadkiel had told him, once, how the bronzies had been brought into creation. The fact that the man that he thought of as his Da had been humiliated had infuriated Ishitar at the time. I’m certain he still dwells upon his ill will toward his father over Zadkiel’s pain.

  When he spoke, he surprised me.

  “Then you aren’t the one responsible for orchestrating Corline’s disappearance?”

  “Corline?” Noliminan’s lips twitched. “Who would that be?”

  Gorgon and Samyael exchanged another one of those looks. As for me, I snorted. Ishitar, turned his gaze to me and asked, “Did the bronzies take her, Az? And add her to their collection?”

  I glared at him. He knew I couldn’t respond to that question.

  As if I had, however, he nodded and returned his gaze to my Lord and Master. “And you’re to tell me that you’re not responsible for this.”

  “What, precisely, did he say?”

  I started. I turned my gaze in Noliminan’s direction.

  He can’t see me? He can’t hear me? Even though Ishitar can?

  Samyael and Gorgon had the same thoughts as I and exchanged another one of those looks. As for Ishitar, he merely watched his father with great curiosity. I couldn’t tell if he was surprised or if he were not.

  I decided that it didn’t matter.

  “She bore Loki’s child.” Ishitar lowered his gaze slightly. I believe it was out of respect for Loki, rather than his father, but I cannot be certain. “By any road that is important, I’m certain she has by now.”

  “Too bad for her.” Noliminan’s mouth curled into a bitter smile. “And too bad for him.” Then as an afterthought, “The babe. I could piss in the wind over Loki.”

  “Never mind Corli
ne. Or the babe.” Ishitar leaned back in his chair and uncrossed his arms. “What is your position on the elves?”

  “It will play itself out.” Noliminan shrugged. “These things always do.” Then, cocking his head, “What is your position?”

  “Oddly enough,” Ishitar replied. “I agree. Gods should not meddle with the fates of the mortals. Not now that you have given them free will.”

  “What is your mother’s position?”

  Ishitar appeared to consider him for a moment. Finally, he said, “She has decided to make it Loki’s concern rather than her own.” He gave his father a tight smile. “But, then, I gather you’ve already come to that conclusion.”

  “I suppose that I have.” Noliminan’s lips grew thin. “And his position?”

  “At the moment, he doesn’t wish to raise your ire any more than he already has.” Ishitar shrugged. “I’m certain he would assist the elves otherwise.”

  “He’s growing overly bold.” Noliminan replied cautiously. Ishitar only smiled. “Is your mother in danger by his will?”

  “No.” Ishitar shook his head. “I do not think he would play against her.”

  “Very well.” Noliminan said. As he did so, he pulled open one of his desk drawers and removed an envelope. He raised it to his son and shook it at him. “Give her this when you next see her. She needs to replace Mihr.”

  I felt my lips purse. Gorgon and Sam exchanged another guarded frown.

  “Do you have a preference?”

  “No.” Noliminan replied, standing. “How could I? They are her sons. I must love them all in equal measures.”

  “And daughters.” Ishitar reminded him with a cocked head, ignoring my scoffing snort at Noliminan’s last sentiment.

  “Then I lied.” Noliminan glared at him as he leaned over the desk to stare down at the youngling. “I prefer to be surrounded by sons.”

  Ishitar gave Noliminan a very guarded smile as his eyes flicked to Gorgon and then back to our Lord and Master. Sensing our discomfort, he gave Noliminan a curt nod.

  “Very well.” He replied, a strange, amused lilt to his tone that I rarely ever heard coming from him. Though, it must be said, I did recognize it. It was a perfect mimicry of how Lord Loki would have responded to him. “I shall ask the Lady to offer up only my brothers.”

  -55-

  Gorgon entered his mother’s cottage with a feeling of great trepidation. He had been ordered not to visit Lucias by the King of Lords, yet it wasn’t an order that he could comply with. He loved his brothers and sisters far too much to stay away from them for overly long.

  Never mind that he needed his father’s guidance more often than he would care to admit.

  As he closed the door behind himself, he heard a young boy squeal with childish glee as he ran toward him. He turned around in time to lower himself to his hunkers and throw his arms wide apart. Shade collided with him, hard, and Gorgon wrapped his arms around his little brother to pick him up as he stood.

  “Gorgon!” Shade squealed. “Have you come home to stay?”

  “That is an impossibility, little brother.” Gorgon turned his face to kiss the lad’s plump cheek. “Just to visit.” He smiled as his brother made a sour face over the kiss. “Is Fete here?”

  “No.” Shade replied.

  Gorgon sighed his disappointment. He wasn’t surprised, however. Loki had been spending less and less time in Lucias’ company since Gorgon had left his home to serve Noliminan.

  Not that he had wasted any time trading Samyael for Metatron; something that troubled Gorgon greatly. He had become fond of Samyael. The demon—nay, angel, now—was clever and dry with his wit. He was a rare soul who found humor in the same things in which Gorgon, himself, could be amused.

  “Any plans for a visit?”

  Shade shrugged and pushed himself away from Gorgon. Taking the hint, Gorgon lowered the lad to his feet.

  “You know Fete.” Shade looked up at him with eyes that swirled in rings of black and grey. “He comes when it suits him.”

  “That he does.” Gorgon patted him on the head. “Mome?”

