draped it over him and went up to bed.
So much for him keeping an eye on me.
§
After a night’s sleep I thought better of telling Vasily my plans. To
explain why I believed Azel still lived I’d have to tell him of the syla and what they’d said to me, and about the power of the fiery blossom.
It seemed wiser to keep my own counsel. But I needed to know the
trick to opening the portal in Belphagor’s room at The Brimstone. I’d
have to get Vasily to tell me the spell.
It proved more difficult than I expected. The demon was more
than willing to indulge in drink almost every evening, and there was
an ample supply, but I learned he was better at holding his liquor than he seemed. I could get him talking about his life in Raqia after a drink or two over a game of poker, but he grew melancholy at the mention
of Belphagor. Steering him toward the spell and Belphagor’s skill with a lock was no easy task.
The things he did tell me, however, made me uneasy. Tales of bands
of angelic youth who came to Raqia to sow their wild oats among the
peasant class—whether the demoness upon whom they thrust their
attentions was willing or not—and who took pleasure in ganging up
to administer savage beatings to young demons in the name of the
House of Arkhangel’sk. I wondered if my father had known about
such activities.
Vasily had also spent time in the cloudy capital of Araphel in the
Princedom of Zevul—where he had fallen in with his “bad crowd.”
Deemed the ideal setting for scholarly pursuits because of its gloomy
weather, Araphel, like its sister city Asphodel in the neighboring
Princedom of Ma’on, was populated almost entirely by students.
Araphel was home to Heaven’s academic universities for the noble
houses of the Fourth Choir, while the academies at Asphodel trained
its future military officers. Vasily had encountered both.
136 JANE KINDRED
While cut off from the company of women, the students treated
demons like Vasily as playthings for sexual experimentation.
Sometimes they took young demons—shockingly young, by Vasily’s
account—under their patronage during their term of study and then
tossed them aside upon graduation to return to marry their virginal
betrotheds. The Powers, however, wasted no such efforts on patronage
or other niceties. Desire for a member of the same sex among the
military order was seen as weakness. They took their pleasure violently in a show of dominance.
I was appalled at these stories, but couldn’t doubt their truth.
Vasily was a terrible liar, particularly under the influence of vodka.
He also told me the legend of the Archangel Mikhail for whom
this region had been named. We knew him in Heaven, of course. He
was the founder of the supernal House many generations past, and the
only angel ever to have risen to power from the Order of Archangels
instead of the Principalities. But that he’d fallen to the world of Man for a time was something I’d never heard. Vasily called him one of the Malakim, a sect of archangels who made it their business to interfere
with the ways of the world of Man. It was Mikhail’s fault, he said, that customs such as those on Ivan Kupala had been subsumed by what
he called the Holy Church. It was Mikhail’s fault there was a Holy
Church at all.
The foolishness of the Malakim was a subject Vasily was happy to
expound upon. Yet despite his loosened tongue, I had not managed to
pry out the information I needed before the short northern summer
drew to a close, and even Vasily eventually tired of nightly drinking.
Increasingly, evening tea became our ritual instead.
The days shortened rapidly with summer’s end, and the
temperatures grew colder, necessitating a fire every night and extra
blankets on our beds. For the first time, I truly appreciated the custom of tapochki, slipping my feet into them in the mornings when I ventured out of bed, and taking refuge in them from the cold when I
traded my boots for them after coming in from the garden. I could do
little there now; only my dill plants had yielded anything before the
ground grew cold, but I still enjoyed the tranquility of the spot.
Dry goods and sundries were abundant in the dacha, but
THE FALLEN QUEEN 137
perishables had to be replenished regularly. Since we both agreed it
firewood, and even cooking on occasion once I’d learned a bit from
Vasily. I gave up trimming my hair close to my head, though I still
wore the cap—it was my last connection to Heaven, even if it was
Belphagor’s—but less and less did I remember to bind my breasts.
When the first snow came, there was still no news from Belphagor.
Vasily made an extra trip to stock up in case the weather prevented it and returned with a box of books to pass the time. He was teaching me
Russian, and I was able to read children’s books and had a passable
understanding of what I read in magazines and newspapers.
We were reading one afternoon after the sun had made itself
scarce when a fuse blew out in the latest snowstorm, leaving us in the dark. The wind buffeted the house. I urged Vasily not to try to fix the fuse until daylight. We had the fireplace to keep us warm, but it was
difficult to read by, and so at barely six o’clock we said goodnight to one another and went up to bed.
The wind was still high, but the sky had cleared. As I climbed
beneath my covers, I saw a strange light over the horizon. The
illumination danced above the trees and colored the snow with a lurid
green phosphorescence. It rippled upward across the atmosphere like
the radiance of a firespirit so powerful it encompassed the sky.
