Poison 5 & 6
Mar. 19th, 2007 06:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrSorry, Peeps. My morning started out fine, then went rather suddenly to hell.
Chapter Five
“Marquis le Blanc, I am most happy to see you again,” Etain, Faerie Queen Prospective of Verde, greeted her White Panther warmly. “I sent you out knowing full well you, of all my Beasts, were most suited to the task but one never knows what fate holds in store and I occasionally feared you would not return, for one reason or another. Welcome back.”
Ailill kept his head bowed. “Thank you, my Queen. It is good to be home.”
“Please, both of you stand.” She tilted her head thoughtfully, touching a finger to her chin in thought. “There is…an aura about the both of you…a heat, almost…”
“We were blessed by the Sacred Firebird, Highness,” Ailill replied. “This is Ivan, my lover and partner in all things. We met in Pozhar, and he has been considerate enough to stay with me through my travels and on to my home.”
“Be most welcome, Ivan of Pozhar, blessed by the Firebird himself.” The Queen’s smile was much like that of a mother’s, affectionate, soothing, genuine. The men smiled back, and Ivan sketched a bow in thanks. “So tell me, Marquis, how your journey faired.”
Ailill bowed again. “Majesty, my journey took far too long and it was often quite frustrating, but I return to you quite successful. The cask containing what you bid me find waits in your reception hall.”
Etain nodded and reached out to ring a small, golden bell sitting on a table beside her low-backed throne. A minute later a servant appeared, silent and soundless, at her side. Etain murmured to him and the servant vanished.
“I am duly impressed, Marquis, and you may name your reward. No one has found those jewels since they went missing a few hundred years ago. Do tell me your secret.”
“Persistence, Majesty,” Ailill replied. Persistence, the fact that he was in no hurry to return home, and his willingness to use less than orthodox methods when more acceptable means failed. Thank the Gods he was willing to employ questionable methods. He could no longer imagine life without the rogue at his side. “It takes nothing but persistence and a great deal of luck.”
Etain chuckled softly. “Somehow, I sense you are downplaying your own talents.” She looked up as a steward appeared at the far end of the throne room bearing Ailill’s cask. “Thank you,” she murmured, then fell silent until the three of them were once more alone. “Please, let me see.”
Ailill nodded and motioned to Ivan, who pulled the key from his boot and knelt to unlock the cask. Throwing back the top, Ailill took out each carefully wrapped piece of jewelry and displayed them for the Queen.
“Beautiful,” Etain murmured as the comb, bracelet, necklace, diadem, and fan were each revealed to her, their jewels gleaming in the sunlight, precious metal glinting. “Even the sketches I gave to you do not compare.”
“I have those as well, Majesty, if you want them back.”
“You may return them to the treasury,” Etain replied, waving the matter off. “Whatever you want in reward for completing your mission so flawlessly is yours for the asking, Marquis.”
Ailill smiled and bowed. “It is an honor to serve my Queen and Verde, Majesty. I would, if it all possible, like to know what makes these jewels so significant…”
“Of course,” Etain said with a wry smile. “Regretfully, I know only that they are vital…” She sighed and looked up at the skylights. “It is very frustrating to be told from childhood that you are a god in everything but fact…especially when it’s further stated that your soul is reborn over and over because of some horrible mistake which remains a mystery…shadows flutter in my mind, but nothing clear. I know I am the Faerie Queen, but I have no memory of ever being so. Similarly, I know these pieces are vitally important, but I have no memory of them to tell me why. So, I apologize most profusely, my dear Marquis. I cannot answer your question more than that.”
“No, Majesty, that is a most generous and honest answer.”
Etain nodded. “You shall have to think of a proper reward, if none comes to you at present, and demand an audience when you have thought of it. Would you care to dine with me tonight?”
“I would, Majesty, but I am afraid my time is already being stolen away. Countess Tolbert has invited me to dine with her tonight, though I can of course send word to her…”
“Don’t you dare,” Etain reproved with a wink. “Enjoy dinner with the Countess. Cheer her up. She has been…discontent of late.” A shadow passed briefly over Etain’s face, gone almost before Ailill could catch it. “I would like to see her let go of her woes and find happiness again.”
Ailill bowed low, hiding the frown the words inspired. They troubled him, but he could not honestly say why. The Queen was only looking out for her children, as she always did. Verenne’s bitter words were obviously corrupting his own thoughts. Ailill shook it off. “Of course, Majesty. Shall I have the jewelry sent somewhere?”
“No…” Etain tilted her head, brow furrowing. “Shadows in my mind…keep the pieces close, but divide them up. Given one each to someone you trust, someone you can summon on a moment’s notice. That will keep them safe. Bring them to me after the Ceremony…I will know what to do with them then.”
“And if…” Ailill could not bear to finish the question, just thinking it was enough to turn his stomach, sour his mood.
“If the worst should happen, as it has too many times in the past…then keep the jewelry, pass them down as heirlooms, and make certain that all you know is passed on to the next White Panther.” Etain’s smile was heartbreaking, her pain Verde’s pain.
Ailill nodded and decided it was time to bow out. “I thank you for your time today, and hope the rest of the day finds you well.”
“The same to you, my White Panther. Once more I say that it gladdens my heart to have you home again, and I hope, Master Ivan, that you enjoy Verde for as long as you are here.”
“I have no doubt I will, Majesty. Thank you.”
Etain nodded to them, accepted their bows with a nod, and watched in silence as they turned and departed, Ivan carrying the cask.
Ailill took them down several smaller hallways, not in the mood to be more sociable than was strictly necessary with anyone skulking about the palace. If Noire was here, the man would have already found him. A pity; he could have used Noire’s ability to brighten any situation – even his somber words the other night hadn’t been as deadening as they would have been from anyone else. Something about Noire…simply brightened.
“Shall we to dinner?” he asked as they finally exited the Palace and alighted into their waiting carriage.
Ivan smiled at him, kicking his feet up to prop them next to Ailill. “Whatever you, want, lover.”
“You know very well what I always want, mercenary. That does not answer my question at all.”
“I would like to better understand all these undercurrents I’m sensing, for while they have nothing to do with me they clearly have much to do with you.” Ivan shrugged. “Perhaps it’s nothing, but that Ceremony you explained to me…undercurrents should not be taken lightly.”
Ailill nodded wearily in agreement. “Verenne’s words trouble me deeply. I do not like that Freddie is behaving so oddly…I wish I could explain to you how the two of them always looked…”
Barely had he fallen silent than Ailill found himself pressed back into the cushions of the carriage, distantly impressed by Ivan’s ability to maneuver before a mouth crashed down over his own, Ivan’s goatee scraping, almost tickling “Like this?” Ivan asked.
“What?” Ailill asked, wanting another kiss, not more talking. Then he recalled his own words. “Oh. Yes. They looked like us…only more volatile.”
Ivan chuckled. “I prefer to save my anger for necessary fights. I would be exhausted if we had to constantly bicker to stay together.”
“You and me both.”
“So what will this dinner be like?” Ivan asked, changing the subject, though Ailill could tell from the calm, deceptively idle look on his face that his lover’s mind was storing and processing all manner of small details. If Ivan was a mercenary, it was only because he’d never felt any inclination to be more. He didn’t think even Ivan was aware of his own talents – the way everyone so readily obeyed him, the fact that his men would die for him…and all the complicated jobs he had accepted over the years. Ailill knew governments who would cheerfully kill to have such a sharp mind at their beck and call.
It always reminded him of what Raz had briefly said, in that chamber where he’d become the Sacred Firebird…that Ivan had, in a past, ancient life, been the first King of Pozhar. Himself the wolf that had stood by that ancient king’s side…such thoughts were both normal and surreal. It made him feel warm though, all the way down to his marrow, that he and Ivan had always been and would always be together.
“Dinner with Verenne is always pretty casual. She spends all day right in the thick of the formality, balancing the wants of the nobles with the needs of the palace…most of the provinces cover more provincial areas, like mine – it is so scattered that I can trust direct supervision to various Stewards, and they send word to me as necessary of problems they cannot handle. Other provinces like Verenne’s include heavily populated cities like this, and so are much more demanding. Verenne’s province includes a harbor city further down the coast, and when she is not here tending to matters, she is called down there.” He frowned. “It always helped her to have Freddie to seek out for comfort and rest…as I recall, Freddie was the only who could get her to rest…it is no wonder Verenne is especially tense.”
