The Fallen Queen

by Jane Kindred

  Vasily looked back at the pile of dead. Perhaps they’d had other things on their minds.

  When the Grigori smashed through the lock on the door to the

  main ward, more Ophanim waited inside, but Vasily left the angels

  to the more experienced warriors. With the dead guard’s keys, he ran

  through the complex, opening cell doors. He searched while he ran,

  calling Belphagor’s name, but there was no sign of him among the

  crowds of Fallen prisoners packed into the cells. Demons just shook

  their heads when he asked if they’d seen anyone of Belphagor’s

  description.

  Vasily was beginning to fear the intelligence had been wrong

  when an old demon came forward. “I’ve seen the Prince of Tricks.”

  “Where is he?”

  The old man looked him up and down. “I’ll tell you for a smoke.”

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  Vasily wasn’t sure he had any, but he patted his pockets, found the

  last of a battered pack, and tossed it to the demon.

  “No matches?” The old man held a cigarette in his mouth

  expectantly.

  Vasily swore. “Don’t you have any firespirits in here?” He snatched

  the end of the cigarette and lit it in his customary manner, then shoved the prisoner away.

  “Not like that,” said the demon, impressed.

  Vasily didn’t have time to waste. “Where’s Belphagor?”

  “He came in here in those fancy white clothes from the palace.”

  The demon took a grateful drag. “But he won’t be going out in them.”

  “What do you mean? I don’t have time for riddles. Where is he?”

  “Solitary.” The demon blew smoke at him. “Probably for the best.

  Some of us don’t take kindly to turncoats.”

  Vasily ignored the slur. “Where’s solitary?”

  “Last block in the south wing. But I’ve never seen anyone come

  out of there. Least, not on his feet.”

  Vasily left the rest of the cells for later, ignoring the demons cursing him from behind the bars. The building was designed in a series of

  blocks closed off at alternating ends of the corridors, a simple maze

  that only led to one destination, but required passing fully through

  each corridor before one could get to the next. He wound through

  the building with growing impatience and anxiety. How much longer

  could the damn thing be?

  At last he reached a block of cells with solid walls instead of bars,

  each cell a dark hole behind a door of iron. The keys were marked by

  color for each wing, and a black stripe was painted across the doors in this section. There was only one black-tipped key: a long, iron skeleton.

  It reminded Vasily of the keys that had to be inserted and pushed

  home like deadbolts to open old Soviet apartments—a precaution

  added after residents found the standard door key unlocked many

  apartments. He inserted the key into lock after lock, opening the

  doors on the poor souls inside.

  “You’re free,” he said. “Get out.” Those who could did so without

  asking questions.

  The place was an unsanitary abomination, and Vasily had to throw

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  his arm over his nose to breathe without being ill. Belphagor wasn’t

  here. He couldn’t be here. For a pack of cigarettes, Vasily had been

  played for a fool.

  He yanked open the door of the last cell on the block, ready to

  turn and head back toward the other wards, but saw a man inside with

  his shackled wrists chained to a hook in the ceiling above his head.

  The prisoner’s back was to the door, and his head hung forward. Vasily pushed up his glasses and looked closer. Poor bastard. His naked

  back was swollen with deep gashes and welts, the flesh torn open and

  festering in some of the deeper stripes.

  At the base of the prisoner’s spine, a tattoo of a red crown was

  visible beneath the bruising. Vasily stepped back with a strangled gasp.

  This could not be Belphagor. It just couldn’t. The beaten man didn’t

  even appear to be alive. Vasily forced himself to step into the cell and put his fingers to the pulse at the demon’s throat. The prisoner raised his head with effort.

  “I am His Supernal Majesty’s eternal slave,” he rasped.

  “Belphagor,” Vasily choked. He moved back, and with a cry of

  rage and anguish, swung his sword in an arc. He cut cleanly through

  the chain and caught Belphagor in his arms.

  “I am His Supernal Majesty’s eternal slave!” cried Belphagor, his

  muscles convulsing where Vasily touched his wounds. Vasily swung

  the shackled arms over his head, hanging them around his neck and

  letting Belphagor’s weight fall forward against him to avoid touching

  the mangled flesh of his back.

  “Beli. Beli,” he whispered, sheathing his sword so he could lift

  Belphagor’s head to look at him. “It’s your malchik.”

  Belphagor’s eyes were unfocused. “No,” he murmured. “No. I will

  not give you Vasily.” His head drooped. “I love him.”

  Vasily held the dark head to his chest, his arms around the only

  part he could hold. “He loves you, too. You idiot,” he added to keep

  from crying.

  Belphagor needed water, but there was none in the cell. Vasily

  unhooked him from around his neck and held him up by gripping him

  beneath his arms. “Can you try to walk? If I support you and you lean

  against me?”

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  Belphagor nodded, but when his weight rested fully on his feet, he

  fell to his knees, shrieking in agony. Vasily crouched down to hold him off the floor and cursed at the sight of the tattered soles.

