The Fallen Queen

by Jane Kindred

  you.”

  The principality’s fist slammed into Belphagor’s gut. He dropped

  to his knees, retching, but there was nothing in him. Perhaps there was more to this angel than he gave him credit for.

  “Ah, there’s the obeisance.” The principality turned toward his

  coach, his boots crunching in the snow.

  The Ophanim lifted Belphagor to his feet and forced him forward,

  their touch setting off a tingle of shock throughout his body. It wasn’t the live current their speech sent through him, but he had no wish to

  prolong the sensation.

  Following the principality’s coach in a barred cart, Belphagor had

  a clear view of his surroundings as they moved out through the prison

  gates; on the journey here, he’d been confined to an enclosed wagon

  and hadn’t seen where they were taking him. It took him a moment to

  realize why the route to the palace along the north bank of the Neba

  looked so familiar. The queen had built her House of Correction on

  the same spot where Kresty sat in the world of Man.

  Once inside the palace, the Ophanim took him not to the throne

  room where the queen had given him audience, but to a suite of rooms

  on the opposite wing. They deposited him inside and withdrew to

  stand guard.

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  Kae sat by the blazing hearth in a gilded, overstuffed chair. He

  didn’t bid Belphagor to sit or offer to let him come closer to the heat of the fire. “You have been with my cousin.”

  “Yes, Your Supernal Majesty.” Belphagor hoped in retrospect the

  angel hadn’t meant in an intimate sense.

  The principality waved his hand in irritation. “Dispense with the

  formalities. It’s clear that like most of your kind, you have no respect for my office. For the present audience, you may address me as ‘my

  lord.’”

  Belphagor raised an eyebrow, but waited for Kae to continue.

  “My queen assures me it is nothing to be concerned about, but I

  find it troubling. I… cannot remember her face.”

  “The queen’s?”

  “My cousin’s!” snapped Kae. He stared into the fire. “I remember

  nothing about that terrible night. Indeed, very little of anything before Aeval began to take care of me. She’s been my salvation.” His eyes

  sparkled with the first bit of life Belphagor had seen in them. “Before that, my father was also murdered. I sometimes wonder… he was

  poisoned, you know… I think I might have been poisoned as well.” He

  looked Belphagor in the eye once more. “Do you think that’s possible,

  Belphagor of Raqia? Could I have been poisoned and not know it?

  Can a man forget his entire life?”

  “I suppose it’s not unheard of after such a trauma.”

  The conversation was becoming exceedingly peculiar. He was

  speaking with the man who’d committed these murders as if he ought

  to feel sorry for him for what he’d done. “Your entire family was

  brutally killed. Your cousins—Nenny.”

  “Nenny?” Kae’s eyes widened. He almost seemed afraid.

  “Your cousin,” prompted Belphagor. “Whom I traveled with.”

  “Nenny.” The principality stood, gaze shifting about the room in

  agitation. “No. No. That isn’t her name.”

  “The Grand Duchess Anazakia Helisonovna. Do you remember

  her?”

  “The grand duchesses.” Kae’s demeanor relaxed. “Omeliea, Tatia,

  Maia, and Anazakia.” He recited the names with the passionlessness

  of a schoolroom lesson. “They were all killed.”

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  “Not all. One lived. Nenny.”

  “No. No. No!” Kae stomped his foot in a child’s tantrum and

  swept his fist across the table next to him. Priceless trinkets shattered against the wall.

  The Ophanim came through the doors. They approached

  Belphagor with such dizzying motion that he lost his balance and

  collapsed between them.

  Kae stepped away from the chair. “Sit him here. He must be faint

  from hunger.” When the Ophanim hesitated he shouted at them. “Do

  as I say! I bumped into the table in my clumsiness. He’s done nothing.”

  They obeyed, lifting Belphagor under his arms and dropping him

  into the chair.

  “Send someone to bring my tea and clean up this mess.”

  When the tea came, the principality sat opposite Belphagor and

  nodded at the tea service. “Eat.”

  Belphagor eyed the tray of dainty sandwiches. “I’m not sure I can,

  Your Supernal Majesty. I tried eating earlier. You saw the result.”

  “My lord,” Kae insisted again in annoyance. “Anyone would vomit that prison gruel. Eat. I don’t intend to offer you another opportunity, so you’d best take advantage of it now.”

  Belphagor took one of the sandwiches, holding the porcelain plate

  with a shaking grip, grateful for the simplicity of the traditional finger sandwich: soft bread without crusts. These appeared to be filled with

  figs and a soft blue chevre.

  When the sandwich didn’t seem apt to make another appearance,

  he took a second. “Where did you manage to get figs this time of year?”

  “The queen has her ways.”

  “Isn’t she waiting for me?” he asked with his mouth full.

  “Aeval?” Kae poured his tea with a shrug. “She’s gone out.”

  “I thought you said she’d sent for me.”

  “Are you so anxious to serve Her?” His smile dark, Kae crossed

  one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair. “Really, Belphagor of Raqia. You haven’t a clue what she has in mind for you.”

  “Perhaps you’ll tell me.”