Ivan grunted. “If you left me that suddenly, after so long, I would be rather hostile with you. She has my full sympathies.”
“Fortunately for the both of us, Vanya, you are quite stuck with me.”
“Stuck?” Ivan said with a laugh, but got no further as their carriage halted in front of a dark blue townhouse, trimmed in white and gray, the marble staircase bright white in the dim light of early evening.
Ailill followed Ivan out of the carriage, keeping hold of his hand as the door opened and they entered a foyer decorated entirely in black and white – from the floor tiling, to the painting on the wall, the black vase and white flowers on a glass table. It was…interesting. Ailill missed the bright, cheerful room it had once been, filled with warm browns, yellows, and sunflower accents. Verenne might be a Countess now, but she had been born to a family of well-off but not terribly wealthy merchants in the city that was now hers to protect. Unlike so many of the other Beasts, she had not forgotten her humbler roots.
“Obnoxious isn’t it?” Verenne asked from behind them, stepping into the foyer from a small hallway, which Ailill knew from past visits led to her study and two sitting rooms. “I had it made as a…jest of sorts…for Freddie, and our five year anniversary.” She smiled, old affection mingling with pain. “All out of my own pocket, of course, I would not use treasury money for something so frivolous as a joke. She…things ended before she came to my house to see. Most of the time, I simply went to her in the palace.” She shrugged. “Ah, well. I am being rude again, talking about myself before proper introductions are made.”
She stepped fully into the foyer and swept them a deep curtsy, a perfect display of poise, elegance, and grace. The crystals woven into her snow-white dining gown sparkled in the lamp light. “I almost wore blue, but then recalled you would be coming here straight after your audience with her Majesty and thought that would be unfair.”
“I would have been most displeased that you could wear colors and not I, so I thank you for the small mercy,” Ailill said, bowing low over her hand, grinning as he stood straight up.
Verenne shifted her attention to Ivan, white-gloved hands landing lightly on his shoulders as she reached up and kissed him gently on each cheek. “I apologize, Master Stranger, for being so rude earlier today and just now.” Diamond tear-drop earrings glittered as she backed away. “I can see at a glance you make our White Panther quite happy. It is good to see such things can still go well. My name is Verenne, as you well know. The rest of it does not matter here, in my home. Come, I would hate for dinner to grow cold.”
She turned and led the way down a different hallway, showing them into a dining room of maroon and mahogany, three places set at the end of a long table. She took the chair closest to the windows along the back wall, leaving Ailill to sit at the head of the table with Ivan on his right.
Ailill chuckled. “You still refuse to sit in your proper place?”
“The only place I want is no longer mine to have,” Verenne said with a shrug. “Besides, I should not make you two sit so far apart.” She winked. “I hope you like the soup; it is a creamy corn chowder of which my cook is most proud.”
“Verenne, the food you serve is never less than perfect.”
“I will tell my cook you said so; she has been pining away for your compliments.”
Ivan chuckled. “Should I be jealous?” he teased.
“Only if you feel threatened by a seventy year old woman with a husband, three children and a tidy dozen grandchildren,” Verenne said with a laugh. “If you must fear anyone, I would say be wary of Ailill’s valet, if you’ve not already met him. If he finds you improper…”
“He will have me dragged off to a guest chamber, all but thrown into a bathing tub and then forced into expensive fabrics until I make a fair imitation at looking respectable,” Ivan said dryly. “I have briefly encountered the man.”
Verenne set down her wine and laughed so hard she was clutching at her sides by the time she calmed down sufficiently to take up her wine again. “I see. Oh, Ailill, your valet…”
Ailill merely shook his head and chuckled behind his wine glass. “I am doing the rest of the country a service by keeping him occupied?”
“Yes, I believe so,” Verenne agreed, setting down her wine again to enjoy the soup. “So tell me a bit of your travels, my old friend. You have been sorely missed; no one else has your steadying presence or ability to walk away from asinine arguments. Noire has not been the same, either…”
“He said he had no other friends…I am surprised you did not spend time with him. If anyone has a calming influence, it is he.”
Verenne shook her head sadly. “He tried, and I snapped at him, drove him away. I am afraid that my problems with her Grace have made me an unpleasant person to be around. This is the first night I’ve laughed so genuinely in the past six months.” She fiddled with the stem of her wine glass, expression turning sad, defeated. “I had no idea it was coming, you know. Everyone says we do nothing but bicker, but that isn’t true. Our arguments were always grand larks to us…we had so much fun, or so I always thought. When it happened…” she blinked rapidly and quickly raised her wineglass, draining half of it. She set it down heavily on the pristine white tablecloth. “When it happened, we had just spent a few days away at her country estate. We’d only been back for two days. Her Majesty sent a request for an audience, and Freddie was gone all night…she did not even send me word that she would not be returning that night.”
Ailill frowned. That was extremely odd behavior for Freddie, who took her duties seriously. Her relationship with Verenne aside, Freddie would have sent word if only so her Beasts would be aware of her location and how long she would be there.
“The next morning, she arrived back at the Silver Palace right before lunch and asked to speak privately with me.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and Verenne furiously wiped it away before drinking the rest of her wine. She was silent as Ailill politely, more from habit than anything, refilled her glass.
The wine was a deep violet-red, one of Verde’s finest vintages. Merchants from across the world fought to obtain barrels of the stuff, then turned around and sold it for exorbitant prices overseas. It was potent stuff, but Verenne had always drunk better than most men Ailill knew. It was also obvious she needed it to keep from completely falling apart, and he wondered why she’d kept a great deal of pain bottled up for so long.
“An hour later, I left – a single woman for the first time in a long time. I…could not believe it. I told no one, certain that something had angered her unreasonably and that in a few days it would all pass and she would apologize. That all would be well. Instead, I went to the Silver Palace a few days later only to learn that her Grace had told everyone we were no longer together. She refused to tell anyone why, and I have not done so either…it hurts too much, and it was the last thing she asked of me.”
Ailill reached out and covered her hand with his own, exchanging a glance with Ivan while Verenne stared into her wine glass.
Before he could decide whether or not to ask, Verenne answered the question. “She said that she had been mistaken, that she had been trying to love me because she could not admit to herself the true object of her affections. That she loved her Majesty, Queen Etain, more than anything or anyone else in the world. She asked that I not say anything, as a last token of our former affection.” Tears streamed down her face. “Affection. She said we had affection.”
“Have you told no one else this?” Ailill asked. “Why have you been enduring this all alone?”
Verenne sniffed and wiped her eyes with her napkin. “I am sorry. If I’d known I was going to fall apart like this, I would not have invited you and your lover to suffer through it. I really did just want a friendly face to eat dinner with.” She gave him a wobbly smile.
Ailill leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I have always considered us friends, Verenne, and I would be a poor one if I did not listen to your troubles. I am sorry to have been away while all of this was going on.”
“It’s just…I could handle it if there was a good reason…I would never have liked it, Freddie is everything to me…but I could have handled it. This…this makes no sense. Perhaps I am just the jealous former paramour, but I do not believe for a moment that Freddie loves her Majesty more than me.” She shook her head vehemently back and forth, long hair swishing and bobbing, and picked up her wine to down a third of it in one angry swallow. “I would bet my life the love she professes is not true.”
The words made Ailill cold, somehow, and he could tell from the fine tensing of Ivan’s body that the words did not rest well with him either. “Do not say such drastic things, Verenne. Not now.”
Verenne laughed. “Yes, everyone is so tetchy with the Ceremony on the horizon.” She rubbed her forehead and fell silent as servants appeared to whisk away the soup and bring in the main course, a delicate spring soufflé.
Ailill winked at Ivan when Verenne was not looking, a silent tease over the meal – Ivan and his men adapted well, but he knew they all missed their Pozharian food and the meat that meant.
