As we sojourned beyond time and space, his lips left a trail of cold fire, moving downward, exploring my flesh, drawing a pleasured gasp from me. My nipples became hard pebbles, laved by his tongue and teased by his icy breath. His caresses grew stronger, demanding, kneading my flesh delightfully as he asserted possession.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, “so fiercely alive. I can not help but love you.”
I arched back, drifting in soft black mists, apart from all worlds as his lips worked ever lower. I parted my legs for him, but he teased me with delay, trailing his attention along the inside of my thighs and back up. Every nerve vibrated with pleasure, flaring to life. At last, I breathlessly screamed in shuddering dissolution. Swept away on sable-soft wings, I heard distant words falling from my lips—not French or any language I could name. It was as if another stirred inside my soul, sharing my joy.
Languor suffused me in passion’s wake. I drifted between sleep and awareness, lost to both realms, and then I felt his arms gather me, holding me pressed against his length.
My hands caressed his flesh, running like water across a stone channel. His chest lacked hair and nipples. His abdomen possessed no navel. Though gentle with me, his was the smooth, hardness of a celestial being. Before the war in heaven, he had walked the bright realm where human flesh burns like straw in a furnace. He was iron that could not yield. And I loved him beyond reason. My hand slipped lower to where a man kept his pride. Between his legs lay more smoothness, emptiness, for celestials were neither man nor woman. Just … other.
“I have nothing there to pleasure you,” regret tinged his words. “In this way, I will forever be lacking.”
Azrael held me tenderly. I opened my eyes to see his face immediately next to mine, staring deep into my soul. His eyes gave off the only light possible in this black pall.
“What is wrong?” I asked. “Have you never seen a woman in love before?”
“Not with me,” he answered. “Those words you spoke in the height of passion…”
He read the incomprehension on my face.
“You spoke with a celestial voice,” he explained, “and your eyes were nearly ablaze.”
Ablaze, how strange. “What did I say?”
“You told me not to fear—your sword would guard our love.”
“Then it shall.” I sealed the promise with a kiss, and smiled at him, feeling passion heating my blood again. “Surely, your tongue has better things to do?”
I pulled his head to my breasts.
He chewed lightly upon a nipple, then rasped it with his tongue, as one of his hands slid down my back, stirring my need to a fever-pitch.
“Oh, yessss,” I sighed. “So much better.”
In truth, I did wish he possessed manhood that would swell at my touch and plunge deep within my body, making us one flesh, spilling seed into me for a child that would prove our love to the world. But since that was not to be, I buried that desire, and endured the splendid torture of his attentions.
* * *
The sun was a bright smudge, smoldering through the thinning cloud. My banner streamed from a wooden pole outside the gate, snapping briskly in the warming wind. Protected by magic, the elves mounted the firemares, ready for battle. Faang was off to the side with the shifters that chose to accompany me. I saw Rhaul and the one-eyed sentry I had met upon my arrival. The shifters changed form, and I saw ten wolves and a bear nearly as big as Kodiak. Seven wolves from the forest swelled the shifter ranks. My gaze passed across two supply wagons where a large number of owls perched. Completing our numbers, I saw Kodiak and D’elia standing together. The spirit-caller remained calm, but her face was wet with tears. I knew she saw Death’s shadow on the great bear’s face.
It was time to go. I put on my silver mask and approached the firemare that had volunteered to carry me. I climbed into the saddle and went to the head of the column. Ahead of us, a hastily built bridge crossed the stream. It had been enchanted so that the firemares would not set it ablaze in crossing, not that we would reach the other side.
I extended my ring. It gathered a misty white light, and gleamed softly as cold mists appeared. A savage wind shrieked in protest as I took the lead, and moved onto the bridge. Hooves sounded and the wooden span trembled a moment, then turned to stone. The abyss hung underneath, above, and on all sides. We followed a star called hope, thundering toward death and glory.
Take heart, Phillippe. I am coming!