Shivering, I crept to the window to be sure I wasn’t dreaming and
watched in awe while the light flickered and expanded, winking out
and then surging forth again, the stars muted by its magnificence. Tears rolled down my cheeks and I didn’t know why. I suddenly felt tiny and
insignificant in this vast world, far from home and Heaven, and yet my heart was captivated and humbled as if I alone had been chosen to see
this wonder.
I padded in my tapochki and flannel nightshirt to Vasily’s room to see if he was awake. He lay in bed, his eyes closed, but they opened
when I hesitated in his doorway.
“What is it?” He sat up. “Are you all right?”
138 JANE KINDRED
“The sky,” I whispered.
He put on his spectacles and looked. “The Aurora Borealis.” He
saw me shivering and pulled back his covers for me to climb in. “The
Northern Lights. I’ve only seen it once before.”
Beneath his blankets, I curled against his chest for warmth. “What
are they? Not seraphic?”
“No. The phenomenon belongs solely to the world of Man. I don’t
know what causes it. Something purely mundane, I understand.” He
wrapped his bare arms around me and watched over his shoulder. He
was dressed only in a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of briefs.
“Aren’t
you cold?” I asked. “Don’t you wear a nightshirt to bed?”
He shrugged. “I’m a firespirit.” His body was warm, almost flushed
compared to mine. I rested my head against his chest and watched the
lights, listening to the wind rattling at the window and to the steady beating of his heart.
“Do you miss him?” I whispered.
“Always.” There was a universe of longing in that single word.
I looked up at him, overwhelmed by the urge to protect him from
the pain Belphagor had caused him, to comfort him as I had when he’d
wept in my arms. With the strength and heat of his body against me,
I realized comfort wasn’t my only urge. My virtue had been carefully
preserved for a political match that would bring heirs to some far-
corner duchy of Heaven, an unappealing eventuality I’d intended to
prolong as long as possible. But the stringency of duty and honor had
drained away into the aether with my family’s blood. Of what use was
virtue when my world had ended? I had an ardent, urgent desire for
this demon as I’d wanted nothing in my life.
He caught me looking at him and his eyes widened in surprise. I
hadn’t meant to act on this sudden revelation of awakened need, hadn’t meant to throw caution—and my virtue—to the luminous arctic wind,
but the answering hunger in his eyes loosed my impetuous tongue.
“What happens,” I breathed, “when a firespirit and a waterspirit
come together?”
He pressed his fingers to my lips as if to be sure I was speaking,
and a spark of wavering violet danced on his hand. I sought his mouth
with mine and at the meeting of our lips, the light surged around us
THE FALLEN QUEEN 139
like our own aurora.
“Nazkia,” he whispered, pushing the curls away from my eyes to
look closely at me.
“Share your heat with me,” I begged. I pulled my nightshirt over
my head to feel his skin on mine.
Vasily rolled me over and pressed his body against me, his eyes
smoldering. I tugged at his briefs with one foot, my legs wrapped
around his waist. It was all the permission he needed to dispose of the undergarment.
He looked me in the eyes once more, hard and hot against my
thigh. Our light snaked across his hair. “Are you sure, Nazkia? Your
maidenhead…”
“Take it,” I urged against his ear.
Vasily covered my mouth with his and caught my cry as he
complied.
140 JANE KINDRED
Chetyrnadtsatoe: In the Redeeming Arms of Kresty
“You. On your feet!”
Only too glad to yield the grimy mattress and its rusty framework
to one of the standing prisoners, Belphagor hopped down from the
bunk and followed the guard.
“Suka.” Spittle struck his cheek while he was marched past the
row of cells.
Belphagor didn’t bother to ask where he was going. Asking
questions led to “incidents” more often than not. Incidents, of course, didn’t always involve the guards. Tattoos from previous sojourns in
the Russian zona hadn’t made him any friends. He had a peculiar juxtaposition of the spades of a thief—considered honorable here—
and the diamonds of a suka. Less obvious were the suit of hearts, but these couldn’t be hidden in the shower, and he’d been involved in
more than one incident as a result.
The guard opened the door to the visitation room. “You have a
visitor. Ten minutes.” He pushed Belphagor into a seat where Knud
waited opposite.
Belphagor folded his arms. “Back again so soon?”
“I know. I’m sorry. I tried to get in to see you earlier, but they kept denying my request.”
Belphagor shrugged. He knew it wasn’t the young man’s fault;
he’d gotten himself into this, after all. He’d been doubtful when Knud had introduced himself in Arkhangel’sk as the contact Belphagor had
arranged to meet. He’d taken pains to make sure they’d left no trail
THE FALLEN QUEEN 141
out of Vologda, and had planned to meet with his gypsy contact upon
his return to St. Petersburg. Yet there Knud had stood in the garden,
knowing exactly where the angel and Vasily were, and having spent
hours with them so he could identify them with certainty.