“I cannot wait until that abominable Ceremony is over,” Verenne continued. “I do not know why, but I feel like it is responsible for everything.” She closed her eyes. “Will it end as it always has? It is true I feel like strangling Freddie, but I do not want…”
“We all hope it goes as it should, Verenne. You will help no one, least of all yourself and Freddie, by worrying about something that will inevitably come. Perhaps we will be the fortunate ones, and all survive. Believe that, do not worry about what else might be. Positive thinking is often at the very heart of everything.”
Verenne nodded, but only stared glumly at her plate.
“I was cursed once,” Ivan said. “The man who cast it said that if I did not do what he wanted, in exactly one month the curse would kill me. When he first cast it, I did not even know what a curse was. As you probably are aware, until very recently magic was forbidden in my homeland.”
“Yes,” Verenne said, brow furrowed, and she was curious despite herself. “What did he want you to do?”
“Murder someone,” Ivan said. “To save myself, I had to find and kill another…regretfully, the man wound up dying, though not by my hand. I had several friends helping me to break the curse, even though of all of us only Ailill knew anything about magic. It required, at the last, a particular friend of mine breaking into the palace and obtaining help from a priest, then bringing the cure back to me.” Ivan smiled at her, the expression oddly suited to his roguish features. “So you see, Lady Verenne, anything is quite possible.”
A smile tugged at Verenne’s mouth and she bowed her head in acknowledgement. “Your point is made, and quite prettily, Master Ivan.”
“Ivan, please. I am hardly suited to any sort of title.”
Ailill snickered. “Other than ‘hey, boss!’”
Ivan rolled his eyes. “Words that are always followed by a joke made at my expense.”
“Oh?” Verenne asked.
“Vanya…had an interesting career back in Pozhar. He has brought his team with him, as they refuse to be apart from their boss. Their loyalty is quite a sight, I assure you. The way they harass him is highly entertaining. You shall have to come dine with me, sometime, and I will introduce you to all of them.”
“I would like that,” Verenne said. “Now, come, I am done being dramatic and weepy. Thank you, both. If you will indulge a Lady a bit more…?”
Ailill smiled and nodded. “Of course. What would you like?”
Verenne smiled. “Tell me how you met.”
Laughing, enjoying Ivan’s sudden discomfort, Ailill complied. “It was shortly after I landed in Pozhar, actually…”
Chapter Six
Gael stepped from his carriage, heartily grateful the exhausting journey was over and sorely annoyed he simply could not have brought himself here – the dictates of a society he was supposed to control were wearing thin. If he managed to survive the Ceremony, when he was a god he intended to forbid carriages and white.
Even the snow, he vowed, would have to pick a different color.
Handing his light coat over to a footman, he bid another one fetch his trunk and sent a third scurrying off to tell Etain he had arrived.
Though he’d devoutly hoped he’d be attacked by bandits. A raging illness. Even a broken carriage wheel.
Instead he’d arrived a full thirty minutes early.
Squashing an urge to scream or hit something, knowing he was overreacting, Gael strode through the halls, white boots ringing, the long tail of his gold hair swinging back and forth across his back, barely held together by a pale blue ribbon.
The color was strictly against the rules but if an almost-god couldn’t flout a few tiny rules, what was the point of being an almost-god?
It’s not much…
It’s perfect, Kitten.
It had only been a couple of weeks, but every moment felt like an eternity.
Still, less than three months now. Then it would all be over…one way or the other…
Gael shook his head. He had enough to deal with, or would shortly; he did not need to make matters worse by dwelling on things beyond his control.
“Grand Duke,” a steward said quietly as he reached the reception room. “Her Majesty awaits you in her private audience chamber, along with her Grace. She bid you join them at your leisure.”
“Thank you. Tell them I will join them in an hour’s time, after I refresh myself from the journey.”
The steward bowed low. “Yes, your Grace. Is there anything we can have sent to your rooms?”
Food was tempting, he had not eaten since he’d left that morning…but he would need an empty stomach for his upcoming audience. “No, but thank you. See that I am not disturbed the rest of the day and evening.”
“Yes, your Grace.” The steward bowed again and departed to see his messages were conveyed.
Gael barely bit back an urge to ask if Noire was on the premises. The question would be odd, coming from him, and he did not want to know. If Noire was…Gael’s stomach turned and he was glad he’d rejected the idea of food. He didn’t want Noire even remotely near him for this…and yet that was all he wanted.
Someone grant him patience and mercy, he was tired of all of this. The Ceremony was as far away as it was close. Truly, he could not stand much more of this. Turning sharply on his heel, Gael strode through the halls toward the suite of rooms that were kept exclusively for his use whenever he visited the Queen’s Palace.
They were appointed in shades of green, trimmed in the gold he had not managed to completely avoid – but there was no white to be found anywhere. On that point he had held firm.
Bypassing the sitting room and the bedroom, Gael stripped out of his travel clothes in his dressing chamber and washed down at the basin in the corner before picking through a wide collection of white and gold clothing.
Knowing formality was not going to be an issue, he settled on simple superfine breeches, a fine lawn shirt, and a plain afternoon jacket with delicate gold buttons. Pulling matching cufflinks from a jewelry box on a small dressing table, Gael pulled the ribbon from his hair and brushed the long strands out, pulling out knots acquired during the interminable carriage ride. When the long, dark gold strands were as smooth as he could get them, Gael picked up the pale blue ribbon. He smoothed his thumb over it, enjoying the feel of the smooth silk, wishing he could feel smooth skin instead. Sighing at himself, he swiftly tied his hair back with the ribbon and then strode from his dressing chamber and back to the sitting room.
Striding to the tall, wide window that spilled sunlight across the room, Gael stared out across the fields that surrounded the Queen’s Palace, his own home far off in the distance, nearly an entire day’s ride away by carriage. He could have traveled here much faster – and home again – in his Form.
Ideally. More likely, if he were honest, he would have been slowed down as people stopped the Unicorn of Verde to tell him their woes, their problems – all of which he would do his best to fix, but people often did not realize they were the best persons to fix their own problems…they were also often the only reason for said problems.
Would being a god make any of this easier? Would it seem less like a weight that threatened to crush him at any moment?
Of course, everything would seem better if he could just openly turn to the one who kept him going.
He needed to stop. Thinking of his lover would make facing his sisters that much more difficult.
Closing his eyes, bracing himself, Gael squared his shoulders and turned away from the window, leaving his room and striding through the hallways toward the private audience chamber of the Queen.
He rapped three times on the door, then grasped the handle and pushed it open.
The sight that greeted his eyes was far from a surprise – it was one he had seen before, had once looked forward to seeing…and now dreaded with every fiber of his being. He’d thought it over, when Freddie had begun an affair with her White Bat…
Freddie was half-sitting, half-lying, upon the window seat at the far end of the room. Etain sat leaning over her, and it was obvious they had been kissing right before he’d walked in. Their cheeks were flushed, smiles curving their lips, and Gael knew more than a few of the nobles far away in the public halls would sacrifice their status and more to see a sight such as this.
All he wanted was a reason to leave, but that same part of him that screamed Noire must be hidden, protected, said to reveal his true feelings on this matter would also be a terrible mistake. He wished he understood why, but he was also grateful to have these vague instincts guiding him. Gods willing, everything would make sense after the Ceremony.
“Gael,” Etain said softly, smiling her beautiful smile and holding out a hand. “We’ve missed you. You never come to see us anymore.”
Dredging up an answering smile, longing to see only one, Gael closed the door behind him and crossed the room to his sisters. “I am sorry, Etain. Between my duties and the Ceremony it seems I never have a moment to simply stop and breathe.”
Freddie laughed in sympathy as she sat up and readjusted her gown.
Etain merely pouted and reached out to drag his head down, her mouth tasting like rose tea and strawberry crème. Gael reminded himself sternly that pulling away would be a bad idea, and closed his eyes, imagining instead a mouth that tasted of coffee and cream, calloused hands moving over his skin.
When Etain finally let him go, he turned to Freddie, meeting her kiss head on, determined to get this over with. Her mouth was soft, but the kiss forceful, flavored with the strong wine Freddie favored but Gael had never cared much for – it was even more bitter than he recalled…then abruptly it smoothed out, leaving only an enhancement to the flavor of his Pegasus sister.