  “Perhaps you’ll give your principality the proper respect the next

  time you’re brought before Us.” Kae took a cookie from the tray and

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  examined it. “Is it true what they say about you?”

  Belphagor decided to have a cup of tea now that his hands were

  shaking less. “What do they say?”

  “That you’re a pederast.”

  Belphagor set the teapot down with a thump, sloshing tea out of

  the delicate spout. “No, it is not true.”

  Kae lifted his brow. “Have you bedded my poor, mad cousin

  Anazakia, then?”

  Belphagor nearly choked. “Of course not!”

  “Then you can’t possibly be interested in women. No red-blooded

  demon could pass that up.”

  “I thought you couldn’t remember her face.”

  “It’s not her face I’m thinking of,” said Kae.

  “What is the purpose of this conversation?”

  “The purpose, Belphagor of Raqia, is to confirm for myself the

  delicious irony in Her Supernal Majesty’s choice of a servant.” The

  principality ate one of the tiny cookies and licked his fingers. “Deny it if you will, but I believe you aren’t aroused by women. Perhaps that’s why she’s so insistent on this. I’m sure she found your lack of desire for her galling.”

  Belphagor folded his arms. “So insistent on what, if I may ask?”

  The principality laughed. “Having you pleasure her.” He stood to

  open the carved wooden doors. “Get him out of here,” he said to the

  Ophanim. “Before he shits himself in Our best chair.”

  §

  Belphagor’s cell remained as he’d left it. When the door closed,

  the stench struck him. He reeled against th
e far wall and tried not to lose the delicate sandwiches he’d eaten. There was still no bucket, and when the tea worked its way through him, he had no choice but to

  urinate in the corner with the rest of his filth.

  In the morning—if he was marking time correctly—the Seraphim

  renewed their attentions. Since the principality had revealed the nature of Belphagor’s service to the queen, her mandate that the Seraphim

  not cause him permanent or disfiguring injury made more sense. This

  time, apparently not wanting to do further damage to his scalded skin, they played with his element instead, consuming the oxygen in the

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  room with their own element until he was gasping for air, releasing

  him only when he neared unconsciousness.

  Throughout their torment, they also spoke to him with phrases

  that split his skull and nearly drove him mad. He couldn’t remember

  later what they’d said to him, but he suspected the penetrating tenor of their voices had actually burned away parts of his brain. The only words he recalled, and those with great pain, were “Nikolai Stepanovich.”

  He ought to have known the delay of his release at Kresty had been

  deliberate.

  The Seraphim left him chained this time to the wall in the corner

  where he’d done his business, ankles manacled to his wrists behind

  him so he was forced to soil himself and couldn’t move away from it.

  His meals for the next several days were pushed toward him at the

  end of a long, metal handle that fitted through the grate. Since no one came to take the food away if he didn’t eat it, he discovered it was

  better to eat and risk illness than to wait for whatever might incubate in it to hatch. Occasionally, his jailers also pushed a pan of dirty water through the grate. He was so dehydrated he drank it gratefully.

  With his skin healing, he felt the cold more acutely, and only the

  occasional mercy of sleep alleviated this discomfort. He dreamed of

  Vasily and the marks he’d given him to remember him by before he

  left, but woke miserable, realizing he wouldn’t see Vasily again.

  As before, in the bowels of Kresty, Belphagor began to believe

  he’d made a terrible error. He hadn’t ensured Vasily’s or Anazakia’s

  safety at all, only temporarily distracted Queen Aeval from her intent.

  The Seraphim would scour the monasteries of Siberia and eventually

  discover the grand duchess wasn’t in any of them. He’d gambled that

  even if he lost the round, he’d win the match, but for the first time in his life, he’d made a sucker bet. The game in play was winner-take-all.

  §

  He’d dreaded the queen’s summons at first, vowing not to give her

  the satisfaction of bowing to her whims. By the time she summoned

  him, however, Belphagor was willing to do anything to avoid being

  returned to his cell. What was a lifetime of sexual subjugation to even a month of this hell? He would have serviced Nikolai Stepanovich

  with a smile to end it.

  THE FALLEN QUEEN 179

  After having him properly bathed and dressed to make him

  presentable, the Ophanim escorted him to the palace. Because he

  could scarcely walk on his own, when the queen commanded he be

  brought to her, they seated him in a chair before the throne.

  Aeval surveyed him and frowned, her quicksilver eyes glinting

  with displeasure. “You look unwell. Have Our Seraphim not treated

  you properly?”

  “As properly as any jailer, Your Supernal Majesty,” he replied,

  shocked by how feeble his voice sounded.

  She rested her chin on her hand in contemplation, elbow propped

  lightly on the arm of the throne, and shook her head. “No, they have

  not treated you properly. They have misunderstood Us. We gave them

  Our permission to play with you, but not to cause any lasting harm.

  You are not the demon We saw a month ago.” She gestured to an

  attendant. “Why was Belphagor of Raqia not kept in better health?”

  The attendant seemed reluctant to answer. “May it please Your

  Supernal Majesty, the principality gave orders that the demon be

  given the barest of comforts.”

