by Jane Kindred
And on the other side were the gypsies who believed in magic and divination, who spoke of the “unseen world.” She’d thought them equal fools. The only thing Love had believed in was science and technology; all the rest, all those invisible things one was supposed to take on faith, she’d thought nonsense. But it was the magical realm that had turned out to be true, and not the spiritual.
Belphagor had mentioned a gypsy feud. It was, of course, the oldest one around: the Old Ways versus the new. The magical believers were part of the underground network Belphagor always spoke of, and these were the contacts Love had exploited, playing their game and thinking all the while it was nothing more.
Before she and Ola were taken, Love had received a spate of odd messages suggesting the ones who called themselves True Believers had begun to sway the magical believers toward the honey-dripping tongues of the Malakim. It had been causing a rift in communications between the gypsy underground and the Fallen underground—though Love hadn’t believed in the Fallen at the time; she’d thought it an ordinary criminal underworld. But if the Malakim had somehow turned the Fallen themselves away from their own loyalties… Love couldn’t even imagine.
Lively was struggling to get up. “Could you give me a hand?”
With reluctance, Love offered her arm for leverage. Watching the steam curl into the air like smoke from a cauldron as she helped Lively climb from the deep bath, Love remembered something Anazakia had said when they’d returned from the citadel. “Are you really teaching Anazakia witchcraft?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Lively pulled on a robe from the folded pile and tied the sash around her wide middle. “Why?”
“Do you do fortune telling?”
Lively looked suspicious. “You want your fortune read?”
“Not mine. Someone else’s. That is, I want to contact someone on another plane. Do you do that?”
“Someone dead or someone alive?”
“Alive. Can that be done?”
Lively shrugged. “Messages are messages. I sent them for Auntie Helga all the time.”
With a frown, Love realized some of those messages must have gotten her and Ola kidnapped.
Lively’s olive skin colored, the same evidently occurring to her. “If you want to try it now, I have a deck of Chora in my room.”
“Chora?”
“After the Heavenly Choirs. Auntie says they’re like what you call ‘tarot.’”
Love nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
In Lively’s room, they sat cross-legged on the bed with a cloth laid out between them, candles burning in each corner of the room. The suits of the Chora were familiar. What Love knew as spades, clubs, diamonds, and hearts, Lively identified as knives, spindles, facets, and tricks.
The demoness shuffled the deck. “They’re mostly used in gaming, but some of us remember their original purpose.” She set the deck on the cloth. “Think about the person you want to contact while you cut the cards twice, widdershins.” When Love wrinkled her brow, Lively demonstrated. “With your left hand, moving them to the left. It opens the channels by occupying your conscious mind when you use your weak hand.”
“I’m left-handed.”
“Are you really?” Lively studied her with interest. “That means you’ve got demon blood in you somewhere, you know. Go ahead and cut with your right, then.”
Love wasn’t sure she cared for that notion, but she cut the deck as directed. Lively took the cards and laid them face up on the cloth. The first was the Virtue of tricks. The names of the celestial orders were written below each image in the angelic tongue, but in Cyrillic script, as if to mask the meaning from the Host. Love had taken pains to teach herself the language, but she would have known the image anyway; the flowing silver hair and shining eyes of the Virtue were unmistakable.
“This represents you, the querent,” said Lively. “Now think about what you want to ask as I lay out the next cards.” While Love kept the thought in her head, Lively set the Cherub of knives on top of the first. “A matter of utmost secrecy.” She laid another above it, and one below. “Virtue of facets—trust is needed. Principality of tricks—are you still with us?”
“How are you doing that?” It was as if Lively were creating a telegram out of the thoughts in Love’s own head.
“I’m not doing it. You are. I’m just facilitating. I take it the message is what you want so far?”
Love nodded.
