The Armies of Heaven (11 page)

Whatever strange dreams I’d had were forgotten as his rapid thrusting brought me to a quick and thunderous climax.

“Vasya,” I moaned, my entire body shaking as he wrapped his arm about my waist, thrust deep, and growled his hot release. I locked my arms around his neck before he could pull away. “You come back to me,” I whispered fiercely. “That’s an order from your sovereign.”

We parted in the square a short time later, Love weeping as she hugged me, and Vasily pulling me close and kissing me passionately despite our audience.

“I’ll see you soon, my angel of mercy,” he rumbled against my ear. “Ola and I both.”

Even Belphagor hugged me with an emotional display. “I have faith in you.” His eyes were both solemn and hopeful. “And you’ve no idea what a rare, strange thing that is for me.” He kissed me on the forehead and then gave me a deep, formal bow and kissed my hand. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Your Supernal Majesty.”

I stared at him, bemused. Vasily, however, folded his arms and refused to say good-bye to him.

“
Doverie mne, malchik moi
,” Belphagor murmured before he turned away. “Just trust me.”

The palace stables had donated a horse, and Belphagor lifted Love up onto it before climbing on behind her. “Beli’s Boys” were going with him, I discovered. He didn’t volunteer to explain this, and I didn’t ask, but I couldn’t imagine how they would be received in the world of Man. Whatever this “errand” of his was, beyond escorting Love, I hoped the Virtues didn’t regret their involvement. As full of misery and cruelty as Heaven could be, I didn’t think they were quite prepared for what they might find below.

Belphagor’s party departed for the unpaved demon road to Raqia and the Iriyan Mounted Guard took the central avenue toward the remains of the old highway, while my Virtues filled the square, looking magnificent in the early morning. With Lively and Margarita walking beside me, I led the troops out onto the wide highway and rode for the glass-like streets of Elysium.

Vosmaya
: The Queen’s Gambit Declined

The angel appeared before him every night now, leading him on toward what it called the Seventh Heaven. Kirill wasn’t certain what to make of this. If it were a Heaven, and especially the Seventh, how could such an abomination occur in it as abducting a child? He preferred not to dwell on this, however, as he believed in this angel and didn’t want to seem doubtful of its word.

It had led him around the city they’d been approaching, avoiding apprehension by the local authorities, showing him places to sleep in the countryside where he wouldn’t be discovered, and leading him to sources of food and water. Sometimes this meant begging by the side of the road; at other times, stealing eggs from farmers and vegetables from cottage gardens. He prayed each night for forgiveness for these sins, but trusted God wouldn’t have sent him this angel to lead him astray.

After his prayers, he lay looking up at the stars thinking of his Love. He ought to regret his sin with her as well, to repent and ask for forgiveness, but he couldn’t. What he regretted was that he hadn’t said good-bye to her in person. He couldn’t bear the thought that he might have hurt her. It had been cowardly to sneak off in the night. He took comfort, however, in the thought that he would soon bring little Ola and this other child to safety. When he’d returned them to Anazakia, he would send word to Love somehow. No matter how eager she’d been for home, he knew she would return in an instant to be by Ola’s side.

He didn’t dare think any further beyond that. Though he couldn’t repent of his knowledge of her, neither could he be with her again. It was wrong. It was impossible. He breathed in a sharp, involuntary breath as his body remembered hers, and the sweet, thin air of Heaven burned in his throat.

§

Lively felt like kicking the baby back. The little devil wouldn’t let her sleep. She got up for what seemed like the millionth time to find a spot beyond the bivouac tents to take a piss, careful not to wake Margarita. She’d become rather fond of the Nephil’s attention, but every now and then she wished for a little privacy.

Just the thought of that attention made Lively’s cheeks warm. It was probably nothing more than friendliness on Margarita’s part. Maybe being a Nephil in Heaven was just as much fun as being a pregnant demon among Virtues. Whatever the reason, she hoped Anazakia hadn’t simply ordered Margarita to keep an eye on her. She couldn’t blame the grand duchess for not trusting her after what she’d done, but she hated the thought that Margarita might only be pretending to like her. It was nice to have a friend. Lively hadn’t really had one since childhood.

It would be nicer, of course, to have a little something more. But Lively had never been the type to inspire infatuation in either sex. She wasn’t going to deceive herself into imagining Margarita’s affection meant something it didn’t.

Since the baby had no intention of letting her sleep, she’d brought her Chora deck with her, and after returning to camp, she managed to lower herself to a spot near the fire to lay out a few cards. The first she drew was the Archangel of spindles. The card depicted an older woman: The Guardian. Lively smiled to herself. That must be Margarita. Next came Cherub of knives. Lively frowned at this. Secrecy? Was she right about Margarita spying on her, only pretending to be her friend? The third card, the Angel of tricks, depicted a servant with his hand in his master’s pocket—commonly viewed as The Demon.

