From the dacha’s kitchen, Love would continue scouring the world
for allies, just a text message away on the phones she’d supplied them.
He stared in surprise when Dmitri himself showed up at the
restaurant. Vasily hadn’t known whom they were meeting, and he
realized this had been the Exiles’ failsafe. If someone else had appeared in Vasily’s place, Dmitri and his companion would have turned around
and walked out with no one the wiser. The Nephil who accompanied
him was a tall woman of West African descent who introduced herself
as Vashti and spoke with a British accent. Since Knud was fluent in the angelic tongue, they were able to speak freely once they’d scanned the room and ensured there was no hidden radiance.
“Thank you for coming,” said Vasily. “This is Knud of the
Copenhagen Roma.”
“We know what he is,” said Vashti, as if she found his presence
distasteful.
Vasily ignored her. “I understood the Grigori chieftain was
meeting us.”
“That’s right.” Dmitri smiled.
“You’re the chieftain?” Belphagor had always said Dmitri had
“connections,” though he’d been vague about their nature, but Vasily
had expected the leader of such an arcane and venerable group to be
somehow more impressive. Dmitri and his partner Lev were not much
older than himself. They’d lived humbly when Vasily had known them,
and there’d been no indication Dmitri wielded any kind of power or
authority.
Dmitri shrugged. “It’s not information we generally make known
unless it needs to be.”
“We should get down to business,” said Vashti.
Despite the Nephil’s impatience, Dmitri paused to give the
sommelier an order for two bottles of pinot noir. He turned to Vasily
with a pleasant but impersonal smile. “So what can I help you with?”
Vasily rubbed his palms against his thighs. Now that he knew
who Dmitri was, he felt like a poor relation begging money. “As I
mentioned, Belphagor has gotten himself into a bit of trouble. He’s—
temporarily—in the queen’s employ in Elysium.” He braced himself
for Dmitri’s surprise and disapproval.
THE FALLEN QUEEN 251
“Yes, we’re aware of that. What exactly would you like us to do
about it?”
Vasily was momentarily thrown by the calm response. “Nothing.
I mean, you don’t need to do anything. I just need to know how to get
into Heaven.”
The sommelier arrived with the wine.
Dmitri sampled, gave a nod of approval, and waited until the man
had poured the wine and left before continuing. “What do you expect
to do once you get to Heaven?”
“Get Belphagor out,” said Vasily. “I’m sure I can enlist a few
demons in Elysium to help.”
Vashti laughed. Vasily pushed up his glasses, fuming behind them,
but she was clearly unimpressed.
Dmitri leaned back in his chair. “Vasily, I’m not sure you
understand what you’re asking.”
“Then why don’t you enlighten me? Belphagor asked for sanctuary
last year and you denied him. I suppose you had your reasons, but if
you’d helped him then, he wouldn’t have gotten into this mess. All I’m asking for is a key to get into Heaven.”
“I’m sure Belphagor has told you that we don’t get involved in
celestial affairs.”
“I’m not asking you to get involved!” Vasily nearly rose from his
chair in frustration, but Dmitri held up his hand.
“Hear me out. There’s been troubling news lately that makes
this an unusual situation. Our sources indicate that Belphagor is
caught in the middle of two opposing forces. The queen is intent on
remaking Heaven and reasserting its authority below. A terrestrial
sphere overrun by Malakim and Seraphim is not a pleasant prospect.
In the celestial sphere, she’s been systematically isolating the demonic communities from one another. We hear there are camps throughout
Heaven where she’s begun to intern the demons.”
Vasily frowned. “And the other force?”
brewing since long before Aeval came to power.”
Vasily shook his head. “Demons have been trying to foment a
rebellion as long as I’ve been alive. I’ve spent a fair amount of time
252 JANE KINDRED
among the Liberationists. All they do is talk.”
“Well, they’re talking revolution now,” said Dmitri. “Normally,
that would be no concern of ours. Heaven wanted nothing to do
with us, including the Fallen who chose to live there. But with Aeval
threatening the terrestrial sphere, we have to take the rumors on
both sides very seriously. We take no official position on a celestial revolution. However, as the highest terrestrial authority among the
Fallen, I’m prepared to mount a full resistance to any attempt by
Heaven to assert its rule here.
“The difficulty your dilemma presents is that Belphagor is in the
thick of things, and the celestial Fallen are reluctant to trust him. He’s considered an opportunist and not a loyalist. Apparently, he has a
position of privilege in the palace, though he’s been in contact with a few Fallen servants involved in the movement.”
“I know it doesn’t look good, but Belphagor would never
participate in or profit from the oppression of his own kind,” Vasily
insisted. “He’s loyal to a fault.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Dmitri agreed. “I’ve vouched for you
both. And there are others who’ve had past associations with him in
the zona who will always have his back. We believe he’s being held against his will.”