He pulled well away from them when the kiss finally ended, desperate to find something to wash the taste of the kisses from his mouth. This was no longer what he wanted…what he’d never really wanted, except he’d always feared hurting Etain and Freddie…of angering Etain. Some part of him had always wondered if that was why Freddie had broken it off with her White Bat lover…but his few attempts to discover that had only met with cool dismissal from Freddie.
“So how fare my lovely sisters?”
“Better now that our handsome brother is with us,” Etain said with a smile, sliding from the window seat and picking up her teacup, pale pink and gold china, from a small table beside the armchair in which she sat. In small, delicate bites she ate another petite four, licking strawberry crème from her lips.
Once upon a time, he would have been able to make himself enjoy the sight. How many men and women in the country would almost cheerfully commit murder to be here, alone with the Queen and Grand Duchess, both of them more than happy to do whatever he might ask.
Gael kept himself on the far side of the room, well away from both of them. He poured himself a cup of tea but remained standing as he sipped it. “How have you been, Freddie?”
“Busy,” Freddie said over the rim of her wine glass. “Obviously you know what that feels like. I hear there was a small riot in your area…”
“In the White Fox’s province. She handled it well,” Gael said. “People are scared, tense. They do not want to see the Ceremony fail again and who can blame them? If I were them, I would get tired of seeing the three of us fail, too.” He swallowed his tea, grateful for the heat that seemed to burn away the lingering taste of his sisters.
Etain fluttered one hand in a dismissive gesture. “The Ceremony will work this time, I know it. How could it not, when we love each other so? Obviously we have a bond that the others all lacked.”
“Even the original gods themselves?” Gael asked before he could bite his tongue. “It was said their bond was unbreakable, deep and true until they were found dead. Until we discover the reason they always kill one another, Etain, I cannot see a good reason for your confidence.”
“You worry too much, Gael,” Etain protested, sipping at her own tea. “So long as we three remain united – and truly, there is no bond stronger than ours – then I do not see how it could fail.” She smiled at him. “Be at peace, my beloved brother.”
Freddie chuckled softly and refilled her wineglass from the dark green bottle beside her. “Oh, let him worry, sweetheart. That is our Gael, no? The prevailing head of good sense and reason when you and I decide to get up to something.” She blew him a kiss. “Let him worry while we boast and bluster.”
Gael smiled back, letting their gentle teasing wash over him, wishing he was anywhere but here.
“Do you like the tea, Gael?” Etain asked.
A question about which he could be completely honest. Gael almost sighed in relief. “It’s most excellent, Etain. Very full, just enough rose without being overpowering. Did you blend in the slightest hint of mint?”
“I did,” Etain said, beaming. ‘I knew you would like it.”
Gael smiled. “I am always happy to try your teas, Etain. You know I drink nothing but the blends you’ve designed.” Though often these days he found himself trying to drink coffee thick with cream, because he could not have the coffee-flavored mouth he so desired. That little bit of information he would not, however, be sharing. “You shall have to send me a cask of this, as well as more of the lemon-ginger blend.”
“Of course, darling.” She smiled at him, and Gael felt his stomach twist with dread, knowing she’d probably demand a kiss for it…but thankfully instead she simply picked up another petite four. “Now that it is spring, I shall have fun playing with all the fresh ingredients. I suppose we should to business…”
Freddie sighed. “As Gael has said, everyone is a mess over the looming Ceremony. It seems for every weed I yank out, three more pop up. Who can truly blame the people, however? We all say it – there is every reason to be jumpy, fretful. The most we can do is what we are doing – keeping it from getting too far out of control. My poor Beasts are working themselves to exhaustion, and I have no doubt Gael’s are just as worn. How go the preparations with you, Etain?”
The Queen fluttered the question away and sipped her tea. “Perfectly, of course. The Ceremony Room is nearly prepared, I’ve only to ensure it stays that way by this point.”
Gael nodded, Freddie doing the same. They had never seen the Ceremony room, and wouldn’t until the Ceremony took place. No one but the Queen ever saw the room until that day…and only when it failed did others break into it to take the bodies away, and by then the room was completely lifeless.
“Any other problems in the realm? From abroad?”
Etain shook her head. “No…our ambassadors in Kundou and Piedre have been quiet, and Pozhar is finally asking that we send one. I will be making that selection sometime after the ceremony, I think. There is no rush, and so far no one among the choices really strikes me as suited.” She shrugged.
“As you say,” Gael replied, “there is no rush. I am glad to hear the Firelands are losing their rigidity.”
“Yes,” Freddie said. “I hear many good things since the new Queen took the throne.”
Etain nodded absently in agreement, lost in thought and her tea. “How is your wine, sweet?” she asked Freddie.
“Absolutely perfect,” Freddie responded, taking a healthy sip to prove her words.
Gael made a face. “Far too bitter for me, that one. I do not see how you drink it.”
“Ah, Gael. It is the bitter that appeals. You have always preferred sweeter things though; I could not expect you to understand why I like the bite.” She winked at him.
Etain shifted ever so slightly in her seat, a sign of her growing impatience. She had not called them here simply to talk…ordinarily, they would not have come simply to talk. Once, he had been less reluctant…had managed to learn to enjoy what he could of their strange relationship.
Not anymore. Now it only felt as though he were betraying Noire. He did not want to know how badly it would hurt his lover to know the thing Gael did…had to do…because some part of him said it would be much worse if he tried to stop it.
The atmosphere had changed, and Gael broke from his thoughts to see that his sisters were fast growing impatient with idle chatter. He had come prepared to endure this…but suddenly he just could not do it. He knew in whose arms he belonged, and as beautiful and wonderful as his sisters were, their arms were not the right ones.
Setting down his teacup with a hard clink, Gael strode toward the door.
“Gael?” Etain asked, obviously startled, Freddie no less surprised beside her.
He gave them a fond smile, hoping his tension did not show. “I am sorry, my darlings, but I cannot relax and play while so many problems loom, while my people hurt themselves and each other with their worry and fear. I will be more than happy to play after the Ceremony, when there is much to celebrate.” He would play with Noire, after showing everyone who truly held his heart, and celebrate that until he was too exhausted to move.
Freddie sighed softly from her own seat. “You are right of course, Gael. Still, we do miss seeing our brother.”
“I know,” Gael said softly. “I love you both, and I will see you later.” With a last bow, he turned and exited the room. Outside, he barely kept his pace sedate as he headed back toward his suite.
He turned idly to look out over the garden as he passed along an open hallway…and slowed as his eyes landed on a familiar figure. Longing and shame washed over him, desire for his lover mingling with the fact that he had just been kissing two other people. Not because he wanted to…
Noire looked as stunning as ever, and Gael wondered that no one had claimed him before Gael. He was handsome and sensual, mixed blood giving him a touch of exotic that no one else possessed…though it was his smiles and those pale, blue-silver eyes that really caught him. Especially those smiles, he positively ached to see them. One of Noire’s smiles would do much to dissipate the clouds of gloom that hung over him.
He paused to watch a moment, smiling faintly at the way Noire laughed and obviously teased a man Gael realized a second later was the Marquis le Blanc. Cats playing together, he could not help but think. He had known they were friends, Noire had mentioned it before, but it was nice to actively see it…to confirm with his own eyes that Noire had friends, people who could and would be with him in public…
That thought brought the agony crashing back down upon him, and Gael started to turn away – but right as he did, Noire threw his head back, laughing at some joke, and abruptly stopped as he saw Gael. He flashed a grin and immediately bent into a graceful bow. The Marquis le Blanc turned to see what had caught Noire’s attention, and then dipped into his own bow.
Gael nodded back, eyes lingering just a second too long on his lover, then continued calmly on his way, as though simply passing through – not as though he had been passing through and stopped to stare.
At the end of the hallway, however, he abruptly changed his mind and cut down a different one, away from his room. He flagged down the first footman he saw and sent the man to ready his carriage.
He could not, would not stay here a moment longer. If he did, his sisters would continue to push him, and he would probably cave in to weakness and seek out his lover. Such selfishness on his part would not do; he would not endanger Noire simply because he was confused, lonely, and miserable. One day, if he could just hold on to his patience for a couple months more, he would able to seek Noire out whenever and wherever he wanted.
Outside, Gael closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the sunshine, the smell of spring in the air, blocking out the sounds of civilization until he was forced to acknowledge his carriage as it clattered across the stones of the courtyard and halted before him at the bottom of the steps.