Knud had apologized for the deceit, but the Parliament of
Night Travelers who governed gypsy-Fallen relations had deemed
it necessary. They’d needed to know what Belphagor was trying to
hide before they’d go to the extraordinary measures he’d proposed in
negotiating with the Seraphim.
It was an unusual proposal, to say the least. He’d asked for assistance in getting arrested so he could negotiate from within the relative
safety of the prison walls—even Seraphim valued a certain amount of
discretion, and blazing into a public facility to accost a demon wasn’t prudent. Knud was to serve as a go-between in offering the angel’s
signet ring to the Seraphim in exchange for letting Belphagor and the
others go their way unharmed. The Seraphim would never hear from
the angel again. All they had to do was take the ring back to Heaven
as “proof” of her demise.
Though the lad looked green, he’d turned out to be nothing but
professional in his role. After their arrival in St. Petersburg, Knud had made sure Belphagor was accused of an unsolved armed robbery.
Once Belphagor was safely ensconced in Kresty’s welcoming arms,
the young man had made the connection with the Seraphim.
“So I take it you have news?”
Knud’s expression turned rueful. “There’s a problem. The
Seraphim have been ordered to return.”
Belphagor leaned forward, careful not to touch the barrier
between them. “Shouldn’t that speed things up? They need to shit or
get off the pot; I’ve just about had my fill of this place. Are they going to deal or not?”
“That’s the problem. The principality must have caught wind
of the deal. He’s given us an ultimatum. We deliver both the ring
and yourself into the custody of the Seraphim or he’ll revoke the
proscription against their interference with our kind.”
Belphagor sat back at a warning look from the guard. He scratched
at the stubble of his beard while considering this new development.
142 JANE KINDRED
“Apparently his new queen wants to question you,” Knud added.
“Maybe she’ll be willing to negotiate for the ring herself.”
Belphagor almost laughed; a command performance for the
queen of Heaven. Not quite the outcome he’d planned.
He suspected the Seraphim might be too stupid to see the
brilliance of his offer. Their job was to destroy the grand duchess, and bringing back the ring would have been unquestionable proof that
they’d done so. In dallying so long in the world of Man, the Seraphim
had tipped off the principality that something was amiss.
Belphagor sighed. “I gather your people are pressing for Option
A.”
Knud gave him an apologetic shrug.
“What about my safety? I didn’t come here for the fond memories.
It’s the only place safe from the Seraphim. The minute I’m in their
‘custody,’ they’ll grill me like shashlik.”
“They’re already in trouble with the
crown. They aren’t going to
jeopardize their position just to take revenge on you.”
Belphagor wasn’t so sure. Crossing his arms, he nodded to the
guard who’d given him the five-minute warning. “What assurance do
I have this queen will give a damn what condition I’m in when they
deliver me? I don’t like this. Kresty is the only advantage I have.”
“They suggested to me,” said Knud with obvious discomfort, “that
you either come with them or die here. They have agents inside who
can see that it’s done, and not quickly.”
“Shit.” He’d bluffed that if they didn’t agree to his terms, he’d
confess to crimes even the Seraphim’s influence couldn’t get him out
of. He’d remain in Kresty, beyond their reach, and they’d never find
the ring or the girl. They’d humored him thus far, but it was not in the nature of the Seraph to take losing to a demon gracefully. Pushing
them any further would seal his fate. They’d call his bluff and see to it he was detained here indefinitely.
He’d considered this possibility one worth risking; at least the
ring would no longer be able to lead them to Vasily and the angel.
But Belphagor had gotten Knud entangled in this, and by extension,
the entire gypsy race. Potential consequences of Belphagor’s actions
might sunder an alliance between the Travelers and the Fallen that
THE FALLEN QUEEN 143
had lasted millennia. Naturally, there were gypsy agents willing to
take him out. If their people lost immunity with the Seraphim, all hell would break loose, as the saying went.
“Time,” snapped the guard. It was indeed.
“Tell them I agree.”
The Seraphim’s intercession on his behalf, however, was several
days in coming. They had influence with certain earthly powers, but
due to the nature of their relations with humans, dealing with the
Seraphim was little different than dealing with the Russian bureaucracy.
Belphagor’s luck had run out, where Kresty was concerned.
The welfare of prisoners had never been a great concern under any
incarnation of the Russian government. The red-brick complex of two
cross-shaped buildings on the bank of the River Neva wasn’t designed
for the population inhabiting it now, and overcrowding was the least
of its problems, though it contributed to the worst. Twelve men were