The Armies of Heaven (36 page)

The hour was late when we rested in each other’s arms, with the autumn sun glowing brightly through the gaps in the curtains. He fretted that he’d betrayed his Omeliea, trying not to let me see his devastating sorrow at this thought. Holding him and stroking his hair across his damp forehead, I told him of my dream when I’d seen her in the Nightworld.

“She’s forgiven you,” I said, and he wept in my arms.

I have since presided over many changes in Heaven and have watched my joyful aetherspirit daughter grow more beautiful by the day, with no sign that she remembers the dark shadows of her early childhood. She is beloved by her fathers, by her tutors, and by her uncle—though the latter is sometimes struck by bouts of melancholy that confine him to his bed for days, which in her joyful nature, she cannot understand. But she loves him dearly in return, and works her natural healing magic—reading and singing to him in his darkness until he is happy again.

She is beloved by the houses of Heaven, noble and humble alike, the darling of the demons—their “Raqia Princess,” though they know her father is only honorary Fallen—and the adored of the angels. One day she will be the queen of Heaven, and what else lies ahead of her, I can only guess. I know only that the tangled threads, crossed, severed, and started anew, have made a lovely tapestry, and how the rest unravels, only the syla, who spin the cords of queens, may know.

But this is only my story, and you needn’t believe it. Perhaps there never were four honey-haired sisters in Heaven who resembled the poor Russian grand duchesses so cruelly cut down before their time. Perhaps no beautiful, golden-haired boy, heir to the throne of Heaven, was whisked off to the Unseen World by the Queen of the Fairies to escape the Realm of the Dead to which he belonged.

Perhaps there was never a lovely Romani girl named Love—nor a solemn Orthodox monk from an island monastery in the Arctic Sea who loved her—who became governess to a celestial princess with Seraph blood in her veins. Perhaps there are no Virtues in Heaven’s wintry north whose beauty makes one weep, nor bitter, fiery Seraphim forever confined to a river of flame.

Perhaps a rugged, red-haired demon-who-was-not-a-demon never loved a fierce-hearted thief and master of the celestial game of wingcasting—though this much, if nothing else, I would choose to believe.

Perhaps no dancing unseen spirits guard the midsummer flowering of a magical fern in the forests of the Russian taiga while young people make merry with wreaths of wildflowers in their hair, leaping over bonfires and swimming naked under the moon. Perhaps there is no Midnight Court beneath Tsarskoe Selo where men are judged for their cruelty to women.

But perhaps it’s best to live one’s life as if all of it were possible.

Epilogue

The Demon Count hooked his hands behind his head and leaned back on the rear legs of his chair at the wingcasting table, an unlit cigar poised in his mouth as he turned his head. The Grand Duke of the House of Arcadia stuck out his tongue, heated to a glowing red point, and lit the cigar for him.

The count grinned around the cigar. “Good boy.”

“
Poshol na khui
.”

“Really now, Vasya.” He shook his head as he looked over his cards. “You’ve utterly exhausted me. Swear at me all you like. You’ll get nothing more out of me tonight. Perhaps a visit to the queen is in order.”

Vasily straightened his spectacles, cursed him, and went to the bar. Belphagor smiled, taking the cigar from his mouth as he moved the angels of a perfect Full Choir about as if trying to decide what his best options might be with the hand he held.

His new opponent slipping into the wingcasting queue to take the defeated player’s place was an angel so green it seemed almost cruel to take his money. The youth had obviously taken a glamour to appear demonic—visually quite effective, but the mannerisms screamed Host.

“Is it true the Count of Raqia owns The Brimstone?” asked the angel, demonstrating that his mind wasn’t properly on the game.

Belphagor gave him a noncommittal grunt.

“They say he’s an incorrigible cheat.”

“So they do,” Belphagor agreed around his cigar. “Wouldn’t trust him with my purse or my person.”

The angel cast the die and Belphagor muttered “dragon.” His opponent looked downcast as he saw the dragon on the face of the die when it bounced back from the marble corner. Belphagor glanced up at the angel looking glumly at his hand, trying to decide what to discard without making the slightest effort to hide his disappointment. Something in the angel’s expressive eyes, though they were colored amber, caught his attention as the youth put down his card with reluctance.

Belphagor lifted his pierced eyebrow. “Does Lively know you’ve been in her cupboards?”

The angel blanched.

“Nice touch with the topaz oil. Your mother was always fond of ruby herself. Though I daresay she won’t be pleased when I haul you into her chambers by the scruff.”