  Belphagor looked up at him as if just noticing he was there. “You

  bastard, Vasya. Why the hell did you do that?”

  Vasily nearly laughed with relief to hear Belphagor rebuke him.

  “All right, Bel. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to carry you on my back.” Vasily slipped Belphagor’s shackled arms over his head

  once more and turned around. “You’re going to hold on, and I’m going

  to lift your legs. Like you’re a kid and I’m the big brother carrying you piggyback.”

  “I wouldn’t fuck you if you were my brother,” Belphagor

  murmured while Vasily hoisted him.

  “Yes you would.” Vasily staggered to his feet with Belphagor’s

  weight against his back, but once he was standing, it was no effort after all. Belphagor had wasted. Vasily headed into the maze of corridors.

  “If I need my sword, I’m going to let go of your right leg, and you’ll need to hang on without choking me.”

  “Since when do you have a sword?” Belphagor’s voice tightened

  when Vasily shifted his weight, but he seemed more lucid.

  “Since now,” said Vasily.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Saving your ass. Making sure you don’t blow your reputation of

  never gambling unless you know you’re going to win.”

  Belphagor rested his cheek against Vasily’s shoulder. As Vasily

  jostled him, his breath caught with pain. “I really fucked this one up.”

  “Yes, you did. But I’m fixing it.”

  Vasily unlocked the cells he’d skipped in the outer wards along the

  way and found one with a fresh pitcher of water—or as fresh as could

  be expected—when the demons fled. He knelt and
lifted the pitcher to

  Belphagor behind him, and held it while the demon drank.

  As they moved on toward the front of the complex, Belphagor

  became more alert. “Where is everyone? Where are all the prisoners?”

  “We’re liberating them.”

  “We?”

  “Me and a few dozen Grigori.” They neared the central intake,

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  and Vasily moved his hand to his sword’s hilt beneath Belphagor’s

  thigh.

  “This is undignified,” said Belphagor in his ear.

  “Can’t be helped. You can punish me for both of us when we get

  home.”

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  Dvadtsat Sedmaya: Of Ice and Fire

  from the memoirs of the Grand Duchess Anazakia

  Helisonovna of the House of Arkhangel’sk

  Rattling the carnelian glass knob and pounding on the heavy

  gilded door had been fruitless. Kae was either deaf to my shouts or

  long gone.

  But the noise had frightened Ola, and I paced about, rocking her

  in my arms until her crying subsided. I tried not to think of the last time I’d seen this room. I’d succumb to despair if I let myself see them.

  I crossed to one of the windows overlooking the river and opened the

  curtains. There had to be a way out of here.

  When I opened the window, a fresh breeze rose up to the room,

  and with it, the noise from below. I tucked Ola in close and looked

  down. Demons lined the embankment from here to the prison. Fists

  and torches raised in anger at the symbol of their oppression, they

  shouted and threw rocks at the Ophanim before the main entrance.

  One of the demons spotted me and hurled a whiskey bottle at the

  window. I ducked back in, and the glass shattered against the sill.

  “I see you’re still the people’s darling.” Smiling archly, Aeval stood in the doorway framed by a glittering halo of seraphic fire from the

  attendants at her back.

  I bounced Ola lightly in my arms. “I’m sure they just thought I

  was you.”

  Her eyes twinkled with amusement. “How splendid of my sweet

  Kae to stash you here.” She entered the room with Virtuous grace,

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  silver-white silk fluttering in delicate waves around her, and draped

  herself on a gilded chair by the fireplace like it was her throne. “He killed you for me here once and he can do it again.”

  “My queen?” Kae appeared between the Seraphim at the door in

  the haze of smoke and seraphic light.

  “There you are, my angel. With all this nonsense from the help

  this evening, I’m afraid Her Supernal Highness’ execution might be

  delayed. But the people deserve an end to that bloody chapter. You deserve an end to it. Her head, if you please.”

  Kae unsheathed his sword and approached me, his eyes troubled,

  but obedient to his queen. “Put down the child.”

  I backed toward the far wall, clutching Ola tightly. “Listen to me,

  Kae. She’s tricked you. You don’t have to obey her.”

  He pointed the sword at my throat over Ola’s head. “I don’t want

  to hurt the child. Stop being difficult.”

  Edging back, I struck the wall. Kae grabbed me by my hair and

  pulled me onto the carpet. Still there was no spark from Ola.

  “You heard what Aeval said.” I met his gaze when he thrust me

  to my knees. “You’ve killed me once before. Remember? Right here

  in this room.”

  “No.” He let go of me to wipe a shaking hand against his forehead.

  “You’re mad.”

  Aeval had risen from her seat. “Stop listening to her. Do as you’re

  told.”

  “You put your sword through me.”

  Sweat ran down Kae’s temple. His temperature was rising.

  I pressed onward. “Right after you killed Omeliea.”

  He shook his head, eyes wide with fear, and backed away from me.

  Crossing the room with furious strides, Aeval spun him about and

  struck him. Startled, Kae held his hand to his cheek, and for an instant, hatred flashed in his eyes. His other hand tightened on the sword as if he wanted to cut her in half.

