The Lost Gods
Book Four: Poison
Nine gods ruled the world. The Dragons of the Three Storms. Sacred Zhar Ptitka. The Basilisk. The Faerie Queen and Guardians. Holy Licht.
Tragedy plagues the land of Verde. Over and over again the god are reborn as mortals, awaiting the sacred Ceremony that will restore their divinity - but every Ceremony ends in mysterious and violent murder.
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A Pegasus of silver-white wings to watch the East, a Unicorn with a horn of flashing gold to watch the West, and the shining Faerie Queen to unite them all.
~ From the History of Verde
The glade was situated at the farthest end of the property. No one but those
who had permission to be on the premises would even think to go close enough
to the glade to see it properly.
No one would ever actually enter it. The glade of sweet grass and a spring as pure and bright as crystal were used exclusively by his Grace.
Silvery moonlight spilled down from a clear, dark sky. Every last star was visible, an array of diamonds in finest velvet. The full moon was bright enough that travel was easy, even safe, for those that must journey.
In the distance was the manor, lights in nearly every window as the constant array of guests enjoyed the cool, bright spring night and servants raced about to accommodate them.
None of the noise reached the glade. There, all was still and quiet. Nothing but the gentle splash of water broke the silence, and the sound was almost painfully loud by contrast. After a moment, though, even the splashing ceased, and the figure at the edge of the spring made not a sound more as it lowered its head to drink.
The figure's coat was perfect white, as bright as the stars that shone above it. His mane and tail were just as white, the perfect color almost painful to stare at directly. It was a magnificent creature, perfectly made, no flaws apparent no matter how long they were looked for.
More impressive than even its coat, the sheer perfection of its form, was the shining, golden horn on its head. A sliver of sunlight that reminded the moon overhead it was only second best.
The air around it shifted, blurred, and suddenly a man stood at the edge of the spring.
He was just as beautiful to look upon. Even in the moonlight, his hair was a fine, rich gold, reminiscent of the shining horn. Nor could the night hide the way his skin was sun-kissed, making it warm rather than the stark white that had been the Unicorn's coat. He was dressed entirely in white, the clothes plain, simple. If he felt the slight chill in the air, he gave no indication, merely stood calmly at the edge of the water, watching the rippling reflection of the moon.
Abruptly he spun around, the tail of his hair whipping over his shoulder. His eyes locked upon a cluster of bushes on the far side of the spring, and he shifted effortlessly back into the Form of a Unicorn.
Who dares disturb me here?
All the world seemed to be crumbling around them - Storms raged out of control with the death of the Dragons of Kundou. The ground trembled and shook with the wrath of the Basilisk of Piedre, and upon the air all heard the dying cry of the Sacred Firebird of Pozhar.
The people of Verde turned to their own gods for help and protection, hiding away and offering prayers or fleeing to the manors of their sacred protectors, the White Beasts, even to the castles of the Most Holy Guardians, the Pegasus and Unicorn.
Upon reaching their homes however, the people found them abandoned.
They began to fear.
Where, in this greatest hour of need, were those who were sworn to protect the people of Verde, the beloved children of the Faerie Queen.
In growing fear, those who were able traveled to the holy city of the Faerie Queen herself, to the palace itself, only to find no one there to greet them.
Onward the people went, fear turning to terror, for what could possibly cause their gods to vanish so? Surely the Faerie Queen and Guardians were not so easily defeated as the other gods? Refusing to believe such a thing possible, the people dared to enter those chambers which were forbidden to mortals.
In the Ceremony Chamber a terrible sight met their eyes. Immediately the people began to sob, falling to their knees in anguish and disbelief, clinging to one another, refusing to accept what was before them.
They were dead - the Faerie Queen and Guardians lay covered in blood, bodies fallen haphazardly across the room. Worse still, it looked as though they had killed one another. Each bore marks that could only have been inflicted by the others - knife wounds, places where hooves had crushed bone, marred flesh, the terrible holes where a horn had gouged.
Two other bodies lay in the room - one was clearly, by his coloring and clothing, a Sacred Beast. The other no one recognized, but they too had been killed in whatever fury had driven the three gods, who loved each other deeply and truly, to kill one another.
For what reason had this tragedy occurred, the people wondered. As often as they asked the questions, as hard as they looked for answers, the riddle was never solved.
Solemnly, sadly, the people buried their gods. All around them they could feel the difference in the world…as though most of its heart had died or been taken away. All that remained to remind them of the happier times when their shining Highlands had been ruled by magnificent, loving gods was the ability to assume Forms -the ability to turn into an animal, a gift from their gods that their children might always be close to the world that was created for them.
Years, decades passed, and the people slowly learned to live without their gods.
Then, one day, a young girl was born - on her back were delicate, shimmering wings, every conceivable color visible in them when the sun struck just so.
Could it be? Was it possible, the people wondered, that their gods were attempting to return?
They realized quickly that the miraculous child's best friends - a boy and a girl - had Forms never seen in mortals. One turned into a Pegasus with shining silver-white wings, the other into a unicorn with a horn of flashing gold.
Their gods were, indeed, trying to reclaim their power.
Excited, the people changed their lives once again, adjusting it to suit the return of their lost gods…and one by one twelve men and women stepped forward, their Forms those of animals with flawless white coats. The missing Beasts were returned at last, to stand before their gods and serve them by protecting the people.
Eagerly, the people awaited the day of the sacred Ceremony, when the Faerie Queen and Guardians cast their renewing spells, ensuring health and life for all their country, all their children, all the world. Surely on this day, these mortal incarnations would ascend to their true godhood.
On the day of the Ceremony, the reborn Queen and Guardians vanished into the sacred chambers that had not been opened for nearly a hundred years.
Hours passed, and then a day, and the people began to wonder if something had gone wrong.
When half a day more had passed, several finally broke into the chamber to make certain all was well…
Only to find the tragedy of long ago repeated - the Queen and Guardians dead, slain by one another, a Beast and unknown figure also victims in the terrible killings.
In despair, the people once more buried their would-be gods.
Another decade passed, and three children were born - a girl with shimmering wings, and two who would eventually become the Pegasus and Unicorn.
Over and over, through the years, the tragedy is repeated, Verde trapped in a vicious cycle, and no explanation ever discovered…
Part One
Twelve Great Beasts were created to watch the vast territories of the Faerie Queen; six to the East, six to the West. Perfect white coats to mark them, and magic unsurpassed to protect the children of Verde.
~ From the History of Verde
"They're all here. I can scarcely believe it."
Laughter erupted around the room. "If you'd hired us from the start, Lord Kitty, we would have been finished a lot sooner. Boss would have been in a better mood for longer, too."
"You say that, Gleb, and yet you're always doing your scorching best to put me in a bad mood."
Gleb grinned. "We're mercs, boss. Living dangerously is the job."
"Teasing you is hard to resist, Vanya."
The room filled with laughter again. Ivan rolled his eyes and shoved Gleb off his stool. He glared at the man who had said teasing him was hard to resist. "You are supposed to take my side, Ailill. Not theirs."
My mistake," Ailill said with a grin, winking when Ivan only rolled his eyes again. He turned to the other seven men as they continued to laugh uproariously. "Do keep in mind while you're incurring your boss's wrath that I'd prefer not to get kicked out here. I would like not to sleep on the ground tonight."
Beside Gleb, Karp snickered. "Yes, your lordship."
Ailill glared.
"I mean, yes your catship."
"Children," Ivan said with another roll of his eyes. "Luka, find something for them to do."
Luka smiled and merely continued to sharpen his dagger. "I don't believe we've made fun of the boss for the fish incident."
"Hey!" Ivan all but shouted as his men dissolved again into raucous laughter. He shoved Gleb and Karp, sending them spilling into Ferapont and Maksim, all four crashing loudly to the floor at Luka's feet. "Fire and ash, you lot will drive a man to drink."
"We could use some more ale," Maksim said thoughtfully as he untangled himself and stood up. "I'll go get it."
Ailill chuckled softly, tucking a strand of pale hair behind his ear. He reached out and grasped the front of Ivan's shirt, dragging him close and kissing him hard, laughing at the noise and taunts that erupted from the mercs. "I truly need to keep the lot of you separated. I cannot wait to set you loose in Verde…even if it means that I must reassume my role here."
Ivan pushed off from where he'd been leaning against the wall and wrapped his arms around Ailill. The embrace immediately eased Ailill's tension, Ivan able to soothe and comfort him as no one else ever had. He turned around in Ivan's arms and wrapped his own tightly around Ivan's neck, closing the space between them to steal a long, slow kiss.
"I think the boss likes showing off," Luka said in a false whisper.
Ferapont snorted. "What do you mean 'think'? We know he likes showing off. Don't know why. If I was bedding a cat, I'd keep it low key."
Isidor imitated the snort. "If you managed to bed anything at all, you'd be shouting it from the roof tops."
"Fire and ash!" Ferapont launched himself at Isidor. The two men wrestled, mindless of the chaos - until they knocked hard into the table and sent the items on top of it tumbling to the floor.
Everything went still.
"Oops?" Ferapont said sheepishly as they all scrambled to retrieve the dropped objects.
"Children," Ailill said with a chuckle. He carefully set the objects back on their velvet beds.
The first was a heavy necklace, six strings of pearl and onyx beads. They gleamed in the light of the old oil lamps in two corners of the room. Next was a delicate-looking comb made from precious Highland silver. All along the top were jeweled roses, the petals made from rubi, the leaves made from esmeralda, with gold to form the vines and thorns. The third piece was a delicate diadem made entirely of diamonds set into Highland silver. Fourth was a bracelet of fiery rubi interspersed with bright amber, set in heavy gold. Last was a fan carved from delicate wood, covered in silk and decorated with sapphir, esmeralda, and pearls. "I cannot believe I have finally obtained them all," Ailill said softly as he carefully wrapped up each piece and stowed them away in a small chest.
"I wish we knew why they're so important," Gleb said.
Ailill shrugged. "Her Majesty did not tell me. She only bid me find them. Perhaps she will explain their importance upon our return."
"So tomorrow we're being set loose upon Verde?" Isidor asked as he sat down on the floor, stretching his long legs out and crossing his arms over his chest.
"Unfortunately," Ailill said. "I will say for the last time that you would be much better off fleeing back to Pozhar. Verde is…complicated. I…" he shrugged. "You already know what I am. I will have to be that here, and that will change a lot of things." He looked glumly at the table, the chest which hid the jewels he'd spent so many years trying to find.
Warm lips pressed soothingly to his throat. "Worrying and fretting do not suit you."
Ailill shook his head. "I am not worrying, Vanya. I am dreading."
"Ah. Well, that doesn't suit you either."
Chuckling, Ailill turned his head to steal another kiss, Ivan's short-cropped beard scraping lightly against his own smooth skin. He loved it, loved that a man who most said looked so ominous was always so calm. Gentle, despite the hardness that occasionally appeared in steel-blue eyes, the scars and lines that practically screamed he was and had always lived a mercenary life.
Ailill had been interested, obsessed, from the first night they'd met.
"Look on the bright side, your lordship," Karp said with a grin, interrupting Ailill's wandering thoughts. "You're home, mission complete, and that means you've probably earned a break. Things should be nice and quiet for us, at least for a bit."
Ailill shook his head. "Quiet is not a word that will ever be used to describe Verde, for any reason."
Ivan chuckled. "Then at least my men will not be the noisiest in the room for once."
"Don't underestimate us, boss," Gleb said with a shameless grin. "No one is going to best us for noisiest without a fight. Plus, we have Lord Kitty on our side."
"Yeah," Isidor agreed. "I bet that means we can get away with a lot more."