Lively stared at the spread. She could hear it in her head as clearly as if spoken in her ear:
This is your guardian. You are sworn to secrecy. I have need of your services.

Her face grew hot with anger. Aunt Helga had sent the message. Did she think Lively would jump at her beckoning after she’d left Lively to die? The baby gave a defiant kick. She scooped up the cards and looked about nervously as if someone might have heard the words in her head. There was nothing to worry about, of course. Even if someone were to see the cards, no one here could read the Chora.

She tossed a pinch of messaging powder from her pouch into the fire and then shuffled the cards angrily, cutting the deck with two swift motions of her left hand and throwing down three cards of her own: Aeon of knives—
you are a liar.
Splendor of knives—
we are through.
And the Succubus. This last was merely an insult.

Lively gathered up the cards, prepared to go back to bed, but the Chora seemed to compel her, and she found herself shuffling once more. With a sigh, she let the cards re-sort themselves and laid them out. This time, they were all Virtues, and she almost laughed aloud.
Trusted daughter, you have my word, I would never abandon you
, she heard them say. The baby kicked once more as if to say he too thought this the biggest pile of horseshit he’d ever heard. She stacked the cards and let them sit, refusing to respond until she had the overwhelming urge to throw down more, which meant Aunt Helga must be exerting a tremendous projection of her will to send another message over such a distance.

This next series seemed to assume Lively was back in the fold:
Departing the coast. How near are you? How many Virtues?
How the hell had Helga discovered she was traveling with Anazakia’s troops? Lively wished for all the Heavens not to answer, but Helga had become so strong somehow in recent months. Her belly ached in an ominous, low place, and the longer she held out, the more alarming the pain became, squeezing at her like a band of tightening cord, until she knew she had no choice but to obey.

With beads of sweat dotting her brow, she shuffled the cards and laid them out: Dominion of spindles—
six days’ travel
. Archangel of knives—
a pair of companies
. And Principality of tricks—
I will obey
. She brushed angrily at the tear that escaped as she turned over the last card. This baby had made her soft. It was all she’d ever been good for, anyway—obeying Master Apothecary, obeying Auntie Helga. She’d been born a demoness. It was her lot in life to be quiet, keep still, and take whatever her betters wanted to put inside her.

§

The light hurt his head. Azel hid his face against his mother’s arm and at first she allowed this, but after a few hours on the road, she insisted he sit up straight. He was to be a great ruler, she said, and could not be seen sniveling like a baby.

“It’s too bright, Mama.”

To his surprise, she slapped him, though she was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry, darling.” She stroked his hair as his cheek throbbed. “But I’ve told you, you mustn’t call me that anymore. Remember the words I taught you.
Madam Regent
.”

He was even more surprised when she gave him a sweet from her pocket. He couldn’t remember ever having had one, not in his brief years, but as he unwrapped it and put it into his mouth, he knew the other boy in his head had tasted sweets many times before. He looked up sharply at Helga—
Helga
—when had he ever called her by her given name? He wasn’t even sure he’d heard it before.

“Yes, Madam Regent.”

“Very good, Master Azel.” She smiled and gave him another sweet.

This one he tucked away in his pocket. He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes against the sun, and when he opened them again, it was dark and the carriage had stopped.

“This way, Your Supernal Highness.”

He looked up at the sound of the distinctly unpleasant voice to see one of the golden-white Cherubim glowing beside the carriage. The Cherub helped him down and led him across a red carpet stretched over the muddy ground to the cheery entry hall of an inn. Helga was speaking with a man in a funny suit—
Helga again
. It seemed he could no longer think of her as his mother now the name had lodged itself in his head. Had she ever been his mother? Mothers were young, like the pretty lady in the picture he’d folded over and over into a tiny, thick square in his pocket to keep Helga from seeing it.
Anazakia.

“Did we leave the little girl in the other place?” he asked the Cherub to drown out the odd name that had sprung to mind.

“Quiet, boy!” the Cherub snarled at him, and bent down to his level. “You must not speak of the girl,” he said in a low growl, turning his lion aspect to Azel for a moment before his head swiveled once more and looked only like a man. The Cherub glanced at Helga, busily conferring with the innkeeper. “Perhaps you’ll see her again.” An odd grin crossed his face. “But do not speak of her.”

“You shall have your own bed, Master Azel,” Helga announced as she came over to him. “I’ve explained to the innkeeper that you are the Grand Duke Azel Kaeyevich, and they’ve made up their finest appointments for you.”

He had no idea what “appointments” were, nor why there were suddenly so many extra words about his name, but he’d never had his own bed before and he found this quite exciting.

