The Armies of Heaven (3 page)

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 Lively. 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 anyone 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.”

I shuddered at the memory. Kae, still under Aeval’s spell, had beheaded our guide and all the men who stood guard with him. I found it alarming how easily he spoke of such things, as if he enjoyed reminding others of the atrocities he’d committed—his self-hating version of penance.

We rode awhile in silence, taking the horses into the heights. The road, if it could be called that, followed the ravine through which the Gihon River flowed, climbing high above it in a steep and rocky incline. This was the only way to get from Pyr Amaravati to Aravoth City, and though the horses were well used to it, surefooted on even the icy cliffs in winter, it took all our concentration to navigate without becoming unnerved.

At a clearing overlooking the river valley, we stopped to let the horses graze. Beyond, the hazy outline of sharp mountain peaks marked the border of the Empyrean. By right of birth, this should all be my domain, though only in name. If I succeeded in my bid for the throne, the princedoms would once again be sovereign.

I sighed, sitting among the scattered clover on the hillside. It was a responsibility I didn’t want, but one I couldn’t shirk. It was dreadful to know so many were counting on me.

“You’ll find the strength within you when the time comes.” Kae spoke behind me as if he knew what I was thinking.

“You couldn’t fight her,” I said bitterly. “How can I?”

Kae echoed my sigh and sat beside me. “Nazkia, you’ve always been stronger than any of us.”

I stared at him, astonished and angry. “Stronger? Because I managed to run from you? That had nothing to do with me, Cousin. That was Helga, and ever since it has been Belphagor and Vasily.”

“I meant before…
that
.” He looked ill. “Ola—” His voice cracked and he swallowed and went on. “Ola was in awe of you. You were always so brave, running headlong into whatever was before you. She knew about your little trips to Raqia. She wished she had half the courage you did, to go and do things on your own that would have terrified her.”

I
bit my lip and looked away, not wanting to cry in front of him.

“I wish…” His words trailed off. We both knew how foolish wishing was. It couldn’t bring her back.

I spoke my own foolish wish anyway. “I wish I hadn’t ridden off into the mountains on my birthday. Everything that’s happened since has been because of that one selfish, headlong run of mine into what was before me.”

“Nazkia, it isn’t.” His weak voice was surprised and emotional, and for a moment I feared he meant to put his arm around me, but he must have seen me flinch. “You’re not blaming yourself for all of this. For my weakness? Please don’t—”

“I blame
you
,” I interrupted. “I accept responsibility for setting it all in motion, but make no mistake; I blame
you
.” Ola’s words in the dream struck me once more, and I had to know. “If it wasn’t you who cut her open, who was it?”

Kae swallowed and looked out over the valley. His answer came in a whisper I had to strain to hear. “She was the first. In our room. Some inexplicable fury came over me and I put my knife in her chest. I thought she was dead. I left her and went to the drawing room and I…killed the others. And then you came in, and she’d been hiding, and she came out to save you from me. And I remember thinking, ‘Where’s the baby? What has she done?’ and then the terrible urge took me again and I didn’t care.”

I dug my nails into my palms, wanting to cover my ears again, wanting not to hear this. I didn’t want to know what had been in his head.

With a sudden, violent motion, Kae jumped up and ran toward the edge of the cliff. For a moment, I thought he meant to throw himself from it. Instead, he threw himself on the ground and vomited wretchedly into the deep ravine.

Not for the first time, I wondered if I’d made a mistake in freeing him from Aeval. Perhaps we all would have been better off if he’d never come back to himself. Why hadn’t I let him bleed to death in the snow at Gehenna when I’d stabbed him to keep him from slitting my throat? Ola’s words from a dream had spoken to me then as well, urging me to bury him in ice to bring his fever down as the release from Aeval’s hold on his blood made his temperature rise precipitously.

I’d done all I could to save him. Somehow, I’d thought he might emerge from her spell the same man he’d been before, like an enchanted prince in a fairy story, as if the rest had never happened. But like the unscarred face he hid beneath his mask—convinced, despite all evidence to the contrary, that he was blind and hideously burned—my Kae was only a memory. If his former self still lay hidden underneath, it mattered not at all to the present reality of what he’d become.

I stood and brushed off my sparring pants. “We should get back. It takes a full day to reach Aravoth City, so there’s no sense in going all the way there. The rest of the path is much the same.”

Kae climbed to his feet and mounted his horse, and we headed back toward Pyr Amaravati without speaking again.

When we arrived at the stables, my cousin stopped me before I left him and spoke without expression. “I cannot bear this life any longer. I will fulfill my promise to you to train your army and lead them into war, but when the dust has settled, no matter who emerges victorious, I am ending it.”

Back in my room, I wept as I changed my clothes. My friend was already dead. I’d killed him, as surely as he’d once killed me.