Ivan narrowed his eyes. "You will behave."
"As much as we can, boss," Luka said calmly, sheathing his dagger as he finished sharpening it. "That's only so much, but you know us."
Ivan smiled. "I do."
Further conversation paused as the door opened, and Maksim reappeared with enough ale to last them the whole of the night.
"Did you empty the tavern, Maksim?" Gleb asked, getting up to help him, the contrast between his own diminutive size and Maksim's towering frame almost amusing.
Maksim laughed. "Nearly."
Ivan shook his head. "If you are lot are going to get drunk, I am going to find some fresh air and leave you to it."
His men chuckled and leered. "Yes, I bet Lord Kitty does as well."
"Yes, I do," Ailill said, matching their leers, moving so that he could slide a hand down Ivan's back, brush briefly across his ass. "Come Vanya, let's go get some fresh air." He chuckled at Ivan's sudden embarrassment, always amused at the things which flustered his mercenary lover. Grasping Ivan's hand, calling a farewell to the group already working hard at getting drunk, he led Ivan out of the room, down the stairs and into the streets below.
They could have gone home tonight. He'd had word sent to his home that he would be returning…he'd told them tomorrow, however, and Ivan and his group did not ask when he got them a simple room just beyond the harbors in which to spend the night. Never had they cared about his noble status - using it only as yet another way to harass him as they did Ivan, their favorite being to call him 'Lord Kitty.'
So rather than in the part of town where he should be, surrounded by luxury, he held Ivan's hand and led them at a leisurely pace through portions of the city he had always preferred to those in which he, as the White Panther, 'belonged.'
Ailill stifled a sigh as they walked along the cobblestone streets.
He loved his homeland, truly he did. Verde was in his blood, in his heart. Still...now he would no longer be Ailill. He would be the Marquis Ailill le Blanc, White Panther of the Third Province of the West. Not once in his life had he ever felt as though he belonged in that role. His happiest days now were spent with Ivan and his men - or simply with Ivan, walking as they were now or finding a bit of privacy.
He slid a glance at Ivan, who walked silently beside him, eyes riveted to the surroundings -- even in the poorer districts, the houses were drastically different than what Ivan was used to in Pozhar, far different from the delicate-looking houses of Kundou, the heavy stonework of Piedre.
Everything in Verde was meant to be, for lack of a better word, pretty. Not necessarily in a delicate or simpering way, but it wasn't the strong, bright work of Pozhar, that was for certain. From silver to woodwork to the simplest homespun cloth, Verde preferred things look good.
Queen spare him, he did not want to give up his comfortable clothes. Just thinking of what his valet would shortly be forcing him into gave him a headache. Already he could hear Ivan laughing...or worse turning away, maybe thinking that something so snooty looking wasn't worth his time.
Hiding his worries, burying them as he always did, Ailill pressed a soft, affectionate kiss to Ivan's cheek, smiling at the way the man still seemed so surprised by such simple gestures. "What do you think, Vanya?"
"I think we're out of place," Ivan said, but with a smile. "You're the Beast, but I certainly look and feel like rather I am."
Ailill frowned. "You're not out of place." He stopped them in the middle of the street and stole a hard kiss, and though he would have done so in broad daylight he was grateful it was dark and the street deserted, lit only by a few scattered lights. "Together is right where we're supposed to be, right?"
"Of course," Ivan replied, his fond smile doing wonders to his otherwise severe features -- more than a few people in their travels had thought Ivan evil looking. Ailill didn't see it. Ivan always looked stern, but evil? Ridiculous. Ailill stole another kiss, a quick grope, and then resumed their walk, not letting go of the hand he still held.
Come morning he'd have to resign himself and reassume all the duties he'd gladly left behind. Tonight, however, he could be just Ailill, a giant white cat and loved by the most wonderful man in the world.
Hopefully, that last wouldn't change when Ivan saw him as a Marquis. Ailill forced his thoughts to stop turning morose and started looking for a good spot to-
The scent caught him too late, and he turned around just in time to catch the force that slammed into him, snarling as he shifted instinctively from man to cat, his yowl of outrage shattering the still night.
Distantly he heard Ivan's startled exclamation, demands to stop, to know what was going on.
He snarled again and scrambled free of the creature that had knocked him down. The creature that had pounced him.
In all the provinces, there was only one person who had the nerve to pounce the White Panther. Growling, Ailill threw his assailant off, then tense and lunged for him, meeting his opponent head on, falling into a tangle of claws and teeth and yowling. At last, after several minutes of tussling, Ailill pinned his opponent and growled a victory. His opponent growled softly back, sounding more amused than apologetic.
Giving one last growl of warning, Ailill backed off and stalked over to Ivan, twining around his Vanya, nuzzling, growling softly when Ivan knelt and pet him, stroked his ears, dragged his fingers roughly but so pleasantly through his fur. He licked Vanya's face and quickly backed away before his sputtering lover could get him back. He turned back to his opponent.
The black panther sat licking his paws as though it were the most normal thing in the world to pounce the White Panther in the middle of the night.
Ailill shifted back and glared. "Noire."
Yawning wide, the other cat gave an indelicate snort and shifted. The man that stood in place of the cat was tall and lanky, and Ailill knew that in good light his eyes would be pale blue, skin tanned dark by the sun. It was impossible to tell the color of his clothes in the weak light of the torches, but his grin was obvious. "I heard a rumor that a particular kitty kitty had returned to Verde. I've been prowling all night, figured you wouldn't jump right into things. Your dearly devoted await you with bated breath."
"Who are you?" Ivan demanded, his voice and manner all business, one hand on his sword.
Ailill stepped close and soothingly covered Ivan's hand with his own - perhaps the only person who could get away with such a move. "Vanya, this is an old acquaintance - Noire Chevalier, messenger to her Grace the Grand Duchess Frederique Levesque, Protectorate and Guardian Prospective of the West...also known as my immediate superior. The Duchess, not Noire here."
Noire sniffed. "You could have said you were my friend."
Ailill smirked. "That would be lying."
"You wound me."
"Hardly. Why are you out here, Noire? I would have thought you'd be with Freddie."
Noire shrugged and moved closer, and Ailill was astonished to see how tired and strained he looked. "I've been busy, and things haven't gotten better while you were gone."
"I never thought they would," Ailill said with a sigh.
"So who's your severe looking man? Bring home a lover? A foreigner?" Noire looked Ivan slowly up and down. "Fighting being nobility every step of the way, aren't you? But he definitely has the look and smell of a keeper."
"Thank you," Ailill said dryly, gripping Ivan's arm to keep him still. "We're staying at the Sinking Ship. Come with us -- you can meet Ivan's team and fill me in before I'm forced back into that nobility I hate so much. How's Freddie?"
"Freddie," Noire replied. His eyes flicked briefly to Ivan, then back to Ailill. "Let's go talk. I'm glad you're home, Ailill, even if you're not."
Ailill smiled faintly. "I am glad to be home…I just…well, you know."
"Yeah," Noire said, then shrugged and joined them, slinking up to Ivan's left as Ailill was on his right. "So who are you, my handsome, sort of ominous friend?"
Ivan rolled his eyes. "I know I am not that much to look upon, but surely I am not so terrible as to be ominous."
Ailill let go of his arm to run his fingers up and then back down Ivan's spine. "I think you're quite fine to look upon."
"So that is the way the flower blooms," Noire said with a smile that shone through his exhaustion. "I am happy for you, Ailill. When you left, I feared the solitude would eventually be too much for you."
"It nearly was," Ailill said quietly. "Luckily, Pozhar had everything I could ever want." He tangled his fingers with Ivan's and squeezed his hand lightly. "Everything and more." Hopefully what he was would not drive his lover and friends away - he had seen it happen too many times before not to fear the same would befall him.
Noire murmured a soft acknowledgement of his words, obviously lost in thought. Then he shook his head, as if clearing it, and turned to Ailill as a different thought suddenly took hold. "So was your oh so secret mission successful?"
"I am not at liberty to say and you know it."
"Yes, my lord," Noire said, flashing a grin.
Ailill sighed and did not reply as they reached the Sinking Ship. Inside, he spoke briefly with the innkeeper, and almost immediately they were ushered into a private room. "Drinks?" he asked.
"Yes, please," Noire said. "Something strong."
"Of course," Ailill said, and handed over a handful of coins to the innkeeper, who bustled off looking extremely pleased for someone being made to fetch food and drink at such a late hour. "Tell me something happy, before we get into the grim stuff."
Noire shrugged. "In your province? There was a marriage recently, a fox to a rabbit. Everyone is placing bets on what the children will be, and love to make jokes about the fox being scared of his rabbit wife." A brief smile. "Your valet is still a terror."
Ailill rolled his eyes. "Andre will always be a terror. I just know he's plotting something particularly evil for my return."
"I do believe the butler was screeching at him about the cost of lace."
"Oh, no," Ailill said, blanching. "I told you to tell me happy things."
Noire grinned, looking very much like a pleased cat. "I am quite happy."
Ivan chuckled, sliding a look at Ailill. "I like seeing you harassed rather than me."
"I can always go rouse your men," Ailill threatened. "They would get along famously with Noire."
Noire laughed, but his response died as the innkeeper returned with a laden tray. She set it down on the table with a heavy thunk and neatly set out two small platters of food, a small decanter of dark, Piedren cognac and a bottle of a local Verde red wine. "Enjoy, gentlemen."
"Thank you," Ailill replied. Silence reigned as they helped themselves to the bread and fruit. Ailill poured wine for himself and Ivan while Noire helped himself to the cognac. "So let us have the news, Noire."
"Nothing other than what you would expect, really," Noire said with a shrug, pausing briefly to take a healthy swallow of cognac. He set the glass down with a clink. "Everyone is tense…no…more accurate to say everyone is insane." He raked a hand through his short, thick hair, skewing it almost comically. Absently, as if by habit, he combed his hand back through, settling the short, straight strands mostly back into place. "Not that they can be blamed, not with the Ceremony so close."
"That is what you told us about before?" Ivan asked.
Ailill nodded. "Yes. It is only three months away now."
"Three months and six days," Noire said. "I both wish the day would come and wish never to see it."
A somber silence fell as they all considered the weight of what would be happening in just three short months. Not once had the Ceremony ever come to pass. If a solution that had eluded Verde for a thousand years was not found in three months…
"I am sure you have already considered it, Ailill, but I will say it anyway - nearly everyone believes her Majesty sent you on a quest that might be, or at least be a part of, a way for the tragedy not to repeat itself yet again…"
Ailill nodded. "I know that is what people will think. I will tell you honestly I do not understand my mission, though I of course did my duty. She told me only what to look for, not why. I know as much as anyone, when it comes to what matters."
"I see," Noire said, sipping at his cognac. Though he gave no reaction, Ailill could see he was disappointed. Everyone would be pressing him so, and Ailill did not know what to tell them…that he had been sent to find five pieces of old jewelry? That did not even seem to hold any magic?
He did not understand why years of his life had gone toward the mission, only that his Queen had bid him do it. He hoped, at least as much as everyone else if not more, for all the work he had put into it, that he did indeed possess some clue to the tragedy that always struck at the Ceremony.
If it were that easy, however, someone else would have done it a long time ago. Rather than voice his doubts, however, Ailill merely refilled his and Ivan's wine glasses and took a generous sip. "What else, Noire?"
"Freddie is more mercurial than ever. Verenne…" he shrugged. "Verenne is as angry and heartbroken as ever. I think…I think claws will come out before matters are truly settled."
Ailill grimaced. "I do not want to see matters become that heated."