16. RETURN OF THE QUEEN
My cloak streamed behind me as I crossed the Bridge-Between-Worlds. The distance ahead looked infinite, unconquerable, as though we rode and ran in place. No change announced our progress, so it was easy to believe we were caught in purgatory. In a soft voice, I said as much to Amberyn.
“Be assured,” he answered, “the bridge’s length contracts as we travel, bringing us rapidly toward our goal.”
“I wished it had done that when I first walked the span,” I said.
“This span responded to the speed of the traveler, rewarding haste. Hungry for victims, the Necropolis rewards the foolish.”
Anxiety tensed my muscles, eating at my nerve, as the yawning nothingness passed below, above, to every side in no way I could measure. I focused on the thunder of hooves, and my horse’s mane, teasing my son’s face from the dancing fire. This aided me in keeping fear at an arm’s length where it was manageable. And perhaps Azrael’s loving gaze lent me strength as well. In any case, I endured until the mist meeting us gained a sheen of tarnished copper. I lifted my eyes to a massive shadow at the bridge’s end—the Land of the Dead. The wretched mists still hid details, but the hulking mass of the Necropolis was there, waiting to pounce.
I reined in, encountering an unknown sentry. A shock of confusion surged through my mind, disordering my thoughts until I took myself firmly in hand. This was not Silver Wolf. Another stood in his place, a man with a black fur cloak that made a shapeless beast of him. A mystery behind my silver mask, I stared at the warrior, attempting to unnerve him with my presence and silence. He did not ask who I was. That was as evident as the ring on my finger.
He clenched his sword while his gaze roved uneasily over those at my back. “What is your business here?”
I knew the appropriate answer according to the role forced upon me. “I am the White Rose. I have come to rule the city I have conquered.”
“It is the Gamesman’s city,” the sentry said.
“Can he spin the walls?” I used a bored, yet patient tone, like one who speaks to a dull-witted child. “Can he move a single building without my consent?” I thought of all Phillippe might be enduring and my voice cracked out as a whip. “Do not tell me whose city it is! Now stand aside!” I held my fist out. My ring shimmered with white fire as bright as my passion.
I knew the sentry feared being struck down by a power his sword could not counter, for he moved with speed, clearing my path. This was only reasonable. After all, he wasn’t here to keep players from the game, but to test their resolve. The city needed souls to exist, craving them for torture and sustenance—and doubtless the Gamesman was looking forward to amusing himself at our expense.
I counted on it. Further changes in the order of things were desperately needed.
I led my companions toward the wall which materialized first as a shadow, then a thing of rusted iron. Yet it was not the same wall as before. Dribbling down from its top, vines formed a knotted cascade, bejeweled with dew-studded roses. White roses. The whole aspect of the walls was dampened, muted by beauty where I had not expected it.
The gate gaped open, a mouth screaming silently. It was my gate, engraved with the sigil of the rose. We passed through. Beyond, I saw the cathedral courtyard and fountain. The sound of the firemare hooves was overly loud, echoing strongly, as if were had many more riders. The area was empty of bleeders waiting to slice through white scars in payment for their sins. The fountain no longer sprayed blood up into the air. I did not miss that absence.
&n
bsp; The streets further on were empty as well. The people were in hiding, or had fled, seeking refuge in quarters where I had no need to travel. If there was going to be armed resistance, it lay in some other quarter than this. We reached a street that had a gap along one curb. Here was a seam of the city, a section designed to move—frozen in the first moment of making such an attempt. And within that open wound, welling up out of darkness, I was greeted by the clotted growths of more roses.
I looked closer at the building we passed, and saw creeping vines prying at various walls, rising up to choke chimneys, wreathing occasional windows and doorways. This city, subdued by beauty, would never again be quite so cold and forlorn.
A gray shadow rippling close to the ground, Fenris flashed me a grin that promised retribution to anyone lying in wait. He vanished ahead, leading the monstrous wolves who would clear our way past any traps. As the wolves loped by, they kept a healthy distance from the blazing horses. The wolves’ reasonable fear of fire had preserved peace in our ranks.