I headed for the bath, hoping to forget the afternoon in a long evening soak, but one of Sarael’s servants stopped me in the hallway.

“Your Supernal Highness.” The Virtue bowed. “His Serenity Sar Sarael requests your presence in the tablinum.” The large den at the far end of the atrium was reserved for formal audiences. Something had happened. I followed the servant downstairs and through the atrium, and found Vasily and Belphagor already at Sarael’s table.

Sarael stood as I entered, waiting until I sat opposite him before taking his seat once more. “Your Supernal Highness, I took the liberty of sending for your cousin. The news I have concerns him as well.”

“Aeval’s army.” My heart beat rapidly at the knowledge that what we’d been planning for was about to begin. There was no turning back.

“Yes. We’ve had reports of their movement north of Elysium.”

From the vestibule at the other end of the atrium, Kae approached, escorted by two Virtues. He hadn’t entered the manor once since his arrival two months ago, refusing to be treated as a guest, but he looked perfectly at home among the tasteful elegance of Pyr Amaravati. Though it was nearly July, he wore a double-breasted frock coat in black wool over his customary black clothing—a habit acquired in his days with Aeval that apparently suited him—and the coat swung about his legs as he crossed the stone tiles with purpose.

But for the mask and damaged eye, he looked every bit the dashing grand duke he had been in my youth, the object of my girlhood infatuation.

“Your Serenity. Your Supernal Highness.” He bowed slightly as Sarael stood and also bowed to me, but he ignored Belphagor and Vasily, which was probably just as well. “I gather it’s begun.”

“From what my scouts tell me, the Supernal Army left Elysium in the last week,” Sarael confirmed. “We can expect them to arrive at Gihon Valley within ten days. But there is other news we hadn’t anticipated.”

“What is it?” growled Vasily. “You’ve kept us in suspense long enough.”

“We’re given to understand that as soon as Aeval was out of the city, another pretender to the throne declared in Elysium.”

I shot from my seat. “What other pretender?” We’d planned for weeks to take advantage of Aeval’s departure from the city for the same purpose.

“Helga has put him forth. She claims to be the guardian of a young man in the direct line of the House of Arkhangel’sk.”

“That’s preposterous.” My jaw tightened with anger. “My father had only one brother, and Kae is his only son. There’s no one else. Nothing left at all of Arkhangel’sk but myself and Kae.”

“This will be difficult to hear.” Sarael looked troubled and I dropped back into my seat, unable to fathom what he might be about to say. “She claims to have the son of His Supernal Highness—” He nodded toward Kae. “And your sister Omeliea.”

My mind refused to process this. It was as if he were speaking complete gibberish, words arranged without regard for form or function tossed into a bag, shaken, and then dumped out. I opened my mouth to ask him what he’d said when Kae pushed back his chair and stood. Beside his mask, his face was whiter than I’d ever seen it, like sun-bleached bone against his dark clothing.

“Helga?” His voice cracked, brittle, as though written on charred paper. “Helga took the baby?”

“What baby?” My head was spinning, Sarael’s words still incomprehensible, and I had some vague idea we were speaking of Ola. “Whose baby?” Belphagor put a hand on my arm to calm me, as if I were becoming hysterical.

Kae turned to me. “The baby!” he croaked. “Ola’s baby! Your sister’s baby, whom you were so certain I had vivisected her to remove!”

The words rained down on me like glass shards and I heard Sarael’s at last, as if a delicate ball that held them had shattered, releasing them all in a hail of brittle splinters. I saw my sister before me holding her belly in a protective, belated gesture over the emptiness within. Someone had cut her so neatly, so precisely, like a body laid out in an anatomy lesson to display its organs. Such careful deliberation was not the sort of thing a raving man would do in a fit of wildness, I realized. It had been right in front of me all along, but so utterly incomprehensible I’d refused to see it. The baby had been surgically delivered.

“She wasn’t due.” I heard my voice, hardly aware of speaking, as if a ventriloquist had thrown the words for me to enunciate. “She was only eight months on.”

“If Helga speaks the truth,” said Sarael, “she must have had the skills to deliver and care for a premature infant. She kept him hidden and raised him as her own.”

“It’s not true.” I couldn’t accept this—that my own childhood nurse, as horribly as she’d betrayed me in taking my daughter, could have attacked my sister and cut her child from her womb. But who else? Who else would have done such a thing?

“She offers as proof his mother’s ring and the signed attestation of two blood relatives. They are kin from your mother’s side, from the House of Arcadia, but the testaments are legal. They’ve examined the boy and believe him to be whom Helga purports him to be. The laws of Heaven consider Azel Kaeyevich to be a legitimate heir to the throne.”

“Azel!” She even dared to steal my brother’s name. Azel had always been her darling. He’d been everyone’s darling, but Helga had been devoted to him. “Where is she keeping him? The child was not at Gehenna.”