Accepting his coat, Gael eschewed a footman’s help as he clambered into the carriage – barely keeping himself from stopping halfway inside as he realized there was another figure already in it.
He kept silent until they were well away from the palace. “You should not be here,” he hissed. “I do not ask you keep us a secret so that you may risk revealing everything.”
Noire ignored him, moving to sit next to him, arms wrapping around him, and despite himself Gael could not resist letting go of all his tension as Noire’s warmth and scent surrounded him. “Kitten, you put yourself in danger.”
“You say that, but I do not know of what danger you speak.”
“Neither do I,” Gael said softly, stroking the thick, dark strands of Noire’s hair before tracing the bones of one fine cheek, brushing his fingertips softly across tempting lips. “Just trust me, please.”
“I do, Gael.” Noire’s tongue flicked out to taste his fingers, making Gael shiver. Pale blue eyes looked at him intently. “I’m sorry for taking the risk – no one saw me, though. Even Ailill thinks I had to report to Freddie since I saw you out of session. No one will notice my absence, trust me, and I’ll slink away when you stop to rest the horses. Promise.” He nuzzled against Gael, fingers stroking soothingly over his arms and chest. “You looked so unhappy, I had to make certain you were all right.”
Gael dipped his head to brush a soft kiss to one sun-dark cheek. “Ah, Kitten. Only you would notice at such a distance. I do not like…speaking with my sisters leaves me tense. Nor will I be happy until I can seek you out and kiss you breathless whenever I like. I want that so very much it hurts.”
“Gael…” Noire breathed the word, turning so that their lips were barely a space apart, and if it were possible for even a god to resist such temptation, Gael wanted never to be a god.
Yes, that was what he needed. Noire’s kiss, warm and willing, flavored with coffee and cream, that lithe body pushing against him, the movement unconscious and immediate. Gael sorely regretted that they were in a confining carriage, that the tight quarters kept him from doing the things he never tired of doing. “I vow you were born to steal my sense, Kitten.”
“Yours,” Noire whispered against his mouth. “I was born only to be yours.”
Gael held him tight and buried his head against Noire’s shoulder. “We were meant to be, Kitten, that is all there is to it. I am sorry my strange fears make everything so difficult.”
“Two months and twenty-two days,” Noire said, brushing his lips softly over a bit of Gael’s throat right above his cravat. He laughed softly. “Still going to have your wicked way right in the middle of your hall?”
Gael growled softly and nipped a bit of throat for himself. “If a certain Kitten keeps tempting me in my own carriage, I may just take you in the Queen’s Palace in the middle of court.”
“You’re supposed to help keep order, Gael, not traumatize everyone.”
“The only thing they would be, Kitten, is insanely jealous,” Gael said between sharp, nipping kisses, fingers moving restlessly, longing to remove the offending clothes that kept them from the skin they wanted.
Noire chuckled but did not reply. “How long before you stop for a break?”
“Three hours or so,” Gael said softly, and after a last long, lingering kiss, he settled back against the cushions and arranged them more comfortably. Though he would never pass up an opportunity to ravish his lover to exhaustion, there was much to be said for a chance simply to be together. “Thank you, Kitten. I wanted quite badly to be with you.”
In reply, Noire only cuddled closer, a warm, welcome weight, and sighed softly in contentment. It would only be a brief contentment, but until Gael thought it was safe – and hopefully that day would come – they would take what they could get.
Chapter Five
“Marquis le Blanc, I am most happy to see you again,” Etain, Faerie Queen Prospective of Verde, greeted her White Panther warmly. “I sent you out knowing full well you, of all my Beasts, were most suited to the task but one never knows what fate holds in store and I occasionally feared you would not return, for one reason or another. Welcome back.”
Ailill kept his head bowed. “Thank you, my Queen. It is good to be home.”
“Please, both of you stand.” She tilted her head thoughtfully, touching a finger to her chin in thought. “There is…an aura about the both of you…a heat, almost…”
“We were blessed by the Sacred Firebird, Highness,” Ailill replied. “This is Ivan, my lover and partner in all things. We met in Pozhar, and he has been considerate enough to stay with me through my travels and on to my home.”
“Be most welcome, Ivan of Pozhar, blessed by the Firebird himself.” The Queen’s smile was much like that of a mother’s, affectionate, soothing, genuine. The men smiled back, and Ivan sketched a bow in thanks. “So tell me, Marquis, how your journey faired.”
Ailill bowed again. “Majesty, my journey took far too long and it was often quite frustrating, but I return to you quite successful. The cask containing what you bid me find waits in your reception hall.”
Etain nodded and reached out to ring a small, golden bell sitting on a table beside her low-backed throne. A minute later a servant appeared, silent and soundless, at her side. Etain murmured to him and the servant vanished.
“I am duly impressed, Marquis, and you may name your reward. No one has found those jewels since they went missing a few hundred years ago. Do tell me your secret.”
“Persistence, Majesty,” Ailill replied. Persistence, the fact that he was in no hurry to return home, and his willingness to use less than orthodox methods when more acceptable means failed. Thank the Gods he was willing to employ questionable methods. He could no longer imagine life without the rogue at his side. “It takes nothing but persistence and a great deal of luck.”
Etain chuckled softly. “Somehow, I sense you are downplaying your own talents.” She looked up as a steward appeared at the far end of the throne room bearing Ailill’s cask. “Thank you,” she murmured, then fell silent until the three of them were once more alone. “Please, let me see.”
Ailill nodded and motioned to Ivan, who pulled the key from his boot and knelt to unlock the cask. Throwing back the top, Ailill took out each carefully wrapped piece of jewelry and displayed them for the Queen.
“Beautiful,” Etain murmured as the comb, bracelet, necklace, diadem, and fan were each revealed to her, their jewels gleaming in the sunlight, precious metal glinting. “Even the sketches I gave to you do not compare.”
“I have those as well, Majesty, if you want them back.”
“You may return them to the treasury,” Etain replied, waving the matter off. “Whatever you want in reward for completing your mission so flawlessly is yours for the asking, Marquis.”
Ailill smiled and bowed. “It is an honor to serve my Queen and Verde, Majesty. I would, if it all possible, like to know what makes these jewels so significant…”
“Of course,” Etain said with a wry smile. “Regretfully, I know only that they are vital…” She sighed and looked up at the skylights. “It is very frustrating to be told from childhood that you are a god in everything but fact…especially when it’s further stated that your soul is reborn over and over because of some horrible mistake which remains a mystery…shadows flutter in my mind, but nothing clear. I know I am the Faerie Queen, but I have no memory of ever being so. Similarly, I know these pieces are vitally important, but I have no memory of them to tell me why. So, I apologize most profusely, my dear Marquis. I cannot answer your question more than that.”
“No, Majesty, that is a most generous and honest answer.”
Etain nodded. “You shall have to think of a proper reward, if none comes to you at present, and demand an audience when you have thought of it. Would you care to dine with me tonight?”
“I would, Majesty, but I am afraid my time is already being stolen away. Countess Tolbert has invited me to dine with her tonight, though I can of course send word to her…”
“Don’t you dare,” Etain reproved with a wink. “Enjoy dinner with the Countess. Cheer her up. She has been…discontent of late.” A shadow passed briefly over Etain’s face, gone almost before Ailill could catch it. “I would like to see her let go of her woes and find happiness again.”
Ailill bowed low, hiding the frown the words inspired. They troubled him, but he could not honestly say why. The Queen was only looking out for her children, as she always did. Verenne’s bitter words were obviously corrupting his own thoughts. Ailill shook it off. “Of course, Majesty. Shall I have the jewelry sent somewhere?”
“No…” Etain tilted her head, brow furrowing. “Shadows in my mind…keep the pieces close, but divide them up. Given one each to someone you trust, someone you can summon on a moment’s notice. That will keep them safe. Bring them to me after the Ceremony…I will know what to do with them then.”
“And if…” Ailill could not bear to finish the question, just thinking it was enough to turn his stomach, sour his mood.
“If the worst should happen, as it has too many times in the past…then keep the jewelry, pass them down as heirlooms, and make certain that all you know is passed on to the next White Panther.” Etain’s smile was heartbreaking, her pain Verde’s pain.