Without waiting for instructions, D’elia and the owls took wing to provide reconnaissance from above.
I set a careful, unhurried pace, though I desperately wanted to plunge at full gallop now that the end of all this was so much closer. Our column lengthened as we rode well away from anything that might burn from the heat of the horses. Fortunately, most of the city was cold, pitiless stone. I looked to see how the roses took the heat of our passage as we followed a new seam. I expected to see the green ignite and burn away, but the roses ignored our passage, unnaturally vital.
As we passed hotels and private houses, shadows moved in the upper windows. Pale faces peered down, curious, excited, and anxious. These people were dead already; they had no reason to fear for their lives—but there were worse things than death that could happen to them. I thought of Angelique. The pain in my heart was still fresh over her loss, but the need for vengeance still smoldered like coals in my stomach--feeding my strength and resolve.
Threading the abandoned market section, Amberyn spoke with a disquieting tone. “They fear to do anything to make it look as if they support you. If we do not triumph, the Gamesman will make their afterlife hell. And they know, if we do win, they can always beg forgiveness for not siding with you.”
Beg forgiveness … was I so feared?
Yes, I would be, with my roses everywhere—an extension of my will, a demonstration of my power. They saw my hand at work, when they should have looked higher, to Heaven which was orchestrating this grim opera.
I looked into alley shadows. The beggars were gone.
Later, I caught myself searching for the flower girl who carried an angel’s hidden face—and suddenly, she was there, grave and still.
“One moment,” I signaled to Amberyn my desire to pause a moment, then offered a hesitant smile to the child. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, as if in prayer. I hoped she was blessing me—I could use all such favor—but I did not ask. Amberyn made no mention of her, looking at me curiously, no doubt wondering why I stopped. But the unicorn’s head turned. I knew he saw what I did.
The flower girl lifted her face toward me. Her hand dipped into her basket, emerging with a white rose. Flung my way, the flower trailed a miasma of light.
I reached out and plucked the bloom from the air. The miraculous appearance of the flower upon my fingertips caused a stir of surprised voices around me.
“An interesting trick,” Amberyn said. “You must have elf blood in your family tree somewhere. It would explain your hair, pale as star-fire.”
“Perhaps it is Death’s blood that sets me apart. He is my grandfather,” I said, “no matter what I think about it.”
The rose had a pearl-headed pin piercing its stem. I used the pin to fasten the flower to the outside of my cloak. Strangely, I felt armored now. I lifted my head and discovered the disguised angel gone. That did not concern me. I nudged my horse into motion. The column followed.
“I cannot credit that the Gamesman is neglecting us,” Amberyn said. “Surly, some trap will soon be sprung.”
“He seeks to weaken our nerve with uncertainty and apprehension,” I said. “Making us wait this way is just another of his strategies.”
“It’s a good one,” Elwren said. “I feel my skin crawling, my shoulder blades tensing, expecting an arrow from the gloom.”
“Just remember,” my hand rested on my sword’s hilt, “the fastest way to end this is to boldly thrust through.”
Beyond the market, I passed the Golden Sow. Its sign was nearly lost in a cocoon of leaves and roses. The bottom half of the front wall was similarly veiled. Gray stood in front of the floral backdrop. He was half supported by a scantily clad young woman. Her laugh was shrill and drunken—as I expected.
The women cringed to see me, but Gray lifted a bottle of wine in a toast. “Giv’em a stab for me, lass. I’ve got all my money riding on you!”
Though I didn’t stop, I smiled and called out, “Depend upon it, Gray.”
He took a swig from his bottle and staggered as the woman hastily dragged him back into the tavern.