"As I said, it may be all that will work. The others are not certain which one they would prefer to kill." Noire finished his cognac and poured a second glass. "I have to go the Golden Palace tomorrow."
"Why?" Ailill asked. He turned to Ivan. "The Golden Palace is where his Grace the Grand Duke Gael d'Hiver of Levant, Protectorate and Guardian Prospective of the East resides. Freddie - the Grand Duchess - resides in the Silver Palace."
Noire shrugged and swirled his drink around the glass, eyes distant for a minute. "The usual," he finally said, tapping a finger briefly to his head. Meaning he was carrying a private message from Freddie to the Grand Duke. Such messages no one trusted written down.
It had caused a furor that had yet to entirely die down that the Grand Duchess had chosen a mere peasant - from the Border Mountains no less - to be her messenger. That wasn't all Noire did, merely the most public of his positions. More than likely, he was quietly investigating something for Freddie while ostensibly delivering a private message.
So close to the ceremony, everyone expected betrayal from everyone else - and as Noire said, who could truly blame any of them? For too long the mysterious tragedy had been played out. No one wanted to see it happen again…the Great Beasts did not want to mysteriously vanish, no doubt dead somewhere, while the Queen and Guardians yet again failed to ascend to their true power.
"If you have to be on your way in the morning, why are you still awake and prowling the streets for someone you would see soon enough?"
Noire's mouth twisted in a smile so sad and bitter it wrenched Ailill's stomach. "I have missed having a friend. Though on that note, I probably should be going. Speaking with his Grace when less than completely alert is a bad idea."
"As you have no doubt learned the hard way," Ailill said with a smile.
Noire flashed a tired but genuine grin. "Several times. I am happy to see you, Ailill. Master Ivan, a pleasure to meet you. Take care of each other…" He looked like he wanted to say more, but at the last merely shook his head, finished his cognac, then stood and with a last farewell departed.
Ivan frowned. "He is deeply troubled."
"He is a peasant who works for the second most powerful woman in the country, with a Form more powerful than most of the noble class. He is trusted where none of that nobility is, and they never let him forget that he does not belong with them." Ailill shifted agitatedly. "It is just one example of a problem that plagues my home. Everyone is pinning their hopes on the Ceremony to solve most of them…I do not know what will happen if all fails yet again…and I am no different from the others. I do not want to die, especially because everything fails."
Ivan covered Ailill's hand where it rested on the table, and leaned in to kiss him. "Pozhar was not burned to the ground, surely that means there is hope for Verde."
"You come from the land of prophecy; I will hope your words are one." Ailill yawned and stood. "Come, it's time for bed…and I was smart enough to rent a second for you and I." He held his hand out to Ivan, who took it, chucking softly, and allowed Ailill to lead them to bed.
Noire woke with a groan, most displeased that morning was already intruding
upon his sleep. He looked up briefly and turned his head toward the window
- no light spilled through the curtains, which meant it was entirely too early
to be awake.
Unfortunately, he had a four hour journey ahead of him.
If he traveled in the civilized manner, it would take even longer - what was the point of having his Form if he did not use it to make life easier?
Of course, thoughts like that were what made his life so difficult. Well, he would not change them. If the oh so noble lords and ladies wanted to waste their days with broken carriage wheels and horses, let them.
He dropped his head back into his pillow, loathe to leave his soft, warm
bed for sour faces and a tiring trip that would probably only end in more
sour faces.
Hopefully, it would end far more pleasantly than that, but after two months
of nothing but going back and forth he wasn't getting his hopes up.
Ruthlessly he shoved away the pain and longing - it was only two months, he shouldn't be so knotted up and unhappy. They still saw each other. Noire knew he was loved, had he not been told a thousand times? Said the same himself?
Except the words were only ever said in secret, safely away from prying eyes and ears…
Obviously he wasn't going back to sleep. Muttering curses, Noire sat up and threw off his blankets, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Muscle rippled as he stretched, the man as lithe and graceful as the cat. He rolled his neck to work out the stiffness there, then stood up and stretched his entire body, a groan mixing with his yawn.
Moving to a small table, he set to shaving and forcing order to his hair before crossing the room to his dressing room.
Perhaps everyone else thought he deserved to be in the lowest parts of the city, but Freddie had always assured he was the equal, even better, of anyone in the Silver Palace. As if to infuriate them, which would perfectly in keeping with her style, Freddie had given him a set of rooms on the same hall as her own. Her public reason was so that her messenger was always close, should something urgent come up in the night, but everyone knew she was just snubbing her nose at every angry lord and lady offended by his presence.
Noire frowned over his clothing, deliberating heavily over what to wear. Sadly, no matter what he wore he would be horribly out of fashion - a stupid detail, but one of those that only acerbated the problems weighing down upon him.
Unfortunately, he was a quarter Piedren - common in the Border Mountains, but held against him everywhere else in Verde. It meant his coloring was unusually dark. His hair was black, unheard of in Verde except around the Border Mountains, and his skin tended to darken easily in the sun. His pale blue eyes were one hundred percent Verden, but that never seemed to matter.
The fashion was for light and pale colors, minus the Great Beasts and Guardians Prospective who always wore white. Noire grinned briefly, thinking of how much Ailill was going to hate the de rigueur white shortly going to be foisted upon him.
It was a pity he didn't have more time to spend with Ailill…it cheered him immensely just to know that he now had someone who would acknowledge him in public when there were no duties dictating he must…someone who would invite him places and want to do so.
Noire shook his head and focused once more on clothing. He was going to see the Grand Duke and deliver a message about the increasing tension. Given the number of sessions going on, to keep those rising tensions at bay, he would probably just be sent into the primary hall rather than wait for his Grace to be available in one of the smaller audience chambers.
That of course meant his usual semi-formal attire would not suffice. In this case, only full formal would do. Anything less was insufficient for the primary halls. The proper, fashionable colors were creams, pale blue or green, even light yellow for those who could manage it.
Noire could manage maybe the blue, but he hated how idiotic it looked - especially with the requisite lace and frippery. He was not Freddie or Ailill, who could be taken seriously while wearing such nonsense. He was not like the various lords and ladies who deluded themselves into thinking they could be taken seriously while wearing such nonsense.
So, in proper and continuing defiance of all his 'betters' nearly all of Noire's clothes were black. A few pieces were dark blue, even fewer in deep browns.
The offended looks he always received upon entering a room almost made up for the lack of welcoming smiles.
He hoped he had a warm welcome at the end of this day, for he was desperately in need of it, if his thoughts were constantly plummeting from the moment he woke. Sighing softly at himself, Noire finally began to dress - black superfine breeches, over which he would put his high boots, the ones that stopped just above his knees. Black linen shirt and a matching jacket of brushed velvet. Thin bands of silver trimmed the ends of the sleeves, the bottom of the jacket and around the stiff collar. From a small drawer he pulled a black silk neck cloth, not needing the mirror to tie it into a simple, elegant knot. Silver cuffs and cravat pin were the final touch. He touched his fingers lightly to the cravat pin, which was molded into a simple teardrop shape.
It makes your eyes look almost silver, Kitten.
Need burned through him, mingling with the more familiar longing for something he'd probably never have - but he'd promised to stop pushing. He'd been promised one day everything would change.
He just wished that one day would come sooner. Secrecy was only what he was paid to do…he didn't like having to be secret about everything.
Shaking his head, giving up on dredging up a good mood, Noire resigned himself to being morose and sat down in his reading chair to tug on his high boots. Laborious task completed, he shrugged into his jacket and finally looked himself over in the floor-length mirror shoved off into one corner of the room.
He strode to the door, but hesitated with one hand on the handle. What if
he wasn't coming back tonight? He probably would, but there was always the
hope…in which case he would need clothes for tomorrow…
Calling himself every manner of fool, Noire turned back and swiftly packed
an overnight bag, making certain that it would be easy to carry while in his
Form. Finally ready, he locked his bedroom door behind him, handed his pack
to a passing servant to put by the main doors for him, then strode through
lavishly decorated blue, white, and silver halls toward the breakfast room.
It was early, meaning very few people were awake. As he entered the simple but richly appointed breakfast room, Noire was relieved to see that only Freddie and the Marquis Ciel Baudin, the White Hawk, were awake.
Baudin did not like him, but he was respectful of Noire's position - and no one would be rude to him if Freddie was in the room.
Frederique Levesque, Grand Duchess of Ouest, Protectorate and Guardian Prospective of the West, all of those by right of her Form, the Pegasus. No woman, except the Queen herself, was more loved and feared.
She was dressed in white and silver, which somehow managed to work with her fair skin and white-blond hair. One of the few in the Court of the Faerie Queen who could actually manage to wear that much white. Her outfit was severe, a high collar and silver buttons running all down the front, the coat coming to a point over the top of her long, full skirt. Her hair was pulled tightly back, but spilled in long, loose curls down her back. The faintest freckles - something she despised with a passion - dusted across her nose, drawing all gazes to pale, full lips and pale green eyes.
"Noire," Freddie greeted with a brief smile. "Good morning."
"Good morning, your Grace. I hope you slept well."
Freddie shrugged. "I suppose. Are you ready for your travels?"
"Naturally, your Grace. I may not return before tomorrow, the trip is a long one to make in a day…"
"Of course, of course," Freddie waved his words away. "Take your time, I will not need you again any time soon."
Noire nodded and fell silent, except to murmur a thank you to the footman who set his breakfast before him. Crepes filled with strawberries, coffee - rather than tea - thick with cream. Such fare always made him feel slightly guilty, remembering the days when he and his mother worked all day just to get by.
He did not think, no matter how long he lived like this, that he would ever get used to it - even if he pretended quite well. Picking up his fork, Noire ate quietly while Baudin and Freddie discussed miscellaneous matters and people.
The door opened and Noire could tell immediately from the way Freddie tensed ever so slightly that the calm breakfast was over.
"Freddie," a voice as sharp and clear as crystal said.
Freddie set down her fork slowly, reaching out to pick up her glass of juice, making an obvious show at nonchalance. "Verenne, good morning."
"Good morning."
Noire shared a look with Baudin. They were not friends, merely cooperated from time to time because their loyalty was to the same woman, but even mortal enemies would commiserate over the constant battle between Freddie and Countess Verenne Tolbert, the White Bat.
They had been lovers - quite passionately in love, it had seemed - until six months ago when Freddie had abruptly ended the affair.
Verenne had not been pleased, and was still not pleased. Freddie, in turn, was not pleased with Verenne's continuing displeasure. If they were in any room but the formal meeting hall for more than five minutes, a fight invariably broke out.
It was sad and painful to watch, not least of all because any fool could see Verenne still very much loved Freddie - and Freddie would not explain why she had suddenly changed her mind. Every frustration was only made worse by the continuing antagonism between them…but neither would stand down or otherwise end the feuding.
As he had told Ailill last night - it would only end with something drastic and terrible. He could feel it.
He couldn't blame her. If…if he suddenly found himself discarded, after giving everything…he would be hateful and angry as well. He wished he was capable of talking sense into one of them, but Freddie…Freddie listened only to her equals in such matters, and even the Queen and Grand Duke hesitated to tread upon such treacherous ground. He had tried to speak with Verenne…but she was the only person as stubborn as Freddie.
Noire quickly finished his breakfast, gulping down his near-scalding coffee, and throwing the farewells over his shoulder.
Barely had the door closed than Baudin opened it again, fleeing in the opposite direction. Barely a second after the door shut behind him that the shouting started.
Shaking his head, Noire fetched his pack from the table beside the door and then strode outside.