“Because if it’s not at any point, just stop me and we’ll start again. Some people take a while to get into the rhythm of communication, but you seem to be projecting pretty clearly.” Lively set another card to the left of the first and one to the right: Principality of knives and Splendor of facets. “Family in danger,” said Lively. “All is not what it seems.” She glanced up, and Love nodded again, unnerved by the accuracy of the reading. It was beyond coincidence that the cards appeared in the perfect order, with the perfect message, just by shuffling and cutting.
Finally, Lively laid out four cards vertically from bottom to top, to the left of the rest. “These are the message itself. They represent what you want, where you are, what you fear, and what will be.” On the cloth were the Splendor of spindles, Ardor of facets, Power of knives, and Splendor of tricks. Lively was quiet, studying them in the weak glow of candlelight under the luminous glass brick walls. At last, she spoke with casual certainty. “‘I need to know what’s happening below. I am currently above. Is it safe to speak? Answer if you’re a friend.’”
“That’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s just what I wanted to say.”
“Probably your demon blood. It’s usually something of a muddle on the message bit; most people aren’t clear.”
Lively struggled from the bed and returned to the bureau, this time taking a small box from the top and a little silver bowl on three clawed feet. After sprinkling an indigo powder from the box into the bowl, she set it carefully on the cloth below the cards and took the white candle from her left to light the powder. It sparked and ignited in a vivid emerald flame that burned across the surface like a live creature, dancing and bobbing until it died down into glowing trails of snaking embers. Sweet-smelling smoke began to rise from the ashes in a thick plume of white.
“Now repeat the name of the recipient three times,” said Lively, “followed by ‘hear and answer’ and your name each time.”
Love felt a bit silly. The only names by which she and her contact knew each other were the identities they used on the Internet.
“Possessed85,” she muttered, “hear and answer lovelygirl.” Heat rose in her cheeks at Lively’s lifted eyebrow. “So what do we do now? How does he get the message and how does he answer?”
“I suppose he’ll get it the same way he gets all your messages. And if he answers, we’ll be able to read it in the Chora.” Lively gathered the cards and used the cloth to pick up the hot bowl and set it on the bureau. “How long does it usually take for him to get one of your computer messages?”
“He’s online all the time. He usually answers right back.”
“Well, let’s give it until the messaging powder burns down. Right now, I’m starving.”
In the breakfast hall, Anazakia and Margarita were finishing up before heading off to Sarael’s gymnasium to spar. Anazakia looked surprised to see Love entering with Lively. Love tried to avoid eye contact, hoping Nazkia wouldn’t ask what they’d been doing. She wanted to keep this bit of intrigue to herself for now.
But Lively gave them both a simple excuse with the ease of a practiced liar. “Love found me floundering in the bath.” She tugged at the sash over her belly with a laugh. “I suppose I shouldn’t try to do that alone anymore.” She’d used just enough of the truth to make it perfectly plausible. Love wondered what the price would be for the favor.
Margarita stood and pulled out a chair for Lively. “You’re looking well. No more nausea?”
Love found it irritating how pleasantly the woman treated Livel
y. Margarita had no reason to dislike her, Love supposed, not having been with them long enough to have formed any personal loyalties, but she knew enough to realize Lively was only with them because her aunt had ditched her at Gehenna.
“No nausea. Now I’m just ravenous.” Reaching for a sweet roll, Lively addressed Anazakia. “Did you take baths when you were pregnant? Love says it isn’t good for the baby to soak in the heat.”
Bitterness flashed in Anazakia’s eyes. “I was locked in a prison cell for the first trimester. And in a room the size of a closet for the rest. There wasn’t a great deal of opportunity for indulging myself.”
Lively barely seemed to register the words as she filled her plate from the tremendous buffet Sarael’s servants prepared every morning. “I suppose I’ll have to give them up. But it does such wonders for the backache.”
“Maybe a massage would do you good,” said Margarita. “If you’re not comfortable with Sarael’s masseuse, I could do it.”
Love exchanged a glance with Anazakia. This seemed a little much, even for Margarita.
Lively smiled. “Perhaps I’ll take you up on that.” Her cheeks were flushed as she looked at the Nephil.