Ailill nodded and decided it was time to bow out. “I thank you for your time today, and hope the rest of the day finds you well.”
“The same to you, my White Panther. Once more I say that it gladdens my heart to have you home again, and I hope, Master Ivan, that you enjoy Verde for as long as you are here.”
“I have no doubt I will, Majesty. Thank you.”
Etain nodded to them, accepted their bows with a nod, and watched in silence as they turned and departed, Ivan carrying the cask.
Ailill took them down several smaller hallways, not in the mood to be more sociable than was strictly necessary with anyone skulking about the palace. If Noire was here, the man would have already found him. A pity; he could have used Noire’s ability to brighten any situation – even his somber words the other night hadn’t been as deadening as they would have been from anyone else. Something about Noire…simply brightened.
“Shall we to dinner?” he asked as they finally exited the Palace and alighted into their waiting carriage.
Ivan smiled at him, kicking his feet up to prop them next to Ailill. “Whatever you, want, lover.”
“You know very well what I always want, mercenary. That does not answer my question at all.”
“I would like to better understand all these undercurrents I’m sensing, for while they have nothing to do with me they clearly have much to do with you.” Ivan shrugged. “Perhaps it’s nothing, but that Ceremony you explained to me…undercurrents should not be taken lightly.”
Ailill nodded wearily in agreement. “Verenne’s words trouble me deeply. I do not like that Freddie is behaving so oddly…I wish I could explain to you how the two of them always looked…”
Barely had he fallen silent than Ailill found himself pressed back into the cushions of the carriage, distantly impressed by Ivan’s ability to maneuver before a mouth crashed down over his own, Ivan’s goatee scraping, almost tickling “Like this?” Ivan asked.
“What?” Ailill asked, wanting another kiss, not more talking. Then he recalled his own words. “Oh. Yes. They looked like us…only more volatile.”
Ivan chuckled. “I prefer to save my anger for necessary fights. I would be exhausted if we had to constantly bicker to stay together.”
“You and me both.”
“So what will this dinner be like?” Ivan asked, changing the subject, though Ailill could tell from the calm, deceptively idle look on his face that his lover’s mind was storing and processing all manner of small details. If Ivan was a mercenary, it was only because he’d never felt any inclination to be more. He didn’t think even Ivan was aware of his own talents – the way everyone so readily obeyed him, the fact that his men would die for him…and all the complicated jobs he had accepted over the years. Ailill knew governments who would cheerfully kill to have such a sharp mind at their beck and call.
It always reminded him of what Raz had briefly said, in that chamber where he’d become the Sacred Firebird…that Ivan had, in a past, ancient life, been the first King of Pozhar. Himself the wolf that had stood by that ancient king’s side…such thoughts were both normal and surreal. It made him feel warm though, all the way down to his marrow, that he and Ivan had always been and would always be together.
“Dinner with Verenne is always pretty casual. She spends all day right in the thick of the formality, balancing the wants of the nobles with the needs of the palace…most of the provinces cover more provincial areas, like mine – it is so scattered that I can trust direct supervision to various Stewards, and they send word to me as necessary of problems they cannot handle. Other provinces like Verenne’s include heavily populated cities like this, and so are much more demanding. Verenne’s province includes a harbor city further down the coast, and when she is not here tending to matters, she is called down there.” He frowned. “It always helped her to have Freddie to seek out for comfort and rest…as I recall, Freddie was the only who could get her to rest…it is no wonder Verenne is especially tense.”
Ivan grunted. “If you left me that suddenly, after so long, I would be rather hostile with you. She has my full sympathies.”
“Fortunately for the both of us, Vanya, you are quite stuck with me.”
“Stuck?” Ivan said with a laugh, but got no further as their carriage halted in front of a dark blue townhouse, trimmed in white and gray, the marble staircase bright white in the dim light of early evening.
Ailill followed Ivan out of the carriage, keeping hold of his hand as the door opened and they entered a foyer decorated entirely in black and white – from the floor tiling, to the painting on the wall, the black vase and white flowers on a glass table. It was…interesting. Ailill missed the bright, cheerful room it had once been, filled with warm browns, yellows, and sunflower accents. Verenne might be a Countess now, but she had been born to a family of well-off but not terribly wealthy merchants in the city that was now hers to protect. Unlike so many of the other Beasts, she had not forgotten her humbler roots.
“Obnoxious isn’t it?” Verenne asked from behind them, stepping into the foyer from a small hallway, which Ailill knew from past visits led to her study and two sitting rooms. “I had it made as a…jest of sorts…for Freddie, and our five year anniversary.” She smiled, old affection mingling with pain. “All out of my own pocket, of course, I would not use treasury money for something so frivolous as a joke. She…things ended before she came to my house to see. Most of the time, I simply went to her in the palace.” She shrugged. “Ah, well. I am being rude again, talking about myself before proper introductions are made.”
She stepped fully into the foyer and swept them a deep curtsy, a perfect display of poise, elegance, and grace. The crystals woven into her snow-white dining gown sparkled in the lamp light. “I almost wore blue, but then recalled you would be coming here straight after your audience with her Majesty and thought that would be unfair.”
“I would have been most displeased that you could wear colors and not I, so I thank you for the small mercy,” Ailill said, bowing low over her hand, grinning as he stood straight up.
Verenne shifted her attention to Ivan, white-gloved hands landing lightly on his shoulders as she reached up and kissed him gently on each cheek. “I apologize, Master Stranger, for being so rude earlier today and just now.” Diamond tear-drop earrings glittered as she backed away. “I can see at a glance you make our White Panther quite happy. It is good to see such things can still go well. My name is Verenne, as you well know. The rest of it does not matter here, in my home. Come, I would hate for dinner to grow cold.”
She turned and led the way down a different hallway, showing them into a dining room of maroon and mahogany, three places set at the end of a long table. She took the chair closest to the windows along the back wall, leaving Ailill to sit at the head of the table with Ivan on his right.
Ailill chuckled. “You still refuse to sit in your proper place?”
“The only place I want is no longer mine to have,” Verenne said with a shrug. “Besides, I should not make you two sit so far apart.” She winked. “I hope you like the soup; it is a creamy corn chowder of which my cook is most proud.”
“Verenne, the food you serve is never less than perfect.”
“I will tell my cook you said so; she has been pining away for your compliments.”
Ivan chuckled. “Should I be jealous?” he teased.
“Only if you feel threatened by a seventy year old woman with a husband, three children and a tidy dozen grandchildren,” Verenne said with a laugh. “If you must fear anyone, I would say be wary of Ailill’s valet, if you’ve not already met him. If he finds you improper…”
“He will have me dragged off to a guest chamber, all but thrown into a bathing tub and then forced into expensive fabrics until I make a fair imitation at looking respectable,” Ivan said dryly. “I have briefly encountered the man.”
Verenne set down her wine and laughed so hard she was clutching at her sides by the time she calmed down sufficiently to take up her wine again. “I see. Oh, Ailill, your valet…”
Ailill merely shook his head and chuckled behind his wine glass. “I am doing the rest of the country a service by keeping him occupied?”
“Yes, I believe so,” Verenne agreed, setting down her wine again to enjoy the soup. “So tell me a bit of your travels, my old friend. You have been sorely missed; no one else has your steadying presence or ability to walk away from asinine arguments. Noire has not been the same, either…”
“He said he had no other friends…I am surprised you did not spend time with him. If anyone has a calming influence, it is he.”
Verenne shook her head sadly. “He tried, and I snapped at him, drove him away. I am afraid that my problems with her Grace have made me an unpleasant person to be around. This is the first night I’ve laughed so genuinely in the past six months.” She fiddled with the stem of her wine glass, expression turning sad, defeated. “I had no idea it was coming, you know. Everyone says we do nothing but bicker, but that isn’t true. Our arguments were always grand larks to us…we had so much fun, or so I always thought. When it happened…” she blinked rapidly and quickly raised her wineglass, draining half of it. She set it down heavily on the pristine white tablecloth. “When it happened, we had just spent a few days away at her country estate. We’d only been back for two days. Her Majesty sent a request for an audience, and Freddie was gone all night…she did not even send me word that she would not be returning that night.”