A beautiful day. The sun just beginning to fill the sky. The air was still a little chilly, but when the sun was finally up it would warm to a nice, brisk day. Spring was his favorite season, and if these earliest days were anything to judge by - it was going to be especially beautiful, and the summer more glorious still.
Nothing was grander than the Highlands in the warm months, when all the green was out and the sunlight never seemed to fade. A million stories he'd heard of all the other countries, but he'd always been happy to keep them as just stories. He never wanted to leave Verde, even if most days it felt like he was locked in a battle he would never win.
There were, after all, compensations.
"Off to run errands, little kit?"
Noire froze, and then slowly turned around. He bowed low as manners dictated, and kept his head down until Duke Herve le Grand, the White Bear, indicated he may rise. Noire might be allowed to call her Grace Freddie when he chose, and he might be close in her confidence, and friends with the White Panther…but he was still a nobody from the Border Mountains.
Duke le Grand was among those who loved to remind him at every opportunity of his exact place in the world - and what it should be.
"Duke," Noire greeted, keeping his voice level. "How does the morning find you?"
"Answer the question."
"What I am about is no business of yours, Duke, if you will beg my pardon." Queen grant him patience, he hated having to be nice - but a messenger must know how to be so no matter what. "My business is between me and her Grace. Nor do I fall under your province. Might I ask the reason for your inquiry?'
Le Grand was as large and bulky as his Form, and he was - unfortunately - not one who would ever look good in stark white, though it was obvious his tailors tried their hardest by using an off-white shade rather than pure white, softening it with colored trims. Still, le Grand looked exactly like what he was - a bear in fancy clothes. A bear in fancy clothes with an attitude problem. "A representative of her Grace should not go running about in his Form to deliver messages. It is coarse and vulgar."
"When her Grace tells me to take a carriage, I will do so. Until then, I shall use the gift bestowed upon me by our most splendid Queen. Good day to you, Duke." Turning, Noire shifted effortlessly to his Form, the bag sliding over his neck, hanging exactly right that he could carry it the four hour journey he had to make.
Once free of the city, the journey was rather a pleasant one. Many people recognized him from his frequent travels and while most of the peasants did not say much because they thought him too high a figure to be bothered by them - amusing in rather a sad way - there were several who waved or called to him, pleased by the familiar sight if nothing else. Routine was a comforting thing, especially nowadays when everything felt like a powder keg just waiting for a spark.
Noire let his thoughts wander as his feet carried him where he needed to go, replaying the message he had to convey, thinking of what the atmosphere must be in the Golden Palace, how grateful he was he did not have to go to see the Queen herself…how very badly he wanted not to have to go home tonight.
Turning away from those thoughts, he let them wander to Ailill, wondering if his friend was screaming in agony yet as Andre forced him into satin and silk…he wondered what Ailill's misfit servants would do to Ivan and 'Ivan's men' that he had not yet met.
The thought would have made him laugh, if he were not currently in his Form, and even in his form he gave a gentle rumble. The Duke and the rest of the stuffy fools would not be able to contain themselves when Ailill showed up at court with Ivan.
Just like that his mood plummeted back down. Queen grant him patience, he was turning as mercurial as Freddie - up, down, up, down. As if he did not have enough to tire him out…
He saw an inn up ahead, and stopped to rest for a bit, sitting at one of the tables they always set out in nice weather. The sun was high now, putting just enough warmth in the air, shining down on all the young, bright greenery that in another week or so would be lush and full. Another hour or so would have him at his destination.
Noire told his heart to stop trying to beat out of his chest. He had not had to carry a message to the Golden Palace in some time. The Guardians Prospective usually saw one another at the Queen's Palace, when court was called into session, and so messages were not often required to be taken between their respective homes. Unimportant messages could also be flown or given to faster messengers. It was only important, private matters that were conveyed by special messenger - and Noire would not carry the Duke's reply. Tomorrow, the Duke would send his own messenger, meaning that no messenger ever had full knowledge of what precisely was being discussed.
A serving maid came out the door, carrying an old wooden tray, hair covered by a bright blue kerchief. Her eyes widened as she got a good look at him, as the finery of his clothing struck her. To those who didn't know better, he looked every inch a member of the nobility.
Only because Freddie insisted.
The girl bobbed a deep curtsy, obviously confounded - and panicked - that such a fine lord would stop at the little inn. He had before, and did not recall her, so she must be relatively new. "G-good morning, mi'Lord. Is there anything I can get for you?"
Noire smiled warmly at her. "A coffee if you please, pretty miss. Lots of cream."
"Yes, mi'lord." The girl turned and nearly ran back inside.
Chuckling, Noire stretched long and lazy, thinking longingly of the bed he'd left behind, struggling valiantly not to think of the bed he would like to spend tonight in.
Honestly, Kitten. Are you a man who shifts into a cat or a cat who shifts into a man?
Movement from the doorway broke into his thoughts, and Noire looked up to see the familiar face of the old woman who owned the quaint little inn. "Good Morning, Ms. Beatrice."
"Ah, Master Noire." Beatrice beamed at him, her smile young and bright, somehow not a bit at odds with her sixty-plus years. "She said a pretty lord was outside, I rather suspected it would be you. Coffee is nearly ready." Beside her, the serving girl had turned bright red to hear her words repeated to the 'pretty lord' in question.
Noire laughed and winked at them, which caused the girl to squeak and rush back inside.
Beatrice rolled her eyes. "Stop flustering all my girls, Master Noire. Just as I get them trained, you come along…"
"At least I don't seduce them?"
"That is very true," Beatrice said, mouth falling into a grim line. It vanished a moment later, though, and she gave him another smile before vanishing inside. She reappeared a couple of minutes later carrying an old, heavy, white porcelain mug. Noire could smell the coffee even before she got close.
Honestly, this little inn made coffee far better than any fancy palace chef - though the chefs probably made it poorly on purpose, just because it offended them that someone would prefer coarse, Piedren coffee to refined Verden tea.
How do you drink that stuff? I have tried to learn, but it eludes me.
It has more weight than tea.
The bitterness is abysmal.
That's why I use the cream. There is much to be said for cream, hmm?
You are incorrigible, Kitten.
"Thank you, Beatrice. Tell the same to the poor girl I've scared off." He reached into a hidden pocket of his jacket and handed over three silver coins. "You make the best coffee in Verde."
Beatrice beamed, then swept him a remarkably graceful curtsy before going back into the inn.
Noire drank his coffee at a leisurely pace, knowing there was no reason to hurry to the Golden Palace, other than those that kept trying to make his heart pound its way right out of his chest. Early sessions would be continuing for a couple of hours yet, and Freddie would have said if the message was one to be delivered posthaste - in which case he would have left last night.
When he finished his coffee, he left the dishes on the table - along with two more pieces of silver. Once upon his time, he had scraped every day to obtain a few coppers. He would be generous wherever he could.
Returning to his journey, making certain his pack was well settled, Noire ran swiftly, cutting through fields and bypassing the busier main roads.
His progress slowed as he reached the city proper, but he stubbornly held to his Form, ignoring the protests of those who disapproved of such behavior in the cities, growling briefly as a wolf Form drew too close, swiping playfully at a familiar stag Form - he worked in a Tavern Noire frequented on those nights he did not get to occupy the bed he hoped to tonight.
Eventually he left behind the crowded city, finally shifting back into human as he reached the bridge that spanned over the river which separated the Golden Palace from the city proper. It was long, one of the most famous landmarks in Verde, and semi-crowded by petitioners and workers coming and going. Noire ignored them all, only nodding briefly to the few who called to him.
Furiously he reminded himself not to be excited - he was here for work, for duty. That was all.
The Golden Palace was as rich and fine as its silver sister, the only difference being that it was green, white and gold rather than blue, white, and silver. Here resided the Unicorn and the six Great Beasts of the East - the White Lion, Owl, Fox, Stag, Eagle, and Mongoose.
All were about as friendly to Noire as those back home, though they had to be polite at the very least since he was here on official business and these days it did not do to anger anyone. Not until the Ceremony was over; and after that day passed there may or may not be Beasts left to treat him rudely.
Reaching the receiving hall, Noire handed over one of his calling cards, the gesture a pure formality, one of those annoying little rituals which must be obeyed. The clerk accepted the card and vanished through a small side door into the meeting hall beyond. Less than a minute later he reappeared. "Master Chevalier, the Grand Duke will see you."
Gael fell into his armchair and kicked his feet up on the ottoman, thinking
that he should probably take his boots off even as his eyes closed. Just a
few hours of rest, that was all he wanted.
A few hours of real rest, sleeping deeply and utterly relaxed, warm and sated. That was what he wanted, and sadly he would not be getting it. He was not going to risk anything, not so close to the Ceremony.
There was simply too much at stake.
Forcing his eyes open, Gael contemplated his boots, then made a face and reached instead for the brandy his manservant had set out for him earlier. Crystal clinked as he poured the brandy into a snifter. Sadly, the brandy would have no effect upon him. As the Unicorn, no manner of drug or poison could affect him - he was immune, by the power of the Form gifted to him.
Still, he liked to try - the most he got was a brief burn before his body undid the dulling effects the alcohol would otherwise have. A pity; he envied those who could drink away their problems for an evening.
A small fire crackled in the white marble fireplace, the spring nights still sufficiently chilly this high up in the mountains. He reached up with his free hand to unknot his elaborate cravat, tossing the silk fabric onto the table before picking up his brandy.
He sipped it idly, thoughts replaying the day, the highs and thoroughly depressing lows, the strains and problems that seemed to increase tenfold by the hour.
Mercy of the Gods, he wanted it all to be past him.
Despite his efforts, his eyes slipped shut again, head falling to rest against the back of the chair.
Only a brief, chill bit of breeze alerted him - for not a single sound had broken the silence of his bedchamber and he was too tired to let his senses roam to feel for anyone who might be close. Gael opened his eyes and glared at the figure sitting ever so patiently on his haunches, long black tail twitching back and forth on the carpet. "I told you no."
The giant black panther gave him what could only be considered a pout. Gael set his glass down hard on the side table and stood up, stalking over to where the cat sat. "Noire, this is no time to defy me. I told you to go home. Leave!"
For reply, the cat merely shifted from pout to wounded glare.
Gael tried to hold onto his anger, born of fear, but he had ever been helpless against this man. He sighed, conceding defeat - for even he could only deny what he wanted for so long. "If you are going to defy me, Kitten, then I suggest you get on with it."
Noire reared up, shifting to human as his paws landed on Gael's shoulders, arms wrapping tightly around his neck, mouth immediately finding Gael's and kissing him hungrily. Gael returned it full measure, pouring every last bit of the past two months of long, lonely nights into it, greedily tasting every bit of Noire's mouth that he could.
His hands were no better, reacquainting themselves with the lines of a body he had ached to touch, had dreamed about, for far too long without the satisfaction of the real thing. "You feel like perfection."
"Gael…" Noire said his name on a moan as Gael tugged his head back to tear away his neck cloth and get at that delectable throat, trailing kisses all along it, slowly tracing his way back to Noire's mouth. "Missed you," he said hoarsely.
"Not more than I missed you, Kitten," Gael whispered softly, looking those pale blue eyes, seeing everything he felt reflected in them. "Come to bed."
"Yes."
Gael guided them toward the back room, out of the sitting area, not willing to release his hold or Noire's mouth, trusting that his feet by this point knew the way. "You are still wearing those boots." He shoved Noire down onto the bed, running his hands down Noire's sleek body, soft and teasing, until he reached the top of Noire's high boots.
"You like them," Noire said with a playful smile. "I know you were trying not to stare in court."