We passed a few more intersections, and reached a fan of roads leading every which way. The wolves waited there with looks of expectation. I reined in and checked my grandmother’s compass. Its needle spun wildly, seeking a magnetic north that was not there. I concentrated on what I wanted. Show me the way to the Gamesman! The red-tipped needle slowed and pointed. Having my bearing, I picked the road that best matched that course and extended my hand to point the way. The wolves burst into motion and I heard the flutter of wings as owls took flight from the rooftops. My blazing mount required no urging on my part.
Amberyn’s gaze clung to the compass where it hung on its chain. “An interesting item. I will have to have one made for my own use.” His eyes rose to my face. “Where did you get it?”
“Part of my grandmother’s legacy.” She was the White Rose before me, and left me the white leathers, as well as the whip coiled on my hip, but where she came by these things, I have no idea. I was equally uninformed as to what had driven her to assume the role I had inherited from her. I hoped to question her about these things before long.
“You know what that means?” he asked.
I turned my silver-masked face his way in a silent stare that prompted him to continue.
“If your grandmother was the last White Rose, but is no longer active in that capacity, it can only mean she has gone on to the Courts of Death. Death’s betrothed has become his wife.”
He stared at me intently, but I did not take any deep significance from his words. “Speak plainly.”
“Well, here’s the meat of the nut,” he said. “Once we deal with her step-son, and breach the Courts, you may find yourself in opposition to your grandmother as well. Have you thought what it would be like to cross swords with her?”
“I never knew my mother, but as a child, I always had Grandmama’s love and support.” I had wept for her terribly when she died of miasma, coughing away her lifelike many others. I made my voice certain. “She will not oppose me.”
“How can you be sure? Time and death change people. You are doing the unthinkable out of necessity. How do you know what necessity demands of her?”
“Elf?” I paused to seize his attention with a stare. “Be silent!”
Amberyn grinned. “As our Lady Celeste commands…”
If not for the clomping of hooves, we would have passed like silent wraiths through the winding streets, keeping an easy pace. Stone giants with rose tresses, the moldy buildings held their breaths in expectation. The same frozen sky of pale green cloud hung low above the city, denying us a sun to mark time’s passage. If I had not known that the city’s buried mechanisms were immobilized, I would have believed that we were standing still and the city itself was sliding around us, a mockery of progress, dragging a net of gloom and despair ever tighter.
I only became sure of our course as we reached Queen’s Park and discovered a
force had assembled to bar our way—an army of children. They formed a huddled, ragged mass, fearful yet determined in the presence of our invading wolves. Some of the younger children cried, but still clutched branches and stones, pans, and boards, anything they could press into service as a weapon.
I raised my hand to signal a stop, slid from the saddle, and walked forward. Once away from my blazing mount, I removed the silver mask. I wanted to show these children a human face. Red-Blade and Amberyn joined me wading through the wolves. Young faces swung my way. I saw earnest eyes, fever-bright, welling with loneliness and bottomless need. The children’s lips moved, sharing secrets. Whispers went around, gathering strength, becoming a mighty wave pushing toward shore. Bright with joy, audible words broke over me.
“Mother!”
“She has returned!”
“The Queen!”
Queen? Hardly. Ah, they thought me to be Grandmother.
“Wait here,” I told my escort.
Alone, I went closer.
The weapons were quickly lowered. My gaze picked out the oldest child at the center of things, the natural leader of the group. He was a tall boy with a smudge of dirt on his chin. His eyes were brown and his hair was a ragged shock of blond, reminding me of a haystack.
“What is this about?” I asked.
“You are the only one who has ever loved us. You made this place to protect us, and when they killed Angelique, you gave us vengeance, stilling the city so we need never fear being made into gears. You fought for us. Now it is our turn to fight for you.”
I stepped up to the boy and ruffled his head, the way only a mother is allowed, and let my hand settle on his shoulder. I knew he was dead and ages old, as were all the children, but I could not use them as this evil place had. It was not in me.
“I am grateful for the offer, but you will help me best with your prayers, and by staying where I know you are safe.”
“But we want to fight for you,” the boy pleaded. “We will do a good job, really!”
The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) Page 23