Love’s eyes widened with sudden understanding, but Anazakia shrugged, clearly still mystified. She rose shortly afterward and headed out with Margarita for her lesson, and Love waited impatiently for Lively to finish eating before following her back to her room to check for an answer from possessed85.
Lively burned another mound of powder and gave the deck to Love to cut. As Lively laid them out beneath the spiraling smoke, she paused for a moment to reflect on each one before giving its meaning. The first card was the Archangel of tricks. “A friendly messenger.”
“So far, so good,” said Love as Lively set down the next one.
“Ophan of knives.” Lively pressed her hand against the card. “I will guard your secret.” She placed the next two—the Virtue of spindles and Archangel of facets—above and below, moving her hand from one to the other and then back before saying with certainty, “You have my word, I am loyal to the archangel.” She looked at Love. “I think that means the House of Arkhangel’sk.”
Next came the Dominion of knives behind, and the Ophan of spindles before. Lively interpreted these without hesitation. “Trouble below. Broken alliances.” This so far seemed to confirm what she’d heard Sarael tell Belphagor.
Lively laid out the final cards: Cherub of tricks, Power of knives, Splendor of tricks, and Virtue of tricks. She studied them for a long time, shaking her head.
“What’s the matter? What’s he saying?”
Lively sighed. “Messages to are a fairly simple matter. But messages from can be troublesome. Your friend’s communication uses the suit of tricks three times in the body of the message. Sometimes they mean friendship or love—or in your case, a simple translation of your name; other meanings can be deception, emotional untruth, or even literal tricks.” She looked at the cards again. “The first one, Cherub, usually means ‘help,’ and in the first position, it indicates what the querent needs. But in the suit of tricks… Well, my first instinct is to say, ‘Need help with lies,’ but that doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe he needs help with someone else’s lies? To stop them? To learn the truth?”
Lively nodded slowly. “Yes, that could be. But then the next one, Power of knives—it’s in the home position, or the ‘where’ of the querent. So the Power, that would be something about where he is, who he’s with—something or someone powerful—and knives represent conflict, fighting, or sometimes also deception. And then surrounded by all these tricks, it seems to be about some kind of emotional deception, a false promise.” She paused for a moment. “I think there must be another card that goes with this one, a clarifying card.” Taking the next card from the deck, she set it beside the first. “Power of tricks. There’s tricks again— Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Two powers. Two factions…families. Two families seduced by false promises.” She nodded as it came together. “Then Splendor of tricks: shining the light on the deception. And it’s in the question position, the worry about what may be, so I’d say it means ‘Is there any truth to the deception?’ or ‘Is there any truth to the rumor?’ ” She tapped the last card. “Then Virtue of tricks. Virtues stand for trust or truth, and tricks here I believe mean friendship, so it would be trust of a friend, and in the final position, it’s a request, so ‘Give the trust of a friend’ or reassurance—assurance. Send assurance.”
Lively sat back, satisfied. “So the message is: ‘Need help to counteract the lies. Two families seduced by false promises. Is there any truth to the rumor? Send assurance.’ ” Once more, she paused, her hand over the Splendor of tricks. “Wait. There’s still something missing.”
“No, I think it makes sense.” The broken alliances and false promises seemed to speak of the trouble stirred up by the Malakim. And the two families would be the Roma and the Fallen. Love wasn’t quite sure what help or assurance she could give, but the conversation between Sarael and Belphagor had convinced her that as the Romani representative among them, she had to be the key to reestablishing the network. It was the centuries-old alliance between her people and the Fallen that had been breached—an alliance she hadn’t known existed, even as she’d served as its conduit to the heir to the throne of Heaven.
“But what rumor?” asked Lively, as if to herself.
“That Anazakia’s challenging Aeval for the throne, I suppose.”
Lively shook her head. “No. No, there’s something missing. He’s referring to something very specific. I think it’s this machine of yours he’s trying to communicate over. It’s not clear.”