Gael said nothing, merely leaned over him to steal another kiss before setting to work removing Noire's boots and then his own, a task that took entirely too long for his liking. He was rewarded for his patience, however, by the sight of bare skin as Noire slid his shirt from his shoulders, baring his chest to Gael's hungry gaze.
He reached up and pressed his mouth to one of those fine shoulders, tongue flicking out to taste, teeth nipping, teasing. He climbed up onto the bed, trapping Noire beneath him, and leaned down for another kiss, hard and hungry, leaving his mouth bruised and aching. He licked Noire's lips, wet and swollen from his kisses. "I hope you were not planning to get sleep tonight."
"Definitely not," Noire replied, and then nothing more was said.
He stirred as warmth was replaced by cool air, pale brown eyes sliding open to see Noire climbing from his bed. Gael lay still a moment, drinking in the sight of his dark, beautiful lover. He finally forced himself to move when Noire began to retrieve his clothes, throwing back the blankets - he would need to stoke the fire - and sitting on the edge of the bed. "You are leaving."
Noire finished tugging on his second boot, standing up and stamping his feet to settle them properly into place. "I can hardly stay."
"I wish you could," Gael said quietly, willing Noire to believe him, to trust him. Keeping Noire a secret was tearing him apart, and he knew that it must hurt doubly so for Noire, who was fragile when it came to figuring out where he belonged. He motioned Noire close and took the shirt clutched tightly in his fingers, smoothing it out before helping Noire into it, pressing a soft kiss to his chest before reluctantly hiding it from view.
Noire fidgeted as Gael fastened his cufflinks and then set to work on his neck cloth. "You don't have to help me dress, Gael."
Gael smiled faintly and pressed a kiss to the pulse at his throat before reluctantly hiding that too from his gaze. "Believe me, Kitten, it is a pleasure rather than a chore…though I did enjoy taking them off more. You are temptation incarnate."
Those fine-cut cheeks heated slightly at his words, making Gael smile and lean up to steal a soft kiss from those dark, tempting lips. "I am sorry, Kitten."
Noire managed a smile, though Gael did not miss the pain deep in his eyes. "You don't need to be. One day, right?"
"I do need to be," Gael said softly, capturing Noire's chin in his hand and dragging him down for a quick, hard kiss. "Three months and five days, Kitten, and they will all be lucky if I do not throw you to the floor of my confounded hall and have every last wicked way with you I can imagine."
"Gael," Noire said, eyes closing, throat working as the words ran through him. Then he opened his eyes and grinned. "I do not know what worries me more - that you actually might, or that the Lion or Eagle might ask if they could join us."
"The answer would be no," Gael said, hands running possessively over Noire. "No one touches you but me."
Noire blinked at him. "Gael, I meant they'd want you - not me."
Gael's hands stilled, and he looked up at Noire with a fond smile, pressing his lips to the small bit of throat not hidden away. "Kitten, you are a treasure. My treasure, and I promise that on the day it is finally safe to do so, I will make certain every last person in Verde - the world - knows it." He held tight as Noire pushed into his arms, smelling lingering traces of cologne, spring, and traces of them. It made letting go one of the hardest things he had to do.
"I love you, Gael."
"Not a bit more than I love you, Kitten." Gael gave him one last kiss before sternly telling himself that he had to let go. His arms, however, did not feel like obeying him.
Noire flashed one of his smiles that always made Gael love him more and more. Right from the first moment they'd met, those bright smiles had been his downfall. "I am going to get teased mercilessly when people realize you call me that."
"No, you won't, because you are my Kitten," Gael said, the words growled. If anyone ever upset Noire when he finally was able to stake his claim publicly, he would skin every last one of them alive. "Now go, before I cave to weakness and drag you back into my bed where you belong."
"Soon?" Noire asked, the word faintly whispered, but he leaned in and stole a last kiss, soft and full of longing, before Gael could answer, then turned and vanished out the bedroom window.
"Soon," Gael repeated softly. Neither of them had been willing to voice the worry that underlined everything. In three months and five days the Ceremony would take place. He hoped valiantly that in three months and six days he was alive to tell the world that his heart belonged to Noire Chevalier.
Not even bothering to make an attempt at going back to sleep - there was no way he could when the bed smelled so heavily of he and Noire - Gael fetched his night robe from the foot of the bed and strolled back into his sitting room and the brandy that had remained untouched since he'd found something far more enjoyable.
Stifling a sigh, refusing to mope, Gael went to the small writing desk at the far end of his sitting room and lit the small oil lamp there. He knew he was alone, but always he fretted anyway, and sat for several minutes, letting his powers rise, feeling out that the house really was as still as it seemed.
He wished sorely he could still feel a presence in his bed, but he had already told himself he would not mope.
Finally he began to move again, opening the small, center drawer of the desk, fingers crawling all the way to the back of it, behind it, to the small release hidden there. Something clicked faintly, and Gael closed the drawer. He opened the bottom left hand drawer and removed the small portion of the bottom which was false.
There, in the bottom, was his last resort. Soft brown leather tooled with gold trim along the edges and binding, the edges of the paper itself to protect from dust. He lifted it from its hiding place and set it on the desk, opening to a blank page and pulling a quill from its well on his desk. In a neat, scrawling hand he wrote the date…then let his hand idle as he pondered on how precisely to recount the day.
If everything else failed, if in three months and six days he was dead, then this journal would hopefully help prevent the tragedy next time. Perhaps something about his life would offer vital clues that had been missed every other time. He had to hope. Gael closed his eyes against the fear that made his blood run cold. Fear of dying. Fear of not dying, but becoming a god instead…fear for Noire, for something in him from the very first had screamed that it would be a bad thing for anyone to know Noire was his lover.
Especially Etain and Freddie. They would not understand…though he had thought, for a brief time there, that Freddie would. He'd come so close to confiding in her, knowing his sterner 'sister' would understand, would somehow be able to help.
Then word had spread that she'd discarded her lover of the past couple years. A few days later Etain had called her Guardians Prospective to her Court and Gael had seen that nothing had changed.
Freddie and Etain, it seemed, were still very much in love with each other. Gael had felt despair crash through him - why couldn't he feel it? They had been the closest of friends growing up.
Etain so bossy, but so sweet, able to make them do whatever she pleased - even when it got them all in trouble later. Freddie with her commanding presence, a strength of will that no one could defeat. Himself…the peacemaker, or so he often tried, though day by day he felt very much as though he were failing.
He wasn't like his sisters, brave and bold. Just as alert and bossy, perhaps, but he did not charge about as his sisters seemed to love. No…he bickered, and argued, and otherwise hid away, writing secret journals and keeping the brightest, happiest part of his life a dark secret.
Gael buried his head in one hand, willing the pain away. He did this to protect Noire, because deep inside something told him that to reveal Noire to anyone - even his sisters - would end in a tragedy.
Etain and Freddie still loved each other - were as deeply in love as he had always tried to be with them. He did love them, and once they had all found pleasure with each other, but he'd always known his feeling didn't match theirs…had not known what was wrong with him until that night in the glade…
He tried not to think about it, but how could he avoid reliving over and over the one night when his entire world had changed? Once upon a time, he, Freddie, and Etain had sworn to love one another for all time - Faerie Queen and Guardians, never to be separated, ascending to godhood to be together for eternity.
Except…Gael had found someone else with whom he'd rather spend eternity, though he loved his 'sisters' dearly.
The glade was situated at the farthest end of the property. No one but
those who had permission to be on the premises would even think to go close
enough to the glade to see it properly.
No one would ever actually enter it. The glade of sweet grass and a spring as pure and bright as crystal were used exclusively by his Grace.
Silvery moonlight spilled down from a clear, dark sky. Every last star was visible, an array of diamonds in finest velvet. The full moon was bright enough that travel was easy, even safe, for those that must journey.
In the distance was the manor, lights in nearly every window as the constant array of guests enjoyed the cool, bright spring night and servants raced about to accommodate them.
None of the noise reached the glade. There, all was still and quiet. Nothing but the gentle splash of water broke the silence, and the sound was almost painfully loud by contrast. After a moment, though, even the splashing ceased, and the figure at the edge of the spring made not a sound more as it lowered its head to drink.
The figure's coat was perfect white, as bright as the stars that shone above it. His mane and tail were just as white, the perfect color almost painful to stare at directly. It was a magnificent creature, perfectly made, no flaws apparent no matter how long they were looked for.
More impressive than even its coat, the sheer perfection of its form, was the shining, golden horn on its head. A sliver of sunlight that reminded the moon overhead it was only second best.
The air around it shifted, blurred, and suddenly a man stood at the edge of the spring.
He was just as beautiful to look upon. Even in the moonlight, his hair was a fine, rich gold, reminiscent of the shining horn. Nor could the night hide the way his skin was sun-kissed, making it warm rather than the stark white that had been the Unicorn's coat. He was dressed entirely in white, the clothes plain, simple. If he felt the slight chill in the air, he gave no indication, merely stood calmly at the edge of the water, watching the rippling reflection of the moon.
Abruptly he spun around, the tail of his hair whipping over his shoulder. His eyes locked upon a cluster of bushes on the far side of the spring, and he shifted effortlessly back into the Form of a Unicorn.
Who dares disturb me here? He demanded sharply, knowing his silent voice would thunder and reverberate in the head of the impertinent fool who was trespassing on his private property. Probably some curious child, or an especially foolish, curious adult - he had seen both tromping about his property before. A child would be sent home with a stern warning. An adult should know better, and he would be certain to drive that message home. Was it too much to ask that he be left alone to remember who and what he was, and to find reason to enjoy that fact? He did not like to think of his life as a burden, and this was his…
Oh. Gael felt his thoughts stutter and then simply stop.
He'd seen every manner of Form since being dragged away from the simple Baron's estate of his parents, from delicate gray mice to fearsome red hawks and all the Great Beasts of the Court…including the White Panther.
This panther looked every bit like the Marquis le Blanc, except he was completely, unrelentingly black. Only Gael's sharp eyesight, and the gleam in the panther's pale eyes, gave him away. No wonder he had not sensed him at first.
More intriguing still was the clarity…the purity…of the panther's spirit. It was as clear and pristine as his spring. Gael shifted back to his human form and beckoned. "Come out here and tell me who you are and what you do here. I do not take kindly to intruders."
Obediently the panther crept out of the shadows and into the glade.
"Do not stay so," Gael commanded, wondering at himself. It made little difference to him whether a person chose to stay in their Form or not - he was the Unicorn, he could communicate just as easily in silence as in speech. Something in him, though, burned to know what the man behind this Form looked like. He'd never seen a creature as beautiful as this midnight-colored cat. "Change and explain everything to me."
The cat titled his head, as if considering whether or not to obey - then shifted, and Gael again felt his thoughts falter to a stop.
It made no sense. No one was the equal of his sisters for beauty…yet he thought that beside this man they suddenly fell quite short of that word. Even human, he looked something like a cat. Lithe, a little taller than average, and Gael could not keep his eyes from dragging over the muscles that shifted beneath the man's clothes as he stretched. Dark hair fell around his head, just brushing against his face, and before he could stop himself Gael drew close enough that he could finally tell the color of those pale eyes - blue, so delicate and light they could almost pass for silver.
He wore simple clothes, those of someone who could afford nice things…yet something about the man made it clear he was not of the nobility. No…he lacked the arrogance that class wore like a second skin.
Ah. Now he recalled. He had been so busy lately, and hiding his sudden dissatisfaction with everything by hiding from Etain and Freddie, who knew him too well and would pester. "You are the cat hired by my sister to be her new messenger. Whatever happened to the elk she had?"