“They didn’t have his back during his last term in Kresty,” said
Knud, quiet until now.
Dmitri looked at him for the first time. “I beg your pardon?”
“Last fall, in Kresty. When did they have his back?”
“We didn’t come here to be lectured by a gypsy.” Vashti pushed
back her chair. Her nephilic radiance flared, a gold arcing across her ebony skin.
“No, no.” Dmitri put out his hand toward her. “We agreed to meet
with them both. If Knud has something to say, let’s hear it.”
“I’m sorry.” Knud gave Vasily an apologetic look. “This has been
bothering me for a while. I suppose because I’m responsible for
getting Belphagor inside. But he was on his own in there. I thought,
and I believe he thought, he’d have his family on the inside to keep
the situation from getting too bad.” Knud picked up his glass of
water and avoided Vasily’s gaze. “Sometime between completing my
THE FALLEN QUEEN 253
negotiations with the Seraphim and Belphagor’s release, someone
got to him. It looked like he’d been used as a punching bag. I—” He
banged down his glass. “It’s those fucking tattoos.” His face flushed
with anger. “How did he get branded in the first place if his family
had his back? He has king-of-thieves tattoos up one side and sukas down the other. I’m surprised he wasn’t beaten to death the moment
he walked into Kresty.”
Dmitri nodded thoughtfully. “Belphagor has done time over a
&nbs
p; number of different… eras. Some of his tattoos are quite old. Stalinist, in fact.”
Knud snorted. “What do you mean, Stalinist? He can’t be more
than thirty-five.”
“You forget how the celestials age. The air, I’m told, is purer in
Heaven.”
Vasily was stunned. He’d known Belphagor was older, but he’d
thought only by a matter of years, not decades. “You’re telling me Bel was in the gulags?”
“Obviously, long before I knew him. As I understand it, he was
picked up for soliciting. Russia has never been a friendly place for our kind, but it was particularly bad then.”
By “our kind,” Vasily knew Dmitri didn’t mean Fallen.
“Belphagor fought his way to respect among the vory v zakone
eventually, but in the beginning, I’m sure it must have been… ” Dmitri paused as if the right word eluded him, and then said, “Hell.”
Belphagor had always been evasive about his tattoos. Vasily
had assumed Belphagor didn’t want to be reminded of his past
relationships. Only the ornate cross on his chest did he seem truly
proud to show off, and even that he wouldn’t explain. He always kept
his back turned away from Vasily when he undressed—frustrating for
a number of reasons.
“At any rate,” Dmitri said with a sigh, “you’re right, Knud. His
family let him down. That’s why we’re prepared to gather whatever
forces are needed.” His attention shifted to Vasily. “How many do you
think you’ll need?”
Vasily nearly choked on his wine. “How many do you have?”
The Grigori chuckled. “I can’t answer that. But I assure you we
254 JANE KINDRED
can meet any requirement you have.”
“A hundred, then.”
“Let’s make it two.”
Vasily stared, dumbfounded. Dmitri raised his wine goblet, clinked
their glasses together, and drank to the agreement.
“Before you get too excited about all this,” Vashti interrupted,
“there’s the other matter.”
Vasily swallowed his mouthful of wine. “What other matter?”
“We understand you aren’t just interested in breaking Belphagor
out of Heaven.” She gave him a stern look. “That there’s a honeydripper involved.” It was derogatory slang for an angel, implying they claimed to drip honey from their genitals.
Vasily flashed his own warning at her along his skin. “There is a
former noble. Her family was executed, and she’s been imprisoned.”
“Former noble or former supernal?” Vashti frowned. “I don’t see
how the squabbles of the ruling house are in any way our problem.
They can kill each other for all the Nephilim care.”
“She’s carrying my child,” Vasily hissed, his eyes hot behind his
spectacles.
“Oh, that’s brilliant. And disgusting.”
“And what do you call angels fornicating with humans?”
She threw down her napkin and stood. “This meeting is over.”
“Vashti, sit down.” Dmitri set his hand on her arm, and she shook
him off. “Please.”
Vashti stood a moment longer and then sat with resentment, her
pupils encircled in an angry gold ring. The Nephilim had relied on the Grigori for protection over the course of the millennia, and ultimately had to answer to them to maintain that bond. Nephilim who left the
insular clan and blended with the fully human population—some
claimed the Roma to be descendants of such an exodus—were cut off
from that kinship forever.
Dmitri set down his glass. “You must admit, Vasily, your situation
is somewhat different from our ancient history. You’re talking about
the velikaya knyazhna, aren’t you? The grand duchess of the House of Arkhangel’sk.”
Vasily folded his arms. “She’s under Belphagor’s protection.”
THE FALLEN QUEEN 255
“Pity that didn’t include a chastity belt,” said Vashti.
