The Fallen Queen

  Belphagor was heartened by the sudden tone of nobility in her

  voice. She’d responded to the queen like a grand duchess dressed in

  finery instead of a naked, humiliated prisoner.

  “How uncanny,” Aeval murmured to him with a shiver before

  she went on with her questioning in the loud, slow voice. “Do you

  remember what you’ve done, Anazakia?”

  “What I’ve done, Your Supernal Majesty?”

  “You’ve been very ill,” said Aeval. “We were much aggrieved by

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  your absence and feared you dead until Our dear Belphagor told Us

  he had seen you alive and well. But of course… not precisely well.”

  Belphagor gritted his teeth to stay silent. She was going to use the

  story he’d invented to save Anazakia’s life, the alibi he’d provided for the principality.

  “Do you remember the night you left here?”

  The angel’s breathing was deep and rapid, but she maintained her

  graceful composure. “I shall never forget it, Your Supernal Majesty.”

  “Look on Us,” said Aeval.

  Anazakia held the queen’s stare.

  “You remember, then, how you wantonly and brutally struck

  down the members of the House of Arkhangel’sk and murdered your

  own family?”

  “I did no such thing!” The angel’s eyes flashed to Belphagor and

  back. “It was my cousin—”

  “Stop!” Aeval pressed her gloved hands to her ears. “Oh, you

  grieve Us, duchess! The principality has been beside Himself with

  sorrow at the madness you enacted. And now you dare to accuse His

  Supernal Majesty of the crime you yourself committed. The crime that

  nearly took his life!”

  Anazakia opened her mouth, livid with rage and astonishment,

  but the queen raised her hand.

  “Not another word. We will not listen to ravings.” She turned and

  swept from the room. When Belphagor didn’t follow immediately, she

  held out her hand behind her and barked, “Come!”

  Like the rat he’d become, he scurried.

  He managed to convince the queen to let him visit the girl

  again, but Aeval was riled and he wasn’t to leave until he’d given her satisfaction. Whenever she was in this mood, “satisfaction” consisted

  of debasing him thoroughly.

  Returning to the House of Correction via the gilded supernal state

  coach with an escort of Ophanim, Belphagor disembarked and crossed

  the courtyard in the pouring rain, a dark cloak of the principality’s

  protecting his ivory linen garments. He’d never explained to Aeval

  how he came by the cuts on his scalp and face, and she’d never asked,

  but the moleskin cloak had appeared in his wardrobe the following

  THE FALLEN QUEEN 219

  day.

  He found it difficult to enter this building after the hell he’d spent in it. When the queen had brought him earlier, Belphagor had assumed

  she had some humiliating scene in mind, but he hadn’t guessed the

  nature of that humiliation, or that it wouldn’t be his own.

  With a brusque nod, he passed the Ophanim at the front entrance,

  then inquired with the jailer at the desk as to the grand duchess’

  accommodations. Aeval had put her into the same cell he’d occupied.

  It was like being interred when the Ophan unlocked the heavy iron

  door and ushered him inside.

  The raw marks on Anazakia’s face and arms suggested she’d

  been violently scrubbed clean. She was dressed in a standard prison

  gown and chained by one ankle to a peg in the center of the cell. He

  noted that with some relief. He didn’t care for the thought of her being chained in the corner where he’d lain day after day, though the cell

  had since been hosed clean. She also had a bucket nearby, empty and

  unsoiled. One point for the House for hospitality toward one of its

  own.

  “Nenny.” He held out his hand, but she stood and spat at him. He

  supposed he deserved that, and more. He put the hand in his pocket.

  “How did they find you? Is Vasily all right?”

  “Vasily!” She laughed, the sound high and sharp, on the verge of

  hysteria. “Do you care? After you switched him black and blue and

  then abandoned him to betray us both?”

  “I haven’t—what do you know about that?” He was taken aback

  in his defense by the mention of his intimate affairs.

  She faced him down, her eyes challenging him. “I know a great

  many things.”

  “Nenny—”

  “Stop calling me that! I am the Grand Duchess Anazakia

  Helisonovna of the House of Arkhangel’sk!” Her eyes betrayed the

  terror and despair her voice did not. He’d never seen her like this, her emotions bare nerves exposed at the surface of her porcelain flesh.

  He bowed to her. “Your Supernal Highness.”

  “Don’t mock me, demon.”

  “I’m not mocking you. You’re right. You deserve the respect of

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  your station. You deserve much more than that.” The walls of the place were already making him claustrophobic. “I wish I could get you out

  of here. You haven’t told me how they found you. What’s happened?”

  Defiance glinted in her eyes. “They didn’t find me. I came of my

  own accord.”

  Belphagor took an unconscious step toward her. “You what?”

  “I came to keep your greed from getting Vasily killed.” There was

  something unnerving about the way she said Vasily’s name.

  “My greed?” Belphagor’s face flushed with heat. “I don’t think

  Knud has explained me very well. Didn’t he give you my message?

  Did he not make it back?”