Ola glared and dropped her cards on the table. “You
are
an incorrigible cheat, Beli,” she said with a pout.

“And you’re simply incorrigible, my little angel.” He set down his hand as he stood, and Ola gasped at the Full Choir as she peered across the table.

“Don’t tell Papa,” she wheedled as he yanked her from her chair, but he was too quick for her, and had already swung her around by the collar toward the bar.

“Maybe there’s something you’d like to tell Papa yourself.” He tapped Vasily’s shoulder.

Ola sank down into her coat as Vasily turned and picked up his spectacles from the bar.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” she said in a small voice, and even with the glamour and the topaz oil, she managed to give him the look that always melted him.

“Go wait for us by the door,” said Belphagor, and Ola slunk away with her head down. He laughed at Vasily’s smitten look. “You’re going to have to pretend to be angry with her.”

“You’re a bad influence,” Vasily grumbled while the porter fetched their coats at a snap of Belphagor’s fingers.

“
I
am?” Belphagor laughed as they followed Ola out into the night. Colorful lanterns threw delicate patterns on the snow as they walked along Boulevard Raqia toward the Virtuous Memorial Bridge.

“What, you’re going to blame it on me, Prince of Tricks?”

Belphagor tucked Vasily’s arm in his. “No, my dear
malchik
. I think there is only one explanation for our wayward girl’s behavior.” He smiled, his eyes beaming with pride as he watched their sulking daughter, disguised as a boy and swinging her boot in frustration at the hardened embankment. “She gets it from the queen of Heaven.”

Acknowledgments

As this trilogy comes to an end, my deepest gratitude goes out to the readers who found their way to The House of Arkhangel’sk. I’d also like to thank the many book bloggers who’ve hosted me along the way, and the reviewers who took a chance and opened the books; I will always treasure my copy of
Russian Life Magazine
with its lovely review of
The Fallen Queen
.

A special thanks is due my friend Martin Rawlings-Fein, who went above and beyond to spread the word, as well as to everyone who took the time to rate or review the books online—you will never know how important that is to an author; it means the world.

And finally, I’m thankful for the beautiful people of the city of St. Petersburg, who opened their doors to me and stole my heart. My hope is that one day they’ll have the opportunity to see my love for their great city in the pages of these books.

In the meantime, Anazakia and the boys will have a chance to reach an international audience in France and Japan in the coming months. Who knows where they may go from there?

Hierarchy of the Spheres

The First Sphere

The Heavens (“Heaven”)

First Heaven:
The Empyrean

Capital:
Gehenna
once populated by the the Host of the First Choir, now abandoned

Second Heaven:
Aravoth
Capital:
Aravoth City
populated by the Order of Virtues

Third Heaven:
Shehaqim (“The Firmament”)
Capital:
Elysium
populated by the Host of the Fourth Choir

Fourth Heaven:
Ma’on
Capital:
Asphodel
populated by the Order of Powers and Fourth Choir military recruits

Fifth Heaven:
Zevul
Capital:
Araphel
populated by the Order of Dominions and Fourth Choir scholars

Raqia
(formerly the Sixth Heaven, now annexed as a district of Elysium)

Capital:
None (formerly Arcadia)

currently populated by the Fallen

Seventh Heaven:
Vilon
Capital:
Arcadia (formerly Aden)
populated by the Host of the Fourth Choir

The Host (angels)

First Choir:
Spirits of Air

Orders:
Tafsarim (“the Aeons”), Elim (“the Ardors”),

Erelim (“the Splendors”)

mysterious beings none living have seen

Second Choir:
Spirits of Fire
Orders:
Seraphim, Cherubim, Ophanim
elemental beings of fire who are able to manifest wings in

Heaven—bodyguards, brute squads, and palace guards of the

reigning principalities

Third Choir:
Spirits of Earth
Orders:
Dominions, Virtues, Powers
philosophers and administrators; scientists & investigators;

military officers

Fourth Choir:
Spirits of Water
Orders:
Principalities, Archangels, Angels
nobility, merchants, and commoners

Supernal House of Arkhangel’sk:
Heaven’s imperial family, it takes its name from an earthly city named for the monastery of the Archangel Mikhail, founding principality of the House

Malakim:
Messengers to the world of Man from the

Order of Archangels

Elohim:
An elite sect and ruling body of princes (sars) of the

Order of Virtues (Aravoth is the only princedom ruled by a governing body rather than a principality)

Hashmallim:
Elite warriors of the Supernal Army from

the Order of Powers

The Fallen (demons)