Helga apparently had her own “appointments,” and she left him in the care of the Cherub to take him to his room. He was dumbfounded at first when he saw it—an entire room the size of the little house he’d first lived in before they’d begun to travel, with a bed as big as the room with the oubliette, and it was all for him—but as the Cherub helped him off with his traveling coat, it suddenly seemed ordinary. He stood patiently, holding out his arms, while the Cherub undressed him from his day clothes and placed a sleeping gown over his head. Though he’d taken care of himself since he could remember, it seemed the most ordinary thing in the world for a servant to dress him.

The Cherub went out, leaving Azel sitting in the middle of the big bed, and then returned shortly with a large trunk. There were small holes in the top and sides. Azel had seen it before.

“That’s mine.” He’d ridden in it to protect him from the sun when they traveled. Only…he’d sat in the carriage with sun shining down on him today and nothing had happened to him.

“It is yours to watch.” The Cherub set it down and the box made a tiny whimper.

Azel slipped off the bed and crouched to peer through the holes. The little girl lay inside, apparently asleep. As he walked away, the Cherub gave him an unnerving wink with his eagle aspect swiveling about to the back and bid him good night.

Azel stared into the box. She didn’t just look asleep, in fact; she looked dead. But he’d heard the noise when the Cherub set the box down, so she must be alive. He was surprised at how little she was after all. Her hair, though tangled and dull, was the color of a summer sunset. He had no idea where he’d ever seen a summer sunset before, but he knew this was the color.

“Ola,” he whispered, but she didn’t stir. After a bit, he crawled under the covers of the big bed and went to sleep.

He woke some hours later to the sound of crying. Azel jumped from the bed and hurried to the box. He knew Helga wouldn’t like it if anyone heard the girl. It was still dark and he couldn’t see inside.

“Ola, stop that!”

She only cried harder.

“Your mama will be angry with you,” he told her sternly. “You have to be a good girl if you want her to come.”

Ola choked on her tears, coughing and hiccupping as she tried to obey. Azel went to the chair where his clothes had been draped neatly by the Cherub and fished in the pocket of his pants for the sweet Helga had given him. He found the little square of paper as well. He poked the foil packet through one of the holes and pushed the paper through after it, and felt Ola’s small fingers reaching for it as her crying stopped. After a moment, he heard her unfolding the sheet carefully, though she certainly couldn’t have been able to see anything on it in the dark.

“Ola’s mama?” she sniffled.

“That’s your paper. The painting of your mama and those other people.”

“Ola’s papa. Ola’s mama. Baby Ola. Beli.” She recited words she must have learned by rote.

Azel crawled back into bed. “Go to sleep, Ola.” He could hear her whispering the names to herself as he drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, the Cherub came and dressed him, and Azel thought to himself,
This is not a Cherub’s job
. He ought to have a valet, an ordinary angel of the servant class. Azel felt sick to his stomach, and he put his hands over his ears as if he could stop the thoughts that didn’t belong to him.

The Cherub went out again and when he returned, he brought a large tray of food, which he set before Azel on the bed. Azel had never seen so much food in one place, or so many kinds of food. This couldn’t be for him.

“Sit. Eat,” ordered the Cherub.

Azel sat, too overwhelmed to know where to begin. The Cherub fitted a metal spout over a glass bottle containing a brownish liquid and then unlocked the top of Ola’s box. Azel watched carefully to see how the latch worked. He’d never been able to figure it out from inside—the holes were too small to get his fingers far enough out to reach—but he saw now it didn’t require a key. Ola turned her head away from the bottle as the Cherub offered it to her, but he pulled her by the hair and pushed it into her mouth, not letting go until she held it for herself and began to drink.

“You drink it all,” the Cherub growled at her.

Azel realized the eagle face was staring at him from the back of the Cherub’s head, and he ducked his own head and began to eat from the bowl of sliced peaches in cream. The Cherub waited until Ola had emptied the bottle before taking it back and latching the box once more.

After the Cherub left him, Azel took a sweet bun from the tray and slipped down from the bed. When he’d gotten the latch unhooked, he opened the box and reached in to give the sweet bun to Ola, but she lay on the bottom of the box with her eyes half closed.

“Don’t you want to eat?” he asked. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Lub,” she said, as her eyes fluttered shut. “Want Lub.”

He didn’t recognize this word. Azel shrugged and closed the box and ate the sweet bun himself.

§

They had gone at a dizzying pace from Iriy, pushing the horses to their limits; Love could tell Belphagor was anxious about leaving Anazakia on her own. They arrived in Raqia on the fourth day out, and slipped through a portal in the back of an
apteka
to descend what Belphagor called the Hell Staircase. When Love asked if it actually led to hell, he laughed.