The man flashed a smile that made it hard for Gael to breathe. He struggled to remember how, tried to get his mind working again. Mercy of the Queen, was this what it was like to be drunk? What was wrong with him? He'd never known a smile could be so…devastating. "She retired," the man answered, recalling Gael to the fact that they were having a conversation. "To live with a badger in the city."
"I see," Gael said, absently wishing the new couple the best - mixing Forms was not always well-received. "What is your name then? No doubt it was told to me at some point, I do apologize."
Another one of those smiles hit him. "I hardly expect your Grace to remember my name. It is Chevalier. Noire Chevalier."
"You come from the border," Gael said thoughtfully.
"Yes, your Grace," Noire said, smile fading away, looking suddenly downcast.
Gael blinked at that, and then realized that of course the man probably received much grief for that already. He struggled for something to bring back those smiles, furious with himself for turning so stupid. "Do you have relatives in Piedre? Do they make you give them rides and such? I once had a nurse who hailed from the Border Mountains. Her Form was a horse, and when she visited her grandmother in Piedre, her cousins always tried to make her give them rides."
Noire looked at him for a moment, clearly startled, then threw his head back and laughed.
Perhaps mentioning riding was not his brightest idea, and Gael struggled valiantly to bury the thoughts that flooded his mind, hoping the dark hid the effect those thoughts were having on him. Confound it, he was never this affected by Freddie and Etain. What was the matter with him?
"Thankfully, my relatives in Piedre know better than to ask. My sympathies to your old nurse."
Gael forced his mind to the questions he should be asking, and off the ones he wished he could ask. "What are you doing here, Master Chevalier?"
"I…" Noire ducked his head suddenly, hair sliding to shade his eyes, and Gael was struck by an image of a shy kitten ducking behind his paws. Obviously someone had finally discovered how to poison the Unicorn. Surely that must be the reason for this sudden, rampant stupidity. "Forgive me, your Grace. I gave in to an impulse. You have been remarkably tolerant of my impertinence. I merely wanted to…" He paused, and Gael realized suddenly that he was horribly embarrassed. Did his skin flush? It was impossible to tell by the moonlight. He realized he badly wanted to know and almost groaned aloud. "To see you. I saw you from a distance in the ballroom, and wanted to see you more closely. Curiosity, I suppose. You are quite different from her Grace."
"No one is quite like Freddie," Gael said dryly. "Is your curiosity appeased, Kitten?" The word slipped out before he was even aware he'd thought it, let alone said it.
Noire's head jerked up, eyes wide with surprise - then it ducked again, and Gael didn't like the look of shame that clouded that sleek, handsome face. He hadn't meant to put that look there.
His feet moved before he gave them permission, closing the space between them and his hand was equally disobedient as it cupped Noire's jaw and tilted his head up. "My apologies," he said quietly. "I meant no offense…quite the opposite." His mouth proved to be just as disobedient as the rest of him. "I believe I am jealous you belong to Freddie."
Noire's eyes widened in surprise, breath catching. He blinked, lashes long, eyes so pale and lovely, Gael could not have looked away had his life depended on it. "I…I work for her Grace…" He licked his lips, and Gael very badly wanted to do the same. "I do not belong to her."
Gael gave up on preserving any of his good sense, ignoring the niggling sliver of fear that suddenly lanced down his spine. "Perhaps, then, you would consent to belong to me?" He hovered close, so close their breaths mingled, and his fingers went wandering of their own volition to the back of Noire's neck, burying themselves in soft, thick hair and titling Noire's head just so.
"Yes." Noire breathed the word, and Gael repeated it before finally claiming those tempting lips.
"You can't make me," Ailill said, folding his arms across his chest.
"I think he can, Highlander," Luka said from where he reclined by the fireplace, boots propped on an ottoman that looked like it cost more than their yearly expenses. "The Boss is the only other one I know with a glare like that. No wonder you're never intimidated."
"Luka," Ivan said levelly.
"Yes, Boss."
Ailill glared at his valet. "I'm fine. Go back to your den."
"You look appalling, my lord," Andre replied with a sniff.
"Good."
Andre merely lifted one thin, pale brow. Around the room Ivan's men started howling. He shot a desperate look at Ivan, who leaned against the wall by the study window. Ailill never got tired of looking at his lover. Dark from head to foot, skin still tanned dark from all their time in Kundou, goatee lending much to the hard edge that made everyone describe him as 'evil.' He wished rather badly that everyone else would take themselves elsewhere. Ivan smiled at him in sympathy, then shot his men a warning look.
"My lord…"
"Fine!" Ailill said, throwing his hands up, conceding defeat. "By all means let us strip me of my dignity." He stalked from the room, painfully aware of the sudden silence, not daring to look at Ivan.
Queen grant him mercy, he hated being nobility. He just wanted to be Ailill. Why had he come back?
Ailill sighed as he reached his bedroom, and wondered morosely how hard Ivan would laugh. He'd tried a thousand times to get his blasted servants - servants! - to tone everything down, but that's what he got for hiring the upstarts no one else wanted.
Though he'd had plenty of fun firing all the snots that had kept the house until a new White Panther appeared. He grinned briefly at the memory.
Movement caught his eyes and he glared balefully at his valet. "It's no wonder you were fired so often. What's that word they always use for people like you?"
"Depends, my Lord," Andre flashed a grin, "on whom you talk to. Insubordinate, maybe?"
"Mouthy," Ailill said dryly as he began to strip, tempted to toss his clothes everywhere but knowing that would just make him seem even more like a petulant child.
The valet made a face as he picked up the discarded clothes. "Honestly, my lord, it's undignified to go about like this. You're a peer of the realm."
"I'm a man who can shift into a white cat," Ailill said shortly. "What did you put in this bath water?"
"If you'd taken much longer to cooperate, I was going to toss in rose petals," Andre taunted.
Ailill grumbled and slid into the bath, beginning to scrub himself clean, determined to get everything over with now that he'd finally given in to the inevitable. "I don't suppose the rest are being tortured?" He asked quietly as his valet began to lay out his clothes, humming softly - smug little ferret. "You're awfully chipper."
"We're glad you're back, my lord," the valet answered, turning serious. "Even if you're not."
"I am," Ailill said, wringing out his hair and climbing out of the tub. "Did you put lavender in this? I hate when you use flower-scented oils."
The valet sniffed. "It's all the rage, this season."
Ailill made a face. "At least it isn't primroses again."
A soft chuckle was the only reply, and then Ailill was being attacked with superfine, lawn, silk and-"Put that lace down or I'll skin you alive, ferret. With my teeth."
"It's the fashion," his valet replied, and continued the assault. He stepped away when he was finished, bowing low - but not quite hiding his smirk.
"Impertinent," Ailill said, "that's the word I was looking for."
"Ah, yes. Shall I send for your man?"
"May as well get it over with," Ailill said glumly, starring miserably at his reflection.
As a Beast of Verde, he was expected to wear white. Lots of it. A dumb idea, but most of the ideas in Verde were in his opinion.
His staff had outdone themselves in his absence. His pants were white superfine, and fit well enough he wondered how hard they'd worked to fit everything to his measurements so soon after his arrival. His jacket fell to mid-thigh, this particular style meant to be left open. It was white embroidered with palest silver, buttons to match. The lace at his throat and the ends of his sleeves were also threaded with silver, drawing out the color in his pale hair and eyes. The white was almost livid against his skin, darkened by his travels. Silver and white were not the best choices for him, but he managed. Ailill stared at his reflection, the glum face of the White Panther staring back at him.
The opening of the door dragged his attention away, and he watched anxiously as Ivan approached. It looked like the servants had indeed gotten a hold of Ivan and his men. Though Ivan was always clean, refusing to look completely like a reprobate, he had obviously been forced into his own bath. Hopefully without the lavender. Ailill smiled at the thought even as he devoured the sight of his lover. Still dressed all in black, but the clothes were of better quality, lawn and superfine. His hair and goatee had been trimmed, and it looked as though they'd somehow manage to temporarily relieve Ivan of his weapons. A stunning feat - but Ailill knew he had a knife or two secreted away. His Vanya looked like a rogue, straight from one of the theatre performances.
A rogue who was looking at him but not saying anything. Steel blue eyes looked him up and down. Ailill tried not to show his nervousness as Ivan continued simply to stare. "Vanya?" He finally asked, hating the uncertainty he heard in his own voice.
"You look good," Ivan said huskily. "Real good. Like I probably shouldn't touch you good."
"Oh," Ailill said.
Ivan flashed a grin. "Doesn't mean I won't touch you, just that I probably shouldn't."
"Oh," Ailill repeated, returning the grin this time as he closed the space between them and bent to kiss his lover hard, possessively. "So you don't mind me like this?"
Ivan stepped back and slowly looked him up and down, blue eyes growing heated. "Like I said, you look good. I can see where you wouldn't like all this, lover," he motioned to the room, "but you wear it well."
"I'd prefer I wasn't wearing anything," Ailill replied, closing the space between them. "I'd prefer you that way as well." He dipped his head to bite at Ivan's throat, which thankfully hadn't been hidden by a neck cloth - his servants hadn't been foolish enough to try and dress Ivan up.
Murmuring in agreement, Ivan tipped his head to the side to give Ailill better access. "Your valet might have my neck for far less pleasant reasons if I ruin all his hard work so soon."
"He's paid to suffer," Ailill said, fingers going to his own neck cloth, his other hand moving to the laces of Ivan's shirt. "Let me show you my bed."
"Please do."
A few hours later, Ailill smiled pleasantly as Andre grumbled and groused about the mess they had made of their clothes, of the room. "It is not my fault, Andre, that you help make me look so good."
Andre rolled his eyes and did not rise to the bait. "A message has arrived for you, my Lord, from the Palace."
"When?" Ailill asked sharply, stirred from his thoughts on the man fast asleep in his massive canopy bed.
"While you were occupied."
"Have it fetched at once," Ailill said, snatching his arm away and fastening his cufflinks himself.
Andre sniffed. "At once, my Lord."
Honestly. Andre would have more fun playing Marquis than he ever did…except he rather thought Andre's greatest joy was telling the nobility how to do it.
"So you're off to the see…the Queen? The Duchess? Saying you've a message from the palace is rather vague, isn't it? There's like, what, three of them?" Ivan asked from the bed, sitting up and rubbing at his close-cropped hair, his chest.
"Not me - us. If you're willing, that is. It would be considered rude not to introduce you to Freddie, at the very least, though if the Queen is available she will probably want to meet you as well." Ailill shrugged. "Not that I care about how rude or not we are. If you do not want to go I-"
Ivan cut him off with a snort. "Lover, I have never seen you worry so much. The Ailill I know worries about nothing. Stop fretting so. If you're not embarrassed by the fact that your lover is an uncouth mercenary who should probably still be rotting in the dungeons of the palace, then I certainly do not mind going to meet all these fancy people."
"You are never an embarrassment, Vanya," Ailill said, finally getting his second cufflink into place and smoothing out his jacket, more interested in watching Ivan dress. "If anything, I will be horribly embarrassed when you meet the people I must call peers."
That earned him a laugh. "They cannot be so different than what I encountered in Pozhar." Ivan grimaced, and Ailill shared it, their thoughts wandering briefly to Zholty, imprisoned for life in the cells that had briefly held Ivan, his men, and two mermaid friends of Raz - now Zhar Ptitka, the Sacred Firebird.
It was strange to think he could call a god a friend…hopefully he would be able to say the same of his own would-be gods in a few months. Ailill shoved the thoughts aside, having more than enough to keep him occupied. He sat down to tug on his knee-high white boots. White. His loathing for the color knew no bounds.