  “Oh, he gave us your message, that you chose to bargain with our

  lives for a ransom for my ring. I see the queen rewarded you well for

  it. You must sleep like a prince— Prince of Tricks.”

  “Your lives? Nenny—Your Supernal Highness. You don’t

  understand.”

  Anazakia laughed, a wild sound that made him fear his fiction had

  taken on a life of its own. “Look at you, Belphagor, and look at me.

  That’s one of the finest cloaks I’ve ever seen. How much did it cost

  you?”

  “This stupid cloak belongs to your cousin.” He took it off and

  tossed it to her. It would keep her warm, and he’d gladly take the

  beating Aeval would give him for it. “Who, by the way, is stark, raving mad. She’s done something to him. I don’t know what. I almost feel

  sorry for the poor brute.”

  The angel’s expression warred between horror and hatred. She

  opened her mouth to interrupt, but he went on.

  “What I’ve earned is nothing more or less than I deserve.”

  Belphagor knew how this must sound to her, saw it by the hatred

  winning over her features. “You have no idea what you’ve done by

  coming here. The story I gave Aeval—”

  “Yes!” Anazakia clasped her hands in mock delight. “The story

  that I murdered my own family. The story that I’m the one so stark, raving mad I can barely understand human speech! The story I had to

  listen to the queen of Heaven regale me with while I sat naked in a

  puddle of my own piss!” The angel paled, and it seemed she’d reached

  THE FALLEN QUEEN 221

  such a pitch of anger she
might collapse. She whirled and knelt over

  the bucket, clutching it, and became violently ill.

  “Nenny.” Belphagor crouched beside her, holding back her hair,

  which had grown into a scattering of curls that reached her shoulders.

  “I’m so sorry you’re in this wretched place. I played the only hand I

  could to keep this from happening. Please understand. Any profit I’d

  hoped to make from my bargain with the queen wasn’t to come at

  your expense. I brought her the ring so you’d no longer be a threat to her. So she’d stop looking for you. And yes, I made up that stupid story to give her a graceful way to yield. I never expected you to return to Elysium to hear it.” He tucked her curls behind her ear. “I thought I’d played my cards right, but it seems I’ve finally made the gamble that

  will best me. And now you’re here in this hell. It’s no wonder you’re

  sick… ”

  She pushed him away and staggered to her feet. “It’s not the place

  making me sick.”

  For a moment, he assumed she meant he was making her ill.

  And then her hand rested protectively over her belly—a slightly

  protruding belly where she’d been bony as a boy. Her breasts were

  also significantly fuller; no binding could have hidden them.

  “You… ” He faltered, unbelieving. “Who—” Perhaps Knud…

  “Vasily was heartbroken. Your leaving destroyed him. He called

  me his angel of mercy.”

  Belphagor shook his head. Vasily thought he’d left him? Hadn’t

  they gotten any of his messages? The idea of Vasily feeling abandoned

  after what they’d shared on their last night together stung Belphagor

  like a jolt of ophanic fire. He should have woken Vasily before he’d left, though if he had, he’d never have been able to leave. But her words

  implied something else, and his mind was refusing to follow.

  “What are you telling me?”

  Her eyes flashed with defiance, daring him to do something about

  it. “I have Vasily’s baby inside me.”

  The revelation was a kick in the stomach. He’d left Vasily

  vulnerable and his malchik had turned to someone else for comfort .

  Belphagor backed into the door with his mouth hanging open.

  His malchik had given a woman a child. His malchik had impregnated

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  the heir to the throne of Heaven. He nearly fell backward through

  the door when it opened behind him and the Ophan’s grating voice

  announced his time was up.

  §

  It struck Vasily like a steel bat between the eyes that he was going

  to be a father—if Anazakia planned to keep the baby. If she ever

  spoke to him again. If he ever figured out where she was. The waiting

  and wondering were driving him mad.

  Their Romani contact had turned up nothing new except increasing

  activity from the Social Liberation Party, and Knud was having no luck on the portal front. Every gypsy claimed to know someone who knew

  the location of a portal, but every lead Knud followed turned out to

  be a dead end. Vasily was becoming increasingly short with both Love

  and Knud. Taking it out on them only made him feel worse. They were

  doing all they could.

  He’d resorted to taking “walks” in the snow by the time Love’s

  friend “possessed85” finally resurfaced. This time, he had a message he refused to give to anyone but Vasily.

  “He wants to talk to you.” Love turned the computer toward him.

  “He says you’ll know what his message means.”

  Vasily shook his head. “Just tell him you’re me.”

  “Oh, Khrystos. Give me the damn thing.” Knud grabbed the

  computer. Vasily wasn’t the only one on edge. The gypsy typed a

  greeting with exaggerated slowness with two fingers to mimic Vasily’s

  presumed typing ability. “The message,” he said after a moment, “is

  ‘The highest bidder still owes you number eight. It is forever on the

  tip of his tongue.’”