  “Sleeping.” A troubled expression crossed his brow. “I think we are to have a little brother or sister very soon now.”

  Gorgon nodded. The snakes that made up his hair hissed with irritation.

  More children for her to trade into slavery.

  “Brother.”

  Gorgon turned toward the sound of Taurus’ voice. As his gaze fell upon the minotaur’s bullish face, he found a true grin. As strange looking as Gorgon was, his brother had the worst of it out of all of them.

  At least so far.

  There was no saying what monstrosity grew in their mother’s belly at the moment.

  “How are you, brother?”

  “I bide.” Taurus’ bullish mouth split into what looked like a grin. It was an ugly and gruesome thing to behold, but Gorgon would never say so.

  How could he? His grin was just as gruesome.

  “How goes it on the side of the Heavens’ bound?”

  Gorgon chuckled and rolled his eyes under his dark glasses. “You wouldn’t want to know.”

  “I am to begin training with Sir Metatron.” Now the grin turned into an all-out smile. “On the morrow.”

  “I’m pleased!” What he actually felt was jealousy, but he wasn’t about to ruin his brother’s good mood. It was a rare enough thing for the brooding creature. “There is no finer swordsman.”

  “But for Michael.” Taurus agreed. “But Mome prefers he sees to his babies.” His brow furrowed. “Strange little beasties, that lot.”

  “Strange indeed.” Gorgon tried to suppress his grin. Either of them calling another creature strange was hypocritical at best. “Will you tell Fete, when he shows, that I seek his counsel?”

  “I will.” Taurus promised. “Shall I tell him what it is about?”

  Gorgon considered for a moment before deciding that he had nothing to hide.

  “The Price of Providence.” His lips pursed. “And . . . the King of Lords.”

  “What about them?” Siren, who Gorgon hadn’t heard enter the room, demanded. “What about Ishitar?”

  Gorgon frowned at her. He was aware that she had a girl’s fascination over their half-brother. It was innocent enough, yet still ill-advised given his great station and power. He would never count any one of them as his true siblings.

  “Never you mind.”

  -56-

  Macentyx watched with anxious anticipation as Prince Iladrul paced across the room. Sezja had gone into labor after having been poisoned by the shirt.

  Though, at Sezja’s request, Prince Iladrul did not know this to be the reason why the babe had chosen to come early.

  No matter the circumstance, a little Prince or Princess, bastard, bastardess or doxy that they may be, was about to be birthed into the world. A child who was to be the rightful heir to Iladrul’s throne until he sired a babe in his, not yet negotiated, marriage bed.

  The nurse wives were darting in and out of the birthing room, doing nothing to calm Macentyx’s nerves and serving to further agitate the young Prince. Every time the door opened, Iladrul would spin around and beg for news.

  It was slow coming. This child meant to take its time before pushing its way, squalling and red faced, into the world.

  “My Prince?”

  Macentyx turned toward the sound of Gregor’s voice. He had come to respect the stable boy and his skills at war. Yet, he didn’t care for the expression the lad wore now.

  “What is it Gregor?” Prince Iladrul asked, irritably.

  “You have a guest.” His lips pursed slightly.

  “I am in no mood for receiving.” Iladrul snapped at him. “You should have known better than to approach me in a moment like this.”

  “Still.” Gregor’s eyes flicked to Macentyx. They were burning with discontentment. Macentyx passed him a silent question by turning his chin slightly. This only caused Gregor to break their gaze to return his att
ention to the Prince. “He says he’s here on Lord Scrountantine’s behest.” He shivered. “And I believe him.”

  “Is he . . .” Macentyx shuddered as he posed the question, “one of them.”

  “Ta.” Gregor nodded. “But young. Our age.”

  “Our age?” Haidar who had been silent, for a wonder, asked. He turned toward Iladrul. “One of the fabled twins, do you think?”

  “I do.” Iladrul frowned at him and returned his attention to Gregor. “Show him to the throne room. And be hospitable. I must ready myself to meet him.”

  “Yes, my Prince.”

  Gregor bowed to him and turned to swiftly escape the room. When he was gone, Prince Iladrul turned his attention to Macentyx.

  “I know Osete or Jeavlin generally see to my grooming.” His eyes flicked to Macentyx’s brother. “But I need that trap that is your mind.”

  Macentyx smiled at the compliment. They were few and far between and he had found, over time, that he cherished every one.

  “If news comes,” Prince Iladrul advised Haidar, “bring it to me on swift feet.”

  “Of course.” Haidar shrugged.

  Macentyx rolled his eyes. Prince Iladrul had been patient with his brother’s tongue, but the day would come when he’d catch their young Master in a foul mood.

  He hoped, when the business of the birthing of the babe was over and the truth regarding Sezja’s condition was discovered, today would not be that day.

  -57-

  Iladrul flicked his eyes upward to look upon Macentyx’s face in the looking glass.

  None of the doxies were acting as they normally would. Haidar was uncommonly silent. Jeavlin, though generally shy, was behaving morose. Osete’s absence was far too poignant. And Macentyx seemed distracted from his tasks.

  Never mind that he had yet been allowed to look upon Sezja in her birthing bed.

  Though, he supposed, the birthing of a baby brought about strange emotions and guarded expressions. He knew Sezja was strong in both sprit and constitution, but the business of birthing was a challenge she had not yet conquered.