"You really do look good, dressed so," Ivan said, drawing close and soothing his hand up and down Ailill's spine. "Not necessarily the color I would pick for you, lover, but you manage it."
Ailill smiled and stole a kiss. "Thank you. Me in white, you in all that unfashionable black…" He winked. "They will accuse me of doing it on purpose, just to cause a scene."
"Oh, I do not think it is the clothes which will cause a scene," Ivan said. "I am hoping they'll have the good sense to be too intimidated to cause trouble.'
"Your men?" He threw his head back and laughed. "Wishful thinking, Vanya. I am looking forward to the scenes they'll cause."
Ivan smiled and moved away. "Are we allowed to carry our weapons?"
"Yes. If they decide they have a problem with it, they will take them at the palace."
Ivan nodded and started to speak, but was interrupted by a knock on the door right before it swung open to admit Andre with a thin, white envelope bearing silver writing and a gold wax seal.
"I was starting to think you'd gotten lost, Andre," Ailill taunted. "Taking so unreasonably long."
Andre shrugged, not caring - taunting back. "I was delayed by a conversation with…Karp, I believe his name is. He is enthralled with your bookkeeping, it would seem. I told him he was quite mad." His brow furrowed suddenly. "He told me to take my scorching self off and burn. I think that was perhaps rude, but I cannot tell for certain…"
Ivan threw his head back and laughed. "He was being quite rude."
"I believe our rough equivalent would be to call you a carnivore, Andre," Ailill said with a laugh.
Andre glared at the absent Karp. "Oh? How remarkably rude, especially when I intended no offense and he is messing around in things that are none of his business." He absently handed over the note he still held and turned back toward the door.
Ailill didn't bother to hide his laughter. "Well, before you tear him to pieces tell Karp he is more than welcome to assume responsibility for my bookkeeping. Also - have Ivan's sword brought to the front hall."
"Yes, my Lord," Andre said over his shoulder as he departed.
"My money is on Andre," Ivan murmured, "but if you tell him that…"
Ailill grinned. "He won't hear of it from me, as I fully agree with you. To Andre, that lace is just a different kind of armor."
Ivan snorted in amusement. "Shall we to the palace?"
"Yes," I suppose we shall," Ailill said with a sigh, taking Ivan's hand as they traveled downstairs. "Where are my guests?" he asked a footman.
"Two are sleeping, one decided to investigate the stables, another two decided to explore the city…and the last is currently engaged in battle with Andre." The words were said blandly, but it was obvious the footman was vastly amused, especially by the last part of his statement.
"Your thoughts on the battle?" Ailill asked as the footman helped him into a light spring coat - every formality must be observed when going to her Majesty.
"Andre is formidable, sir. I think he will take the battle…but battles usually only lead to wars…"
Ivan grunted. "That is true. If you see Luka - the tall, lighter-haired one with sharp eyes - tell him to keep Karp under control. Please." He accepted his sword as a footman appeared with it, strapping the thick leather belt into place and settling the weapon at his hip, hand resting casually on the hilt.
The first footman sketched a deep bow. "As you wish, my Lord."
Ailill burst out laughing, then quickly muffled it and dragged Ivan from the house as the patient footman opened the door for them. "Ready to face the Queen, my Lord?"
Ivan rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be dragged into the waiting white and silver carriage that had been pulled around to the main entrance. "I devoutly hope my men do not hear your servants doing that - and you had better tell them to stop."
"Does it look to you as though I have any control over my household? I hired them specifically so I would not have to constantly manage and fret over them. Honestly, they do as they please. I feel sorry for you if Andre and the Butler take it into their heads to hire a valet for you."
"They had better not," Ivan said. "I am quite happy dressing myself."
Ailill smirked as the carriage door closed. "I would rather undress you."
Ivan's eyes raked over him, making Ailill shiver and lean back, displaying his lean form as much as the confined space of the carriage would permit. "Yes, there is much to be said for undressing."
"You are much more relaxed than you used to be, Vanya," Ailill said with a smile, leaning across the space between them to give his lover a kiss. "I bet if I pounced you in the middle of an open field now, you would quite happily be molested and not put up much of a fuss at all."
"Not that you ever gave me much choice, cat."
Ailill shrugged and tried to look innocent. "I do not believe in wasting good opportunities."
"I am glad," Ivan said softly. "There is very little I have not done, leading the life I did, but attempting to approach you as I wanted was far too difficult to manage."
"Yes, well, if you'd been that brave I wouldn't have gotten a chance to pounce you and I rather liked that part."
Ivan suddenly smirked. "It was rather funny seeing you get pounced, at least in retrospect. I hope we see your friend again."
Ailill made a face. "Noire is probably around the palace, never fear. You two can look all dark and unfashionable together while I have to be nice and well-behaved." He peeked out the carriage window. "It looks as though the Grand Duchess is here, I wasn't entirely certain…then again, I'm sure nearly everyone has found an excuse to be here, if they've caught wind I've been summoned. No doubt they are hoping to hear some clue as to my mission and its success or lack of."
"Did we bring them?" Ivan asked, meaning the jewels.
"Yes. My servants all knew the nature of the message, if not the exact contents. Everything has been tended to. Do you have the key?"
"Of course," Ivan said, and shifted his right foot slightly, a silent indication that the key to the cask which held the jewelry was secreted in his boot.
Ailill gave one last sigh as the carriage halted before the grand entryway of the Palace of the Faerie Queen. He waved away a footman who rushed over to help him, smiling as Ivan alighted behind him and taking his lover's hand as they walked up the steps of the Palace. Though it was redundant, for everyone here would recognize him even after his long absence, he handed over a small, thin white card to one of the half-dozen footmen standing just inside the door. The footman immediately raced off ahead of them to announce his arrival. Ailill spoke with another, sending him off to fetch the chest containing the jewelry, then tugged Ivan further into the Palace.
"Raz would have fun here," Ivan said, looking around at the lavish decorations - silver, gold, extravagant wall hangings and paintings, lush plants in every corner, bouquets of exotic flowers spilling out of vases on top of glass-topped tables, perfuming the air with a delicate sweetness.
They walked through the halls, and Ailill hoped that the only sign of his anxiety - he did not want to be back amongst all this finery, he didn't - was the tightening of his grip on Ivan's hand. The way Ivan simply held his hand tight and smiled helped more than Ailill could express. He stole a quick, hard kiss as they passed from the hallways and into the main reception room.
Various people milled about, most of them servants running this or that errand for their masters, but Ailill's eyes landed immediately on a familiar, friendly face. "Verenne," he said, smiling. "I am glad to see you again. How are you?"
"Ailill," the woman looked up, startled, but broke into a smile. "I have been better…I am guessing you are not caught up on the gossip…" Her face twisted briefly into pain, but she almost immediately smoothed it away.
Countess Verenne Tolbert, the White Bat, was a beautiful woman. Breathtaking, some would say. Like most of them, white was not truly her color, but she managed well enough - getting away with a pale cream, for one, that matched exactly the shade of her blonde hair. Currently her hair was braided and then intricately knotted at the back of her head, a few wisps brushing along the sides of her face to soften the severe lines of her almost too-skinny frame. Her eyes were a light gray and at present filled with much anger and sadness.
"Do not tell me you and Freddie are having another fight."
Verenne's laughter was bitter, nearly hysterical. "Oh, Ailill. You have truly been gone too long. She broke it off with me several months ago. I keep trying to make her see reason but…" She trailed off and shrugged. "Well, I guess I really cannot compete."
Ailill's brows went up. "Compete with who? It was always obvious the two of you were meant to be."
"Thank you," Verenne said with a sad smile. "I always felt so…but I cannot compete with the most beautiful woman in the country. Freddie says nothing, and keeps it quiet…but it is patently obvious who she has suddenly taken up with." Anger fell like a dark cloud across her face, but a moment later it was gone. "Come for dinner tonight, if you are not already occupied. I have missed you."
Ailill kissed her softly on each cheek and nodded. "Of course I will come, it will be a pleasure."
"Good. I would like to properly meet the handsome man standing beside you." She smiled briefly at Ivan, then turned and strode from the reception room.
"What was all that?" Ivan asked.
Ailill shook his head. "I think maybe I have been gone too long. Freddie and Verenne have been lovers for years…granted, it was always…tempestuous, I guess. Neither woman is what you would call mild-mannered, but if you asked anyone they would have told you no two people could be more in love. I cannot believe Freddie would end their relationship…" he frowned. "Nor can I believe she is having an affair with the Queen…"
Ivan tilted his head, confused. "Why would that be a problem?"
"It…" Ailill shrugged, face clouding in thought, frustration. "It's not, really, I guess…but they are considered sisters and brother, the three of them…it would rather be like you taking up with one of your men. Not wrong, per se…but…"
"It doesn't feel right," Ivan said, nodding in comprehension.
"Precisely."
A clerk approached. "My Lord, the Queen is prepared to see you now."
"Very well," Ailill said. "Announce Master Ivan of Pozhar as well."
"Yes, my Lord," the clerk said, bowing low before scurrying off to relay the orders.
"Ready?" Ailill asked as they were escorted to the massive set of wide double doors that led the way to the Queen's Throne Room.
Ivan grinned. "I'm a mercenary, lover. We're ready for everything."
Ailill nodded and led the way inside and across the massive room, decked with colored glass windows, tapestries, a rich, thick carpet, candles, flowers, all manner of beautiful things. His titles and name boomed out through the room as he was announced to the woman sitting on a high dais at the far end of the room.
She was tall, even seated, fine-boned, fair-skinned, with a warm, welcoming smile as they drew close. Her ears were finely pointed, just peeking out of the long tresses of her pale hair, which seemed at turns almost silvery or nearly gold. Her dress was simple - a sleek, sleeveless piece of white silk - but it was overlaid with delicate lace dyed a rainbow of colors. The dress was a masterpiece, showing to perfection the beautiful woman who wore it.
Nothing, however, was more beautiful than the delicate, iridescent wings upon her back - every color imaginable shone in the sunlight spilling in from the glass set into the ceiling.
She wore no crown, only a simple silver diadem to keep her waist-length hair from her face. One eye was the bright green of new spring, the other a perfect match for the blue of a summer sky.
Ailill stopped at the foot of the dais, Ivan right beside him, and knelt before the Faerie Queen of Verde.
"Marquis le Blanc, I am most happy to see you again," Etain, Faerie
Queen Prospective of Verde, greeted her White Panther warmly. "I sent
you out knowing full well you, of all my Beasts, were most suited to the task
but one never knows what fate holds in store and I occasionally feared you
would not return, for one reason or another. Welcome back."
Ailill kept his head bowed. "Thank you, my Queen. It is good to be home."
"Please, both of you stand." She tilted her head thoughtfully, touching a finger to her chin in thought. "There is…an aura about the both of you…a heat, almost…"
"We were blessed by the Sacred Firebird, Highness," Ailill replied. "This is Ivan, my lover and partner in all things. We met in Pozhar, and he has been considerate enough to stay with me through my travels and on to my home."
"Be most welcome, Ivan of Pozhar, blessed by the Firebird himself." The Queen's smile was much like that of a mother's, affectionate, soothing, genuine. The men smiled back, and Ivan sketched a bow in thanks. "So tell me, Marquis, how your journey faired."
Ailill bowed again. "Majesty, my journey took far too long and it was often quite frustrating, but I return to you quite successful. The cask containing what you bid me find waits in your reception hall."
Etain nodded and reached out to ring a small, golden bell sitting on a table beside her low-backed throne. A minute later a servant appeared, silent and soundless, at her side. Etain murmured to him and the servant vanished.