  Breathing in sharply, Vasily touched the row of spikes on the left

  side of his neck. That last piercing had been unforgettable. Belphagor had been punishing him for some imagined infraction, and Vasily had

  been furious, barely able to contain himself while he took the strokes of his caning. Belphagor had bound his wrists and ankles to the bedposts

  to keep him still, and the last burning stroke on his skin just below the small of his back was still vivid, throbbing more deeply after the flesh sprang back than when the cane had made contact.

  Belphagor had walked away for a moment and when he returned,

  THE FALLEN QUEEN 223

  he whispered in Vasily’s ear, “I have something for you,” and turned

  Vasily’s head toward him on the pillow, opening his neck up to him.

  Belphagor pulled a fourteen-gauge steel needle from the air and

  brought it close.

  Vasily had flinched when Belphagor’s tongue ran down his jaw to

  mark the spot where the needle would go. He’d waited for Belphagor

  to move back and put the needle in, but the sharp point thrust into

  him before Belphagor pulled away. Belphagor had driven the needle

  through his own tongue to reach Vasily’s neck. Vasily had gasped at

  the warm blood spilling over his skin while Belphagor sighed deeply,

  at the barest edge of a moan, and pressed the needle into the quarter

  inch of skin he held taut. He’d driven it through with the pressure of his tongue.

  “I take it that made some kind of sense to you, Vasily.” Knud

  yanked him back to the present.

  “Yes.” Sweat trickled at Vasily’s temple. He reached for another

  cigarette to mask his rapid pulse. “It’s Belphagor.”

  “He’s waiting for a response. Something you’d say to Belphagor,

  I guess?”

  Vasily felt his cheeks go warm. “Spasibo, ser,” he muttered.

  Knud raised an eyebrow and typed it in. “Not good enough. He

  says there’s more.”

  Vasily growled obscenities under his breath before replying.

  “Pozhaluista, daite mne druguyu.”

  The corner of Knud’s mouth twitched. He typed in the response,

  and then nodded. “‘The Prince of Tricks sends news from the North.

  The arms of the heavenly cross embrace the Madonna and child.’” He

  looked up. “Arms of the cross… Kresty?”

  “A heavenly Kresty.” Vasily’s fingers shook lighting the cigarette.

  “I guess we know who the Madonna and child are.” His heart

  pounded now, not with the memory of Belphagor’s touch, but with the

  realization that Belphagor knew what had happened in his absence.

  “So Anazakia’s imprisoned in Elysium.”

  Vasily’s heart sank. He’d totally failed her. “Is there anything else?

  Where’s Bel?”

  Knud shook his head, typed again, and then read another reply.

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  “Someone else relayed these messages, a servant at the palace who

  calls Belphagor ‘the queen’s pawn.’ He says the new queen is cracking

  down hard on even the pettiest crime. This heavenly ‘Kresty’ is

  apparently overflowing. There have been riots in Raqia. Everyone’s

  afraid to make a misstep. The contact was reluctant to say more.”

  Knud paused. “Wait, there’s a final note: ‘Am acquiring credit with the house.’ That’s it. Our friend says he’ll let us know if he hear
s anything further.” Knud took his hands off the keyboard. “He’s signed off.”

  Vasily frowned. Credit with the house? What the hell was that

  supposed to mean? And what in Heaven’s name was Belphagor doing

  with the queen at the Winter Palace?

  §

  Convincing Aeval not to kill Anazakia outright had been more

  difficult than Belphagor expected. The queen had toyed with him

  for a bit, enjoying her position before granting a stay of execution in exchange for a more “convincing” performance from him. But her

  stays were only temporary. In the end, he’d had to tell her Anazakia

  was pregnant.

  The queen’s initial reaction was unfettered rage. Belphagor

  narrowly escaped being returned to the House of Correction himself.

  But she saw the wisdom of his argument eventually. Rumors, he

  assured her, already abounded in Elysium. Prisoners talked, and

  they’d identified Anazakia as the fabled grand duchess missing from

  the supernal mausoleum the moment she arrived. By now, there must

  be rumors of her pregnancy. If the queen were to kill Anazakia at this juncture, he argued, the damage to her reputation would be severe.

  Why not wait until the little Arkhangel’sk was born?

  He let Aeval arrive on her own at the tempting prospect of a ready-

  made heir to mold to her design. This, at least, would buy Anazakia

  some time—though she might never forgive him when she discovered

  at what price.

  At his best guess, he had three months, maybe four, to get her

  out of Elysium. On his next free afternoon, he made another visit to

  the livery stables to deliver a note to the stable boy. Even in Elysium, there was an underground. He only hoped his messages were getting

  through.

  THE FALLEN QUEEN 225

  §

  Vasily had hoped Belphagor’s message was the first of many, but

  they heard nothing more from him. The only news from Heaven was

  of increasing unrest in Raqia and calls for a general strike from an

  emboldened Social Liberation Party.

  Checking daily for terrestrial “chatter,” Love confirmed Knud’s

  reports of the Malakim making mischief for the Roma. While she

  considered them con men taking advantage of the superstitious, some

  Roma took the Malakim very seriously. Those who didn’t often found

  themselves on the wrong end of an anonymous warning carried out by

  baseball bats and chains.