Common demons:
angels of mixed blood—

the serfs, demimondes, and outlaws of Heaven

The Second Sphere

The World of Man

Terrestrial Fallen:
demons who permanently reside

in the world of Man

Grigori:
Watchers from the Order of Powers sent to

observe the world of Man; the first Fallen

Nephilim:
hybrid offspring of Grigori and Man

The race of Man:
humans

Night Travelers:
a secret society of gypsies who act as liaisons

between the world of Man, the celestial
militsiya
, and terrestrial Fallen

The Third Sphere

Nezrimyi Mir
(The Unseen World)

the realm of the Unseen, located in the Russian

forest in the world of Man

The Unseen

Syla:
bereginyi:
spring syla;
mavki:
summer syla;

samodivi:
autumn syla
; snegurochki:
winter syla
female nature spirits

Leshi:
male nature spirits

Rusalki:
female water spirits

The Fourth Sphere

Irkalla and the Realm of the Dead (“Hell”)

Nehemoth:
servants and gatekeepers of Irkalla

The dead:
formerly living souls of the First and Second Spheres, now permanent residents of the Realm of the Dead

Turn the page for a look at the stunning first novel

in the House of Arkhangel’sk series

The Fallen Queen

by

Jane Kindred

Now available from Entangled Select

Pervoe:
A Discordant Note in the Music of the Spheres
from the memoirs of the Grand Duchess Anazakia Helisonovna of the House of Arkhangel’sk

As any demon will tell you over a bottle of vodka or a game of
preferans
, Heaven is not the paradise you have been told. Depending upon the demon who holds your ear, he may also tell you Heaven’s last ruler was a tyrant who cared nothing for the lives of the common angel. Never believe it. He was the kindest soul ever born to the supernal House of Arkhangel’sk; Heaven would be blessed to have him now. But put no faith in me, for I am his daughter. I was born within Elysium’s pearly gates and have been cast out.

I do not like to think my impetuosity brought down the throne of Heaven, but on the darkest days, it is what I believe. When Elysium fell to a quiet coup, I was at a wingcasting table in Raqia instead of by my family’s side.

It is a favorite game in Raqia’s dens of iniquity. A fast-moving combination of cards and dice, wingcasting requires single-minded concentration and a certain narcissistic audacity. Challengers who hope to unseat the reigning prince of the game progress from one table to the next until they are opposite the champion.

I only reached this coveted spot on one occasion.

Raqia’s reigning prince that night was a dark-haired demon with eyes as sharp as the waxed points of his hair. He played his hand as cool as you please and barely seemed to notice me, but he put nearly every card I discarded into play with his own and soon had me hemorrhaging both cards and crystal.

Smoke burned my eyes while the demon nursed his cigar in a deliberate distraction. When he took it between his fingers, I could not help following with my eyes. Beneath the tattered lace of his cuffs, black crosses and diamonds, interlaced with characters of an unfamiliar alphabet, braced his fingers between the knuckles like rings made of ink.

He followed my gaze. “Prison,” he said around his cigar, the first word he’d spoken not directly related to the game.

He was trying to unnerve me; there were no prisons in Heaven. There was no need for any among the Host.

Raqia, for the most part policed itself, preferring to game the crystal from wayward angelic youth rather than take it by force and risk the flaming hand of seraphic justice. If he had really been in prison, he was one of the true Fallen who had spent time in the world of Man—though all demons were Fallen, by the Host’s reckoning. Their indiscriminate breeding muddied the cardinal elements by mixing the pure water dominant in the blood of the Fourth Choir with the earth of the Third, the fire of the Second, and the air of the First. Such blending resulted in their sullied complexions and varied hue of hair and eye.

A glance around the poorly lit den revealed half a dozen natural shades of brown and a dozen more who colored their hair and eyes with deliberately wild hues in defiance of celestial purity.

Most who fell to the world of Man bore signs of aging not present in the Host; something in the air of the terrestrial plane made Men’s lives short. A fine layer of stubble that could only have been carefully cultivated and trimmed hid any weathering of my opponent’s skin, but studying his face, I saw the telltale signs: little lines around his deep-set ebony eyes that said he’d fallen more than once.

I tightened the drawstring on the purse of crystal at my wrist, careful to keep the luminous celestine of my supernal ring turned toward my palm and cupped between my fingers while I played my hand.

The demon raised a dark eyebrow, pierced with a thin bar of metal that accentuated his coarse nature. I had put down a card in my distraction without waiting for him to call the die. I blushed and snatched it up again, furious with myself for making such a stupid blunder. His immodest grin said he thought his ploy had worked, but it took more than a small-time terrestrial thief to unnerve me. No novice to the dens or to demon magic, I never came to Raqia without a protective charm tucked into my bodice.