"I am duly impressed, Marquis, and you may name your reward. No one has found those jewels since they went missing a few hundred years ago. Do tell me your secret."
"Persistence, Majesty," Ailill replied. Persistence, the fact that he was in no hurry to return home, and his willingness to use less than orthodox methods when more acceptable means failed. Thank the Gods he was willing to employ questionable methods. He could no longer imagine life without the rogue at his side. "It takes nothing but persistence and a great deal of luck."
Etain chuckled softly. "Somehow, I sense you are downplaying your own talents." She looked up as a steward appeared at the far end of the throne room bearing Ailill's cask. "Thank you," she murmured, then fell silent until the three of them were once more alone. "Please, let me see."
Ailill nodded and motioned to Ivan, who pulled the key from his boot and knelt to unlock the cask. Throwing back the top, Ailill took out each carefully wrapped piece of jewelry and displayed them for the Queen.
"Beautiful," Etain murmured as the comb, bracelet, necklace, diadem, and fan were each revealed to her, their jewels gleaming in the sunlight, precious metal glinting. "Even the sketches I gave to you do not compare."
"I have those as well, Majesty, if you want them back."
"You may return them to the treasury," Etain replied, waving the matter off. "Whatever you want in reward for completing your mission so flawlessly is yours for the asking, Marquis."
Ailill smiled and bowed. "It is an honor to serve my Queen and Verde, Majesty. I would, if it all possible, like to know what makes these jewels so significant…"
"Of course," Etain said with a wry smile. "Regretfully, I know only that they are vital…" She sighed and looked up at the skylights. "It is very frustrating to be told from childhood that you are a god in everything but fact…especially when it's further stated that your soul is reborn over and over because of some horrible mistake which remains a mystery…shadows flutter in my mind, but nothing clear. I know I am the Faerie Queen, but I have no memory of ever being so. Similarly, I know these pieces are vitally important, but I have no memory of them to tell me why. So, I apologize most profusely, my dear Marquis. I cannot answer your question more than that."
"No, Majesty, that is a most generous and honest answer."
Etain nodded. "You shall have to think of a proper reward, if none comes to you at present, and demand an audience when you have thought of it. Would you care to dine with me tonight?"
"I would, Majesty, but I am afraid my time is already being stolen away. Countess Tolbert has invited me to dine with her tonight, though I can of course send word to her…"
"Don't you dare," Etain reproved with a wink. "Enjoy dinner with the Countess. Cheer her up. She has been…discontent of late." A shadow passed briefly over Etain's face, gone almost before Ailill could catch it. "I would like to see her let go of her woes and find happiness again."
Ailill bowed low, hiding the frown the words inspired. They troubled him, but he could not honestly say why. The Queen was only looking out for her children, as she always did. Verenne's bitter words were obviously corrupting his own thoughts. Ailill shook it off. "Of course, Majesty. Shall I have the jewelry sent somewhere?"
"No…" Etain tilted her head, brow furrowing. "Shadows in my mind…keep the pieces close, but divide them up. Given one each to someone you trust, someone you can summon on a moment's notice. That will keep them safe. Bring them to me after the Ceremony…I will know what to do with them then."
"And if…" Ailill could not bear to finish the question, just thinking it was enough to turn his stomach, sour his mood.
"If the worst should happen, as it has too many times in the past…then keep the jewelry, pass them down as heirlooms, and make certain that all you know is passed on to the next White Panther." Etain's smile was heartbreaking, her pain Verde's pain.
Ailill nodded and decided it was time to bow out. "I thank you for your time today, and hope the rest of the day finds you well."
"The same to you, my White Panther. Once more I say that it gladdens my heart to have you home again, and I hope, Master Ivan, that you enjoy Verde for as long as you are here."
"I have no doubt I will, Majesty. Thank you."
Etain nodded to them, accepted their bows with a nod, and watched in silence as they turned and departed, Ivan carrying the cask.
Ailill took them down several smaller hallways, not in the mood to be more sociable than was strictly necessary with anyone skulking about the palace. If Noire was here, the man would have already found him. A pity; he could have used Noire's ability to brighten any situation - even his somber words the other night hadn't been as deadening as they would have been from anyone else. Something about Noire…simply brightened.
"Shall we to dinner?" he asked as they finally exited the Palace and alighted into their waiting carriage.
Ivan smiled at him, kicking his feet up to prop them next to Ailill. "Whatever you, want, lover."
"You know very well what I always want, mercenary. That does not answer my question at all."
"I would like to better understand all these undercurrents I'm sensing, for while they have nothing to do with me they clearly have much to do with you." Ivan shrugged. "Perhaps it's nothing, but that Ceremony you explained to me…undercurrents should not be taken lightly."
Ailill nodded wearily in agreement. "Verenne's words trouble me deeply. I do not like that Freddie is behaving so oddly…I wish I could explain to you how the two of them always looked…"
Barely had he fallen silent than Ailill found himself pressed back into the cushions of the carriage, distantly impressed by Ivan's ability to maneuver before a mouth crashed down over his own, Ivan's goatee scraping, almost tickling "Like this?" Ivan asked.
"What?" Ailill asked, wanting another kiss, not more talking. Then he recalled his own words. "Oh. Yes. They looked like us…only more volatile."
Ivan chuckled. "I prefer to save my anger for necessary fights. I would be exhausted if we had to constantly bicker to stay together."
"You and me both."
"So what will this dinner be like?" Ivan asked, changing the subject, though Ailill could tell from the calm, deceptively idle look on his face that his lover's mind was storing and processing all manner of small details. If Ivan was a mercenary, it was only because he'd never felt any inclination to be more. He didn't think even Ivan was aware of his own talents - the way everyone so readily obeyed him, the fact that his men would die for him…and all the complicated jobs he had accepted over the years. Ailill knew governments who would cheerfully kill to have such a sharp mind at their beck and call.
It always reminded him of what Raz had briefly said, in that chamber where he'd become the Sacred Firebird…that Ivan had, in a past, ancient life, been the first King of Pozhar. Himself the wolf that had stood by that ancient king's side…such thoughts were both normal and surreal. It made him feel warm though, all the way down to his marrow, that he and Ivan had always been and would always be together.
"Dinner with Verenne is always pretty casual. She spends all day right in the thick of the formality, balancing the wants of the nobles with the needs of the palace…most of the provinces cover more provincial areas, like mine - it is so scattered that I can trust direct supervision to various Stewards, and they send word to me as necessary of problems they cannot handle. Other provinces like Verenne's include heavily populated cities like this, and so are much more demanding. Verenne's province includes a harbor city further down the coast, and when she is not here tending to matters, she is called down there." He frowned. "It always helped her to have Freddie to seek out for comfort and rest…as I recall, Freddie was the only who could get her to rest…it is no wonder Verenne is especially tense."
Ivan grunted. "If you left me that suddenly, after so long, I would be rather hostile with you. She has my full sympathies."
"Fortunately for the both of us, Vanya, you are quite stuck with me."
"Stuck?" Ivan said with a laugh, but got no further as their carriage halted in front of a dark blue townhouse, trimmed in white and gray, the marble staircase bright white in the dim light of early evening.
Ailill followed Ivan out of the carriage, keeping hold of his hand as the door opened and they entered a foyer decorated entirely in black and white - from the floor tiling, to the painting on the wall, the black vase and white flowers on a glass table. It was…interesting. Ailill missed the bright, cheerful room it had once been, filled with warm browns, yellows, and sunflower accents. Verenne might be a Countess now, but she had been born to a family of well-off but not terribly wealthy merchants in the city that was now hers to protect. Unlike so many of the other Beasts, she had not forgotten her humbler roots.
"Obnoxious isn't it?" Verenne asked from behind them, stepping into the foyer from a small hallway, which Ailill knew from past visits led to her study and two sitting rooms. "I had it made as a…jest of sorts…for Freddie, and our five year anniversary." She smiled, old affection mingling with pain. "All out of my own pocket, of course, I would not use treasury money for something so frivolous as a joke. She…things ended before she came to my house to see. Most of the time, I simply went to her in the palace." She shrugged. "Ah, well. I am being rude again, talking about myself before proper introductions are made."
She stepped fully into the foyer and swept them a deep curtsy, a perfect display of poise, elegance, and grace. The crystals woven into her snow-white dining gown sparkled in the lamp light. "I almost wore blue, but then recalled you would be coming here straight after your audience with her Majesty and thought that would be unfair."
"I would have been most displeased that you could wear colors and not I, so I thank you for the small mercy," Ailill said, bowing low over her hand, grinning as he stood straight up.
Verenne shifted her attention to Ivan, white-gloved hands landing lightly on his shoulders as she reached up and kissed him gently on each cheek. "I apologize, Master Stranger, for being so rude earlier today and just now." Diamond tear-drop earrings glittered as she backed away. "I can see at a glance you make our White Panther quite happy. It is good to see such things can still go well. My name is Verenne, as you well know. The rest of it does not matter here, in my home. Come, I would hate for dinner to grow cold."
She turned and led the way down a different hallway, showing them into a dining room of maroon and mahogany, three places set at the end of a long table. She took the chair closest to the windows along the back wall, leaving Ailill to sit at the head of the table with Ivan on his right.
Ailill chuckled. "You still refuse to sit in your proper place?"
"The only place I want is no longer mine to have," Verenne said with a shrug. "Besides, I should not make you two sit so far apart." She winked. "I hope you like the soup; it is a creamy corn chowder of which my cook is most proud."
"Verenne, the food you serve is never less than perfect."
"I will tell my cook you said so; she has been pining away for your compliments."
Ivan chuckled. "Should I be jealous?" he teased.
"Only if you feel threatened by a seventy year old woman with a husband, three children and a tidy dozen grandchildren," Verenne said with a laugh. "If you must fear anyone, I would say be wary of Ailill's valet, if you've not already met him. If he finds you improper…"
"He will have me dragged off to a guest chamber, all but thrown into a bathing tub and then forced into expensive fabrics until I make a fair imitation at looking respectable," Ivan said dryly. "I have briefly encountered the man."
Verenne set down her wine and laughed so hard she was clutching at her sides by the time she calmed down sufficiently to take up her wine again. "I see. Oh, Ailill, your valet…"
Ailill merely shook his head and chuckled behind his wine glass. "I am doing the rest of the country a service by keeping him occupied?"
"Yes, I believe so," Verenne agreed, setting down her wine again to enjoy the soup. "So tell me a bit of your travels, my old friend. You have been sorely missed; no one else has your steadying presence or ability to walk away from asinine arguments. Noire has not been the same, either…"
"He said he had no other friends…I am surprised you did not spend time with him. If anyone has a calming influence, it is he."
Verenne shook her head sadly. "He tried, and I snapped at him, drove him away. I am afraid that my problems with her Grace have made me an unpleasant person to be around. This is the first night I've laughed so genuinely in the past six months." She fiddled with the stem of her wine glass, expression turning sad, defeated. "I had no idea it was coming, you know. Everyone says we do nothing but bicker, but that isn't true. Our arguments were always grand larks to us…we had so much fun, or so I always thought. When it happened…" she blinked rapidly and quickly raised her wineglass, draining half of it. She set it down heavily on the pristine white tablecloth. "When it happened, we had just spent a few days away at her country estate. We'd only been back for two days. Her Majesty sent a request for an audience, and Freddie was gone all night…she did not even send me word that she would not be returning that night."
Ailill frowned. That was extremely odd behavior for Freddie, who took her duties seriously. Her relationship with Verenne aside, Freddie would have sent word if only so her Beasts would be aware of her location and how long she would be there.
"The next morning, she arrived back at the Silver Palace right before lunch