  “The principality.” Amusement danced in the queen’s eyes. “It

  seems he has been very naughty in Our absence. We shall have a word

  with him.” She rose and swept past Belphagor, the bits of precious

  metal and gemstone that encrusted her shimmering skirts tinkling

  together like breeze-rustled chimes. “Have the demon brought to Our

  drawing room while We have a word with Our consort.”

  The Ophanim led Belphagor through a series of corridors and

  connecting rooms until he was nearly dizzy. They left him at last in

  a room with a long divan, decorated with velvet cushions in white

  and silver. Rugs of a fleece finer than sheepskin graced a pearlescent floor before an oversized marble fireplace, its hearth glowing with a

  palely burning fire that might have been fueled by the substance of the Ophanim themselves. The room’s entire effect was that of a magical

  winter snow beneath an eternal twilight.

  Belphagor was nearly lulled to sleep by its mundane enchantment

  before the queen arrived.

  Floating into the room in satiny garments that matched the décor,

  she sat on the divan and pulled her feet onto the cushions, giving him

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  a dazzling smile. “I apologize for the ill manners of the principality. I should have brought him with me while I toured the provinces. He

  so often needs my guidance.” She pulled off her white gloves and

  beckoned with a hand just as pale. “Come, Belphagor. Kneel here

  before me.”

  Belphagor obeyed, though his knees ached.

  The queen placed a cool hand on his cheek. “I can see this position

  causes you discomfort, yet you do not complain. This is a quality I

  admire.” She ran her index finger along the freshly-shaven line of his jaw. “Do you know why you are here?”

  “I can guess, Your Supernal Majesty.”

  The queen laughed. “Just ‘my queen’ is sufficient here. You

  amuse me, Belphagor. You spoke to me at our last audience of your

  ‘companion.’ From the way you pleaded for him, I saw he meant more

  to you than an ordinary friend.”

  Belphagor didn’t disagree.

  The queen lifted his chin with her fingertips. “What will you do to

  assure his safety?”

  “Anything, my queen,” he replied, too weak to muster any pride.

  Her silver eyes gleamed. “Even if what I ask goes against your

  nature?”

  Belphagor nodded and lowered his gaze.

  “Ah, humility.” She stroked his cheek. “One of my favorite things.

  I find it intoxicating. But you know all about that intoxicant, don’t

  you? You once specialized in bringing other men to their knees.”

  She pulled up her skirts, inch by inch, leaning down to his ear

  with her long silver hair flowing over him. “You need sustenance,” she breathed. “And rest in a decent bed to ease your pain.” Drawing him

  closer by the neck, she tilted his head back until he made a sound of

  discomfort. Pleasure glinted in her eyes. “I’m not certain you will last through what I have in mind for you.” She took his hand and placed

  it beneath her skirt until his fingers met soft down. “But I have needs that must be met.”

  Th
e queen pressed his fingers lower to the moist heat between

  her thighs to stroke herself, then brought his hand to her lips and took his fingers into her mouth to taste her own glistening fluids. “I shall

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  offer you this, Belphagor. Please me well now, no matter how you are

  suffering, especially if you are suffering. In good time, I’ll see you well fed and rested—if you have the stamina to abide until then. As long

  as you continue to please me”—she unbuttoned her bodice—“your

  Vasily shall have my immunity.”

  Belphagor breathed in sharply. He hadn’t mentioned the name to

  her.

  Smiling, she reached between Belphagor’s legs and squeezed until

  he groaned in pain. “Come now.” She ripped his buttons open to press

  her nails against his flesh. “Get to work.”

  He found himself unexpectedly and violently hard.

  Aeval laughed with delight at his dismay and climbed over his lap.

  “I have mastered all the elements. Even blood.” She whispered against

  his ear as he rose into her reluctantly. “I call it and it comes to me.”

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  Semnadtsatoe: Gypsy Ways

  from the memoirs of the Grand Duchess Anazakia

  Helisonovna of the House of Arkhangel’sk

  I woke each morning intending it to be the last I spent in the

  world of Man, but each morning, Vasily lay beside me, and his body

  weakened my resolve. This was compounded by a stomach virus I

  couldn’t shake. Tomorrow, I told myself. I will leave tomorrow, even as a sort of brumal torpor seemed to overtake me, and I slept almost

  entire days away. The strange illness was just another unwanted

  exposure Knud had brought with him, I told myself, trying to dislike

  him, but the longer he stayed on with us, the more difficult it became.

  Knud helped with my chores since I was unwell and entertained

  us in the evenings with lively games and stories. Vasily seemed to dwell less on Belphagor’s absence, having warmed to Knud since that first

  awkward breakfast. I fretted briefly, fearing Vasily would take comfort in a body more like Belphagor’s and would no longer need me, but

  Knud laid my fears to rest one evening after Vasily went up to bed

  by announcing out of the blue that he was asexual. I suspected he

  thought I harbored feelings for him myself, and so I prodded to see if he didn’t mean he preferred men, but he insisted he’d never desired