In truth, I had been distracted since climbing down the trellis to sneak out in the middle of a tedious banquet. My younger brother Azel was sick in bed, and my cousin Kae was acting strangely toward his wife, my sister Omeliea—and both circumstances were in some measure my fault.

§

Though I did not know it yet, the die had been cast against the House of Arkhangel’sk by my unbridled impulse on the day I turned seventeen. On a hunting holiday in the mountains of Aravoth, my father had presented me with a blue roan mare. I was eager to take her out, but the first snowfall had ushered in the season and my sisters were keen to head inside the lodge and curl up by the fire.

I sulked while the groom took my horse to the stable. Not even a gift of a gorgeous red velvet riding cap lined with silver fox could coax me out of my bad humor.

When my sister Omeliea admonished me for being moody, I tossed the cap back at her and announced I was taking my horse out by myself. Mama would never have tolerated such willful behavior, but she had stayed behind with Azel, and Papa was so softhearted, it pained him to discipline his daughters.

When I led the mare out of the stable, Cousin Kae was waiting for me.

“Tell her to stop being such a child!” my sister called, wrapped in a fleece on the steps of the lodge. “It’s freezing out here!”

Kae caught the reins and drew the mare to him. “Stop being such a child.” He winked, stroking the horse’s muzzle. “You can’t go alone.”

I pulled the tether from his hands and swung into the saddle. “Then I suppose someone will have to mount up.”

I trotted the blue roan out to the road and into the wooded heights, on a path muted with preternatural quiet. It seemed nothing but my horse and I existed. Here in the North, we were without the oppressive, constant presence of the Seraphim Guard, which Papa could not abide outside the city. In Heaven’s hinterlands, he said, there was no need for their protection.

After a minute or two, I heard the light clip of Kae’s horse behind me.

“Is Ola angry with me?”

Kae drew up beside me. “Not as angry as she is with me for letting you go.” He shrugged beneath his cloak. “It will pass. Sometimes I think it’s her job as a wife to be angry. She’s very efficient at it.”

I laughed at his feigned look of persecution. “Such trials you must endure for the crown.”

“Yes,” said Kae with a mock sigh. “I shall endure anything to attain the crown. Even bed that shrew of a grand duchess of mine.”

I nearly slipped from my saddle for laughing. Kae adored Omeliea and she, him. They were newly wed, and though betrothed at the cradle, he had courted her since childhood as though it were not prearranged. I could not imagine two people more perfectly matched.

Kae stopped his mount in its tracks. “Did you see that?” His grey eyes fixed on a distant point where the trees met over the road. A peculiar fragrance hung on the air, like the freshly peeled bark of an Aravothan cedar, but I saw nothing. I shook my head, and Kae started forward once more.

The bright snow began to dull, shadowed beneath the silver canopy of gathering clouds. Perhaps my sisters had been right. The cold was already making my hands ache within my gloves. I considered turning back, but the thought of Ola’s smugness made me stay my course. I knew my way blindfolded along the snow-covered path; I’d ridden it a hundred times. Of course, my horse had not.

As a dusting of new snow began to fall, Kae leaned over his mount and pointed. “There! Do you not see it?” He spurred his horse forward without waiting for an answer.

I followed, urging my mare to keep pace with him, but we were falling behind on the softening road. Heavy flakes melted in my hair, and my cheeks burned with cold. I began to regret throwing the cap at Ola.

The road went higher here, and the clouds were lowering, and soon I had to slow my horse to a walk, surrounded on all sides by grey, hanging damp. I called out for Kae, but I might have been shouting into a wet blanket for all my voice seemed to carry.

After a few more yards, the trees grew close, and I was no longer certain we were on the path. Everything looked different coated in new snow, like some fairy world I’d stumbled into. Maybe I’d veered off in the mist? I bit my lip and glanced over my shoulder, but the fog was so thick I couldn’t be sure of the distance.

I opened my mouth to call again, when the sound of approaching hooves broke through the veil of clouds. A moment later, Kae’s horse appeared without its rider. I leapt from my mare and ran in the direction the horse had come, heedless of the precipices that might be hidden from view.

“Cousin!” I stumbled over a protruding root and fell headlong in the snow. For a moment, the world was silent except for the dripping branches over my head. Then the clouds thinned and Kae stood before me in an open glade, stiller than the mountain around us. His eyes were unfocused.

