Poison: Book Four of the Lost Gods
Mar. 5th, 2007 05:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrTygati made me a diff icon for this, but I can't use it quite yet ^^;;
Prologue
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…
Chapter One
“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.
Chapter Two
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.”
Poison
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
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
Prologue
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
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
Chapter One
“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.
Chapter Two
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.”
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Date: 2007-03-05 12:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-06 01:01 am (UTC)^___^ Noire is love. I had more fun writing him than I could possibly express. <3
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Date: 2007-03-05 01:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-06 01:01 am (UTC)^___^ I hope by the time I finish up LG, I'll have something else to start posting, 'cause otherwise I'll feel awful.
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Date: 2007-03-06 01:03 am (UTC)*cough*Greek gods*cough*cough*
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Date: 2007-03-05 03:20 pm (UTC)still love aillil and ivan and ivan's men. they're so much fun! can't wait for more.
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Date: 2007-03-06 01:02 am (UTC)And when have I ever failed to give a happy end? ^___^
Ivan-tachi are love, and the fun I have writing them is ridiculous. I'm glad they're enjoyed <3
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Date: 2007-03-07 03:46 am (UTC)this is very true. and one of the reasons i love reading your work. no nasty surprises from you, which i am most grateful for.
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Date: 2007-03-05 07:07 pm (UTC)I love how each book tells a story, but also each one is part of a bigger story, the truth about the gods and how the Fell. You have no idea how much respect I have for you for creating a project this big and complicated, let alone getting it to work so well. *love, love, love*
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Date: 2007-03-06 01:04 am (UTC)Nah, you're clever and this story is probably the least complicated of the four.
Thankee. It has given me many a headache, but it's so worth it in the end.
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Date: 2007-03-05 07:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-06 01:05 am (UTC)Ivan-tachi are shouldhavelefttheminthedungeonforthesakeofpeaceandquiet love.
One day, when I can work out the timeline, I need to write their Journeys with Lord Kitty.
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Date: 2007-03-06 01:13 am (UTC)*_____* Yes. That one's been on my 'Pester M to write' list for eons. *purrrrr*
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Date: 2007-03-05 08:32 pm (UTC)(I feel like I've had three cups of coffee today and I haven't :P Forgive the hyper. *glomps*)
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Date: 2007-03-06 01:07 am (UTC)^____^ I was thinking of you the entire time I wrote them. I was hoping you would like.
(and psh, most of my shit takes a while to get going, a failing of fantasy in general. I'd have a hard time getting enthralled at the start too, believe me <<<3333).
*lavishes with affection*
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Date: 2007-03-05 08:35 pm (UTC)As maile said, everytime we learn more, we know less. Can't wait to see it all come together.^^
Also, I'm very curious about the icon now... I hope we get to see it soon.
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Date: 2007-03-06 01:08 am (UTC)^____^ I admit I'm astonished at how immediately popular Noire is, but given how much I luffs him I gueses I should not be.
Heh. I'm not nearly so creative as everyone seems to think, alas ^^;; I'm always afraid all will go 'well, duh, how predictable'
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Date: 2007-03-05 08:51 pm (UTC)...someone needs to draw Lord Kitty in his lace.
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Date: 2007-03-05 11:04 pm (UTC)Heh. All will become clear ^_~ Next week.
I would die laughing.
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Date: 2007-03-06 01:41 am (UTC)Hmmm... maybe I should go dig up his description. *cackles* I haven't had a project in ages.
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Date: 2007-03-06 12:15 am (UTC)The panthers are *luv*
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Date: 2007-03-06 01:09 am (UTC)This one was way too much fun to write, that's for sure ^___^
Mmm, pretty kitties....
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Date: 2007-03-06 01:18 am (UTC)Cause, gyah! ^_^ Ailil and Ivan, Noire...*happy puddle of gooness*
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Date: 2007-03-06 01:21 am (UTC)And you are muchly adored, my dearest Sky <3
^____^
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Date: 2007-03-06 03:24 am (UTC)We finally get to see Ailil and Ivan again~! And Noire's so preeeettty~~~I want to see him purr with his Duke...
*_*
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Date: 2007-03-06 03:25 am (UTC)I've oft said it's obvious I grew up on manga - every chapter must. end. in. cliffhanger!!!! ^^;;;
^___^ Mmm, purring kitty....
^_____^
Date: 2007-03-06 05:07 am (UTC)I think I've read just about everything you've posted ever, and as it is nearly impossible to review every single one, I can only try to summarize my addiction/adoration for all of it, which really isn't possible unless "GUH! *_____*" counts, which really, it doesn't ;]
Re: ^_____^
Date: 2007-03-06 10:25 am (UTC)Of course you may join the insanity ^___^
We can let that count <3
That icon is hysterical.
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Date: 2007-03-06 05:32 am (UTC)Can't wait to see Noire's elusive lover--actually, just can't wait until next Monday! You're so evil, putting out something so good on the most evil day of the week. >\
Oh, yes. Can't forget about meeting Andre, or seeing Ivan and his men's reaction to the fussy nobles and vice versa. I imagine you were going "BWAHAHAHAHA!" while writing it. ^_^
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Date: 2007-03-06 10:22 am (UTC)^___^ I tried, and if someone noticed I could not have botched it entirely <3 Though now I wonder what sort of Form she might have had, ahahaha.
Hey! I took a poll! I was all for Tuesday. ^_~
Hee hee. Andre is fun. I might have bwahahaha'ed a little bit.
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Date: 2007-03-06 05:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-06 10:19 am (UTC)*laugh* I guess that does rather sum it all up ^___^ Yes, this looking forward to Monday is a bit weird.
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Date: 2007-03-06 11:23 am (UTC)Lord Kitty!!!! *dies*
Don't know the other characters well enough to like them yet, but I'm sure once I do know them, I'll love them! Noire, I hope you get into whoever's bed you've been wanting to be in!
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Date: 2007-03-06 03:26 pm (UTC)I'll be waiting with bated breath for the next chapters.
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Date: 2007-03-08 05:38 am (UTC)