Ailill frowned. That was extremely odd behavior for Freddie, who took her duties seriously. Her relationship with Verenne aside, Freddie would have sent word if only so her Beasts would be aware of her location and how long she would be there.
“The next morning, she arrived back at the Silver Palace right before lunch and asked to speak privately with me.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and Verenne furiously wiped it away before drinking the rest of her wine. She was silent as Ailill politely, more from habit than anything, refilled her glass.
The wine was a deep violet-red, one of Verde’s finest vintages. Merchants from across the world fought to obtain barrels of the stuff, then turned around and sold it for exorbitant prices overseas. It was potent stuff, but Verenne had always drunk better than most men Ailill knew. It was also obvious she needed it to keep from completely falling apart, and he wondered why she’d kept a great deal of pain bottled up for so long.
“An hour later, I left – a single woman for the first time in a long time. I…could not believe it. I told no one, certain that something had angered her unreasonably and that in a few days it would all pass and she would apologize. That all would be well. Instead, I went to the Silver Palace a few days later only to learn that her Grace had told everyone we were no longer together. She refused to tell anyone why, and I have not done so either…it hurts too much, and it was the last thing she asked of me.”
Ailill reached out and covered her hand with his own, exchanging a glance with Ivan while Verenne stared into her wine glass.
Before he could decide whether or not to ask, Verenne answered the question. “She said that she had been mistaken, that she had been trying to love me because she could not admit to herself the true object of her affections. That she loved her Majesty, Queen Etain, more than anything or anyone else in the world. She asked that I not say anything, as a last token of our former affection.” Tears streamed down her face. “Affection. She said we had affection.”
“Have you told no one else this?” Ailill asked. “Why have you been enduring this all alone?”
Verenne sniffed and wiped her eyes with her napkin. “I am sorry. If I’d known I was going to fall apart like this, I would not have invited you and your lover to suffer through it. I really did just want a friendly face to eat dinner with.” She gave him a wobbly smile.
Ailill leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I have always considered us friends, Verenne, and I would be a poor one if I did not listen to your troubles. I am sorry to have been away while all of this was going on.”
“It’s just…I could handle it if there was a good reason…I would never have liked it, Freddie is everything to me…but I could have handled it. This…this makes no sense. Perhaps I am just the jealous former paramour, but I do not believe for a moment that Freddie loves her Majesty more than me.” She shook her head vehemently back and forth, long hair swishing and bobbing, and picked up her wine to down a third of it in one angry swallow. “I would bet my life the love she professes is not true.”
The words made Ailill cold, somehow, and he could tell from the fine tensing of Ivan’s body that the words did not rest well with him either. “Do not say such drastic things, Verenne. Not now.”
Verenne laughed. “Yes, everyone is so tetchy with the Ceremony on the horizon.” She rubbed her forehead and fell silent as servants appeared to whisk away the soup and bring in the main course, a delicate spring soufflé.
Ailill winked at Ivan when Verenne was not looking, a silent tease over the meal – Ivan and his men adapted well, but he knew they all missed their Pozharian food and the meat that meant.
“I cannot wait until that abominable Ceremony is over,” Verenne continued. “I do not know why, but I feel like it is responsible for everything.” She closed her eyes. “Will it end as it always has? It is true I feel like strangling Freddie, but I do not want…”
“We all hope it goes as it should, Verenne. You will help no one, least of all yourself and Freddie, by worrying about something that will inevitably come. Perhaps we will be the fortunate ones, and all survive. Believe that, do not worry about what else might be. Positive thinking is often at the very heart of everything.”
Verenne nodded, but only stared glumly at her plate.
“I was cursed once,” Ivan said. “The man who cast it said that if I did not do what he wanted, in exactly one month the curse would kill me. When he first cast it, I did not even know what a curse was. As you probably are aware, until very recently magic was forbidden in my homeland.”
“Yes,” Verenne said, brow furrowed, and she was curious despite herself. “What did he want you to do?”
“Murder someone,” Ivan said. “To save myself, I had to find and kill another…regretfully, the man wound up dying, though not by my hand. I had several friends helping me to break the curse, even though of all of us only Ailill knew anything about magic. It required, at the last, a particular friend of mine breaking into the palace and obtaining help from a priest, then bringing the cure back to me.” Ivan smiled at her, the expression oddly suited to his roguish features. “So you see, Lady Verenne, anything is quite possible.”
A smile tugged at Verenne’s mouth and she bowed her head in acknowledgement. “Your point is made, and quite prettily, Master Ivan.”
“Ivan, please. I am hardly suited to any sort of title.”
Ailill snickered. “Other than ‘hey, boss!’”
Ivan rolled his eyes. “Words that are always followed by a joke made at my expense.”
“Oh?” Verenne asked.
“Vanya…had an interesting career back in Pozhar. He has brought his team with him, as they refuse to be apart from their boss. Their loyalty is quite a sight, I assure you. The way they harass him is highly entertaining. You shall have to come dine with me, sometime, and I will introduce you to all of them.”
“I would like that,” Verenne said. “Now, come, I am done being dramatic and weepy. Thank you, both. If you will indulge a Lady a bit more…?”
Ailill smiled and nodded. “Of course. What would you like?”
Verenne smiled. “Tell me how you met.”
Laughing, enjoying Ivan’s sudden discomfort, Ailill complied. “It was shortly after I landed in Pozhar, actually…”
Chapter Six
Gael stepped from his carriage, heartily grateful the exhausting journey was over and sorely annoyed he simply could not have brought himself here – the dictates of a society he was supposed to control were wearing thin. If he managed to survive the Ceremony, when he was a god he intended to forbid carriages and white.
Even the snow, he vowed, would have to pick a different color.
Handing his light coat over to a footman, he bid another one fetch his trunk and sent a third scurrying off to tell Etain he had arrived.
Though he’d devoutly hoped he’d be attacked by bandits. A raging illness. Even a broken carriage wheel.
Instead he’d arrived a full thirty minutes early.
Squashing an urge to scream or hit something, knowing he was overreacting, Gael strode through the halls, white boots ringing, the long tail of his gold hair swinging back and forth across his back, barely held together by a pale blue ribbon.
The color was strictly against the rules but if an almost-god couldn’t flout a few tiny rules, what was the point of being an almost-god?
It’s not much…
It’s perfect, Kitten.
It had only been a couple of weeks, but every moment felt like an eternity.
Still, less than three months now. Then it would all be over…one way or the other…
Gael shook his head. He had enough to deal with, or would shortly; he did not need to make matters worse by dwelling on things beyond his control.
“Grand Duke,” a steward said quietly as he reached the reception room. “Her Majesty awaits you in her private audience chamber, along with her Grace. She bid you join them at your leisure.”
“Thank you. Tell them I will join them in an hour’s time, after I refresh myself from the journey.”
The steward bowed low. “Yes, your Grace. Is there anything we can have sent to your rooms?”
Food was tempting, he had not eaten since he’d left that morning…but he would need an empty stomach for his upcoming audience. “No, but thank you. See that I am not disturbed the rest of the day and evening.”
“Yes, your Grace.” The steward bowed again and departed to see his messages were conveyed.
Gael barely bit back an urge to ask if Noire was on the premises. The question would be odd, coming from him, and he did not want to know. If Noire was…Gael’s stomach turned and he was glad he’d rejected the idea of food. He didn’t want Noire even remotely near him for this…and yet that was all he wanted.
Someone grant him patience and mercy, he was tired of all of this. The Ceremony was as far away as it was close. Truly, he could not stand much more of this. Turning sharply on his heel, Gael strode through the halls toward the suite of rooms that were kept exclusively for his use whenever he visited the Queen’s Palace.
They were appointed in shades of green, trimmed in the gold he had not managed to completely avoid – but there was no white to be found anywhere. On that point he had held firm.
Bypassing the sitting room and the bedroom, Gael stripped out of his travel clothes in his dressing chamber and washed down at the basin in the corner before picking through a wide collection of white and gold clothing.