“The most beautiful steed,” he whispered. “I nearly caught her.”

“A runaway?” I got to my feet with no help from him, brushing snow and pine needles from my riding skirt. “All the way up here?”

His eyes cleared. “Not a runaway. She’s wild.” He seemed angry with me, as though I’d intruded. Brushing past me to rein in his mount, he swung himself up into the saddle with a swift and brutal motion. The horse, too, was intruding it seemed, unworthy next to the imaginary steed.

Kae rode off toward our hunting house without another word.

§

I sighed and tossed the die against the wingcasting table. It seemed a trivial thing, that moment in the heights, that trick of the light that must have made my cousin imagine the wild steed, but his temperament began to change when we returned from the north.

My distracted state cost me another round, and the demon grinned and scooped up his winnings. “Had enough?” He knocked the smoldering ash from his cigar against the side of the table and pocketed my crystal.

“Not by half.”

At the table beside us, the violet glow of eyes dyed with amethyst oil glinted through the smoke from the player next in line to play the winner. I glared back through the ruby red with which I’d dyed my own. I had a right to play so long as I had crystal to bet, and if I had to play all night to beat this demon at a single round, I would.

If only I had known what it would cost me.

When I think back to that night and the single-mindedness with which I persisted at a game I could not possibly win, I want to shout at my former self,
Forget this foolishness! Go home! Go home before it is too late!
The irony is that it was guilt that kept me there, while I have been burdened with so much more by staying.

§

Ola suspected Kae of unfaithfulness. Upon our return to the city of Elysium, they moved into the Camaeline Palace, built for her wedding present, and we did not see Ola again until she came to us a few weeks later with her suspicions.

“He is not himself.” She stood staring at the fire in the drawing room. “I have hardly seen him since the holiday.” Ola gave me a strange look. “He hasn’t been himself since the two of you came back from that ride.” She seemed ashamed of what she was thinking and burst into tears.

“Ola, dearest.” I went to her where she sank onto the divan before the fire. Tatia came to her side while Maia hurried to the other, and I knelt before her, resting my head in her lap. We enveloped her in sisterly commiseration, four sets of honey curls draped together while Ola wept. There were no closer sisters than we four were then.

“I’m sorry, Nazkia,” Ola whispered after a moment. Tatia held her and Maia stroked her arm. “I must be losing my mind. I know you would never…”

“Hush, Ola,” I said gently.

“Kae would never betray you,” Maia assured her.

“He’s mad for you.” Tatia dabbed at Ola’s eyes with her kerchief. “Another matter is preoccupying him. You’ll see.”

Ola shook her head, on the verge of tears once more. “He rides out every morning before I wake and stays out past dark. I heard him speaking of ‘
her
.’” She pushed Tatia’s kerchief away and swallowed. “He has a mistress. I know it.”

Little Azel bounded up the grand staircase then and leapt upon us, and Ola recovered herself and caught him in her arms.

Our mother followed from the landing, her stride quick and anxious, and peeled out of her damp furs. “Azelly! I’ve told you not to run!”

Mama was forever worrying over Azel. At almost twelve years of age, he appeared little older than nine. We also thought of him as much younger than his years because of his delicate health, and I suppose he acted the part we’d given him. He had been better lately, though.

Despite Mama’s fear, it warmed my heart to see him running.

I swept my brother onto my shoulders and bounced to my feet. At the sound of Azel’s laughter, Mama pressed her gloved fingers to her lips, holding in her customary scolding. Maia rose, hooked her arm in Mama’s, and led her away, distracting her from Ola’s tears and my reckless behavior with plans for the Equinox Gala.

The Gala occupied our time in the weeks that followed. Maia and Tatia reveled in the excitement. On display in our supernal box at the Elysium Theatre, we endured a prelude of ballets, operas, and symphonies—opportunities to meet potential suitors before my formal presentation to society.

I could not have been less interested.

The trick I had used to sneak out tonight had gotten me out of many a dull occasion. Magic was prohibited in Heaven’s capital, but one could find anything in the Demon Market, and I had found a bottle of “twinning spirits” that allowed me to leave a version of myself at home in the form of a corporeal shade.

The twinning spirits consisted of two vials. One contained the separating elixir. The other held the aethereal essence of the shade while its corporeal projection moved about—breathing and speaking and acting with the perfect likeness of the true form until the vial was opened and the essence returned to its source.

My shade-self spent the long nights of winter in rich brocades and velvets, bundled in furs in bright red, horse-drawn sleighs to counter the dreariness of heavy skies and starless nights as we sped over the snow to our engagements.