“Enough.” Dmitri’s voice boomed across the restaurant and drew
attention from the other patrons, and Vashti looked abashed. “I denied Belphagor’s request for sanctuary last year because troubling rumors
about the velikaya knyazhna were already circulating. We look out for the Fallen, not the Host.” When Vasily started to protest, Dmitri
added, “That includes the offspring of the Fallen.”
The Nephil gave a harsh laugh. “By all means. Bring the incubator
along. Incidentally, when is she due?”
Vasily glared and shrugged, having no idea about such matters.
Knud answered for him. “By my calculation? Now.”
§
Belphagor woke to the sound of his own moaning. Disoriented,
he was uncertain where he’d gone to sleep until he recognized the
House of Correction’s cold stone floor beneath his cheek. The beating
from the principality returned to him in a blaze of pain. It had been
expertly delivered. Under different circumstances, he might have been
impressed.
His mouth was dry, and there looked to be a cup of water near the
grate in the door. Glancing up produced such a rippling wave of agony
that he felt it might be better to die of thirst.
What an idiot he was. He’d been so close to securing Anazakia’s
freedom before her escape attempt and that damned wingcasting
game. He should have gotten word to her somehow. There were
sympathetic servants in the palace who were no friend to Kae or
Aeval and didn’t buy the story he’d supplied the queen. They’d
been prepared to smuggle Anazakia out if he could guarantee them
sanctuary in the world of Man. He’d only been awaiting word from the
underground—word he now knew would never have come. He had no
way of knowing whether any of his messages had made it through. He
could only hope the poor stable boy hadn’t given up the names of the
other servants Belphagor had recruited.
Belphagor decided to push through the pain for that cup of water
after all. His jailers hadn’t bothered to shackle him, thank Heaven for small mercies. He rose onto his knees with a shout of agony and made his way by careful, excruciating increments to the cup, only to find it empty.
256 JANE KINDRED
Dvadtsat Pyatoe: Confinement
from the memoirs of the Grand Duchess Anazakia
Helisonovna of the House of Arkhangel’sk
The queen sent the chambermaid I’d assaulted to attend me after
my ill-fated attempt to escape. Whether it was punishment for me or
for Inga, I wasn’t sure. My left wrist was shackled to the frame of the camp bed toward the wall, leaving my right hand free during the day.
Inga’s duty was to shackle this hand at night to the frame over my
head, which seemed to frighten her to no end, though I didn’t resist.
I apologized again for harming her, but she kept her head down and
said nothing.
Aeval’s threat to bring a doctor to cut me open and take the baby
from me had so far not materialized, but whenever the door opened, I
braced myself for a fight. Perhaps this accounted for Inga’s jumpiness.
Shortly, however, it became a moot point.
A dull pain, coming at regular intervals, awakened me in the
night. I had no experience with birth, but I knew instinctively what
this discomfort meant. I also remembered my mother had travailed
for many hours with Azel, and so I waited for morning when Inga
would come.
The pain had intensified by the time Inga arrived, and my
appearance seemed to frighten her. She hesitated with the key to
my shackle and then jumped back when I twisted against the latest
contraction.
“Please,” I said when it passed. “Unlock my wrist. I need the midwife.”
THE FALLEN QUEEN 257
Inga shook her head. I tried to sit up, but the position of my
shackles made this difficult. When I pulled myself upward, fluid rushed out between my legs. This I knew nothing at all about, and I screamed.
“Please. Help me, Inga.”
As I grew more frantic, she seemed calmer. “It’s your water’s
broke, miss. The baby’s coming.”
“Broke?” I cried, seized by more intense cramping.
“It’s supposed to break. How else can the baby get out?”
“I don’t know,” I said, gripped with panic. “I don’t know how it
gets out!”
“Well, you’ll soon find out, miss.” She went out and locked the
door. I screamed after her, to no avail. I heard her talking in low tones with the Ophanim in the hallway before she went away, perhaps to get
the midwife, but when an hour passed with no help coming, I shook
with fear. The pain was coming swiftly now, and I could barely change
position in the bed to try to accommodate it. My screaming eventually
brought someone to the door.
“What a fuss you’re making.” Aeval entered, fresh and pristine in
her usual snowy colors, while I was soaked with sweat and the pool of
fluid.
“I need the midwife,” I pleaded.
“Women delivered babies for thousands of years in the world
of Man without any assistance,” said Aeval. “Of course, half of those
probably died in the process.”
I moaned against another pain, and she smiled. “It sounds as
though it will be soon now. You’ll forgive me if I don’t stay. I don’t care for messes.” She turned to go, and I jerked against my shackles,
desperate even for her company.
“Please! At least unchain me. I can’t give birth like this.”
“Dear cousin. If only you had demonstrated trustworthiness
before. You have only yourself to blame.”
I screamed after her, this time with obscenities, and heard her
laughing before she disappeared down the corridor. I shut my eyes
against another gripping pain. When it finally subsided and I opened