  Aeval put her palm to his cheek and caressed it. “Are you unwell,

  my angel?” Sparkling with rime frost as if she’d dusted them in sugar, her lips touched his. He shuddered and closed his eyes, his pallor

  returning as it had when she’d kissed him before. When her iced lips

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  brushed his brow, he opened his eyes with a sublime expression.

  Aeval’s smile was a sun in a winter sky. “Better, love?” She

  smoothed his hair across his forehead, her fingers tipped with frost.

  “Now, what did I ask you to do?”

  Kae looked to me. “To take her head.” He grabbed me by the hair

  once more, and this time pulled my head back and placed the blade

  against my throat.

  “It was my fault!” I gasped. “That day we went riding. That day on

  the mountain. You wouldn’t have been there but for me.”

  He jerked his sword away from me, eyes fixed on me in horror. He

  remembered; I knew he must—this, more than the night he’d killed us

  all, the night he’d fallen fully under Aeval’s spell. The winter morning’s ride was the last moment he had been himself. The last moment he’d

  been free.

  “It was my fault,” I said again. I was no longer trying to save only

  myself. I wanted to reach him, to keep that dead look from shuttering

  his eyes once more. Somewhere inside, despite all he’d done, was my

  friend. “It was my birthday, and I wanted to ride, so you went with me.

  The day you saw the white steed.”

  The last hint of color drained from his cheeks. “Stop it.”

  “The day you met Aeval.”

  “Shut up!”

  The queen took a step toward him, and he stumbled away from her,

  his look of horror encompassing us both. His hand fumbled against the

  doorknob at his back. Before she could touch him, he thrust the door

  open and spun about, but a Seraph guarding the entrance stepped in

  front of him. Kae whirled away in confusion, looking from me to the

  queen. Sweat was running down the sides of his throat to his chest.

  His eyes fluttered back to the whites, and he shuddered and fell to the ground.

  Aeval stood over him, fists clenched at her sides. “You mindless

  simpleton.” She snatched up his sword, and my radiance sparked with

  Ola’s at last, as if Kae hadn’t been a true threat. Aeval turned to the Seraph with a growl of frustration. “Put the principality on the couch.”

  I staggered to my feet while the Seraph lifted my moaning cousin

  and carried him to the settee. The Seraph’s radiance filled the room.

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  Light sparkled off the malachite columns and tables of the room’s

  namesake and blazed from its gilded mirrors and the crystal of its

  chandeliers in a blinding glare.

  Outside the open door, another Seraph blocked the way, and at

  the main entrance to the room, Aeval’s entourage stood guard. Getting

  past a wall of elemental firespirits might be difficult. But perhaps I could sway them to my side.

  “You don’t have to obey her,” I said to the Seraph when he

  straightened. “She’s not your queen. You serve the House of

  Arkhangel’sk.”
>
  Aeval laughed with delight. “You are a treasure, dear cousin.

  Have you no idea how Heaven came to this pass? Think back. Do

  you remember a single Seraph within the palace on the night of your

  demise?”

  The last thing I wanted to think of was that night.

  “Did you never think it odd that the sworn supernal guard of the

  House of Arkhangel’sk was nowhere to be found while your precious

  family was slaughtered?” She smiled at my expression. “They were

  glad to see its end. Of course, they didn’t want to take responsibility for the coup, but they were more than happy to make themselves

  scarce while Kae solved that problem for me.”

  I shielded my eyes to study the angel from the race of protectors

  who’d served the House of Arkhangel’sk since Mikhail the First. The

  Seraph made no attempt to deny Aeval’s claim.

  “Why?” I whispered. “What did my family do to you to deserve

  death?”

  “We are weary of being bound to the lower orders.” The Seraph’s

  voice seemed to reverberate off the back of my skull, but I steeled

  myself to continue.

  “You’re still bound to Aeval. How is that different?”

  “The queen shall give us freedom once her reign is secure.”

  Aeval’s smug expression said otherwise.

  “She’ll never do it. She’ll consign you to the ice.”

  The Seraph looked to the queen, shifting the wings at its back in a

  display the firespirits rarely revealed.

  “Nonsense,” said Aeval. “You shall all be released in good time,

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  just as I promised.”

  “What proof has she given you to deserve your loyalty?” I

  countered.

  “Enough!” Aeval pointed at the door. “Back to your post, Seraph.”

  I goaded it once more. “You’re afraid of her.”

  Lifting its first and second sets of wings, their fire spanning the

  room, the Seraph leaned toward me and emitted a roar that was nearly

  deafening, its breath like a furnace against my face. “The Seraphim

  fear nothing!”

  Ola burst into a frightened wail, and I rocked her soothingly

  against my shoulder, my head ringing with pain, while I stood my

  ground. “Prove it. Defy her authority.”

  The Seraph snarled and turned to Aeval. “By what right do you

  command the Seraphim?”

  “What right?” Her lilting words held menace. She stepped