“They’re always perfectly clear when I use them.” Love was slightly offended. “Maybe it’s you.”
Lively glared. “I need to draw another card.” As she picked up the next from the deck, she gave a tiny gasp.
Love couldn’t read this one upside down, but it seemed different from the others, with no obvious suit, and the being on it was far from angelic. It looked, in fact, like the typical depiction of a demon of earthly lore, with horns and red skin, cloven hooves, and a forked tail.
With a blush, she noted the large, erect phallus. “What card is that?”
“The Incubus.”
Love shuddered. “You mean there really are such things?”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Love!” Lively was indignant. “I don’t go around insulting your race. Of course there are no such things.” She tossed the card onto the others in the spread. “This is bad news, though. Bad news if it’s true.”
“What?” Love demanded. “What news?”
“Your friend is telling us there’s another influence on the overall situation.” She met Lively’s eyes. “I think it means someone else has a claim on the throne.”
Tretya: Another Scion
from the memoirs of the Grand Duchess Anazakia Helisonovna of the House of Arkhangel’sk
Preoccupied with my dream, I wasn’t at my best. After half a dozen rounds of sparring in which Margarita easily bested me, she dismissed the lesson early and advised me to do something to change my routine. Practicing my horsemanship, she said, would use a different set of muscles and reflexes and might occupy my conscious mind so my subconscious could do the work required to regain focus in its connection with the body. I didn’t tell her my mind was busy going over a conversation with my sister’s ghost.
I couldn’t understand how Ola could feel sorrow over Kae’s suffering. What he suffered couldn’t be one tenth what he’d done to all of us, and worst of all, to her. And how could it be he hadn’t cut her open? I’d seen him kill my sister with my own eyes—or the eyes of my own shade-self, at least—and he’d cut her down with a casual thrust of his sword. Who else could have gotten so close to her, and why? The Ophanim who guarded the palace and the Seraphim who guarded our persons had abandoned us in collusion with Aeval, but they wouldn’t have let just any
one by them who might spoil the secrecy of the coup. It made no sense.
Still dressed in my sparring uniform, I arrived at the stables as Margarita suggested and requested my usual horse from the stable hand. While I waited for him to bring the gelding around, Kae came into the yard.
“Nazkia.” He acknowledged me brusquely. “I’m glad you’re here. I’d like to get the lay of the mountain pass to Aravoth City beyond Pyr Amaravati, and as you know, I need your permission to take out one of the horses.” Despite having surrendered himself to me and asking to be treated as a prisoner, he clearly resented being constrained by me.
It was an effort to honor Ola’s words, but she’d asked me to be kind to him, so I sighed and did my best. “I’m taking one of the horses out myself. I’ll ride with you.”
Kae narrowed his cloudy eye. “There’s no need to chaperone me. I have no intention of making a run for it.”
“Nor was I suggesting you would. I’m simply offering you my company, but if you’d rather not—”
He interrupted with an impatient wave of his gloved hand. “No, it’s fine.”
The stable hand arrived with my horse and I instructed him to bring Kae’s favorite mount around as well.
As we headed out along the circular drive toward the road winding into the hills, I realized the last time we’d ridden together was the day I’d inadvertently led him into Aeval’s clutches. I tried not to think of how happy I’d been on my seventeenth birthday, not knowing what lay ahead. Most of all, I tried not to think of the tiff I’d had with Ola before heading out unchaperoned, causing Kae to follow to ensure I didn’t meet with any harm. If I’d known it would be one of the last times I’d spend such carefree days with my sisters…
To take my mind from these unhappy thoughts, I spoke to Kae. “Will the Virtues be ready when they’re called upon?”
“I think they will.” He made an effort to speak loudly enough for me to hear. When he strained his voice that way, it always sounded as if he’d been crying. “They’ve shown a great deal of improvement in the last few weeks. I think I’ve finally broken them of expecting the enemy to play fair. When I reminded them of how fair I played Sar Haniel’s platoon outside Gehenna, it seemed to give them perspective.”