Knowing formality was not going to be an issue, he settled on simple superfine breeches, a fine lawn shirt, and a plain afternoon jacket with delicate gold buttons. Pulling matching cufflinks from a jewelry box on a small dressing table, Gael pulled the ribbon from his hair and brushed the long strands out, pulling out knots acquired during the interminable carriage ride. When the long, dark gold strands were as smooth as he could get them, Gael picked up the pale blue ribbon. He smoothed his thumb over it, enjoying the feel of the smooth silk, wishing he could feel smooth skin instead. Sighing at himself, he swiftly tied his hair back with the ribbon and then strode from his dressing chamber and back to the sitting room.
Striding to the tall, wide window that spilled sunlight across the room, Gael stared out across the fields that surrounded the Queen’s Palace, his own home far off in the distance, nearly an entire day’s ride away by carriage. He could have traveled here much faster – and home again – in his Form.
Ideally. More likely, if he were honest, he would have been slowed down as people stopped the Unicorn of Verde to tell him their woes, their problems – all of which he would do his best to fix, but people often did not realize they were the best persons to fix their own problems…they were also often the only reason for said problems.
Would being a god make any of this easier? Would it seem less like a weight that threatened to crush him at any moment?
Of course, everything would seem better if he could just openly turn to the one who kept him going.
He needed to stop. Thinking of his lover would make facing his sisters that much more difficult.
Closing his eyes, bracing himself, Gael squared his shoulders and turned away from the window, leaving his room and striding through the hallways toward the private audience chamber of the Queen.
He rapped three times on the door, then grasped the handle and pushed it open.
The sight that greeted his eyes was far from a surprise – it was one he had seen before, had once looked forward to seeing…and now dreaded with every fiber of his being. He’d thought it over, when Freddie had begun an affair with her White Bat…
Freddie was half-sitting, half-lying, upon the window seat at the far end of the room. Etain sat leaning over her, and it was obvious they had been kissing right before he’d walked in. Their cheeks were flushed, smiles curving their lips, and Gael knew more than a few of the nobles far away in the public halls would sacrifice their status and more to see a sight such as this.
All he wanted was a reason to leave, but that same part of him that screamed Noire must be hidden, protected, said to reveal his true feelings on this matter would also be a terrible mistake. He wished he understood why, but he was also grateful to have these vague instincts guiding him. Gods willing, everything would make sense after the Ceremony.
“Gael,” Etain said softly, smiling her beautiful smile and holding out a hand. “We’ve missed you. You never come to see us anymore.”
Dredging up an answering smile, longing to see only one, Gael closed the door behind him and crossed the room to his sisters. “I am sorry, Etain. Between my duties and the Ceremony it seems I never have a moment to simply stop and breathe.”
Freddie laughed in sympathy as she sat up and readjusted her gown.
Etain merely pouted and reached out to drag his head down, her mouth tasting like rose tea and strawberry crème. Gael reminded himself sternly that pulling away would be a bad idea, and closed his eyes, imagining instead a mouth that tasted of coffee and cream, calloused hands moving over his skin.
When Etain finally let him go, he turned to Freddie, meeting her kiss head on, determined to get this over with. Her mouth was soft, but the kiss forceful, flavored with the strong wine Freddie favored but Gael had never cared much for – it was even more bitter than he recalled…then abruptly it smoothed out, leaving only an enhancement to the flavor of his Pegasus sister.
He pulled well away from them when the kiss finally ended, desperate to find something to wash the taste of the kisses from his mouth. This was no longer what he wanted…what he’d never really wanted, except he’d always feared hurting Etain and Freddie…of angering Etain. Some part of him had always wondered if that was why Freddie had broken it off with her White Bat lover…but his few attempts to discover that had only met with cool dismissal from Freddie.
“So how fare my lovely sisters?”
“Better now that our handsome brother is with us,” Etain said with a smile, sliding from the window seat and picking up her teacup, pale pink and gold china, from a small table beside the armchair in which she sat. In small, delicate bites she ate another petite four, licking strawberry crème from her lips.
Once upon a time, he would have been able to make himself enjoy the sight. How many men and women in the country would almost cheerfully commit murder to be here, alone with the Queen and Grand Duchess, both of them more than happy to do whatever he might ask.
Gael kept himself on the far side of the room, well away from both of them. He poured himself a cup of tea but remained standing as he sipped it. “How have you been, Freddie?”
“Busy,” Freddie said over the rim of her wine glass. “Obviously you know what that feels like. I hear there was a small riot in your area…”
“In the White Fox’s province. She handled it well,” Gael said. “People are scared, tense. They do not want to see the Ceremony fail again and who can blame them? If I were them, I would get tired of seeing the three of us fail, too.” He swallowed his tea, grateful for the heat that seemed to burn away the lingering taste of his sisters.
Etain fluttered one hand in a dismissive gesture. “The Ceremony will work this time, I know it. How could it not, when we love each other so? Obviously we have a bond that the others all lacked.”
“Even the original gods themselves?” Gael asked before he could bite his tongue. “It was said their bond was unbreakable, deep and true until they were found dead. Until we discover the reason they always kill one another, Etain, I cannot see a good reason for your confidence.”
“You worry too much, Gael,” Etain protested, sipping at her own tea. “So long as we three remain united – and truly, there is no bond stronger than ours – then I do not see how it could fail.” She smiled at him. “Be at peace, my beloved brother.”
Freddie chuckled softly and refilled her wineglass from the dark green bottle beside her. “Oh, let him worry, sweetheart. That is our Gael, no? The prevailing head of good sense and reason when you and I decide to get up to something.” She blew him a kiss. “Let him worry while we boast and bluster.”
Gael smiled back, letting their gentle teasing wash over him, wishing he was anywhere but here.
“Do you like the tea, Gael?” Etain asked.
A question about which he could be completely honest. Gael almost sighed in relief. “It’s most excellent, Etain. Very full, just enough rose without being overpowering. Did you blend in the slightest hint of mint?”
“I did,” Etain said, beaming. ‘I knew you would like it.”
Gael smiled. “I am always happy to try your teas, Etain. You know I drink nothing but the blends you’ve designed.” Though often these days he found himself trying to drink coffee thick with cream, because he could not have the coffee-flavored mouth he so desired. That little bit of information he would not, however, be sharing. “You shall have to send me a cask of this, as well as more of the lemon-ginger blend.”
“Of course, darling.” She smiled at him, and Gael felt his stomach twist with dread, knowing she’d probably demand a kiss for it…but thankfully instead she simply picked up another petite four. “Now that it is spring, I shall have fun playing with all the fresh ingredients. I suppose we should to business…”
Freddie sighed. “As Gael has said, everyone is a mess over the looming Ceremony. It seems for every weed I yank out, three more pop up. Who can truly blame the people, however? We all say it – there is every reason to be jumpy, fretful. The most we can do is what we are doing – keeping it from getting too far out of control. My poor Beasts are working themselves to exhaustion, and I have no doubt Gael’s are just as worn. How go the preparations with you, Etain?”
The Queen fluttered the question away and sipped her tea. “Perfectly, of course. The Ceremony Room is nearly prepared, I’ve only to ensure it stays that way by this point.”
Gael nodded, Freddie doing the same. They had never seen the Ceremony room, and wouldn’t until the Ceremony took place. No one but the Queen ever saw the room until that day…and only when it failed did others break into it to take the bodies away, and by then the room was completely lifeless.
“Any other problems in the realm? From abroad?”
Etain shook her head. “No…our ambassadors in Kundou and Piedre have been quiet, and Pozhar is finally asking that we send one. I will be making that selection sometime after the ceremony, I think. There is no rush, and so far no one among the choices really strikes me as suited.” She shrugged.
“As you say,” Gael replied, “there is no rush. I am glad to hear the Firelands are losing their rigidity.”
“Yes,” Freddie said. “I hear many good things since the new Queen took the throne.”
Etain nodded absently in agreement, lost in thought and her tea. “How is your wine, sweet?” she asked Freddie.
“Absolutely perfect,” Freddie responded, taking a healthy sip to prove her words.
Gael made a face. “Far too bitter for me, that one. I do not see how you drink it.”
“Ah, Gael. It is the bitter that appeals. You have always preferred sweeter things though; I could not expect you to understand why I like the bite.” She winked at him.
Etain shifted ever so slightly in her seat, a sign of her growing impatience. She had not called them here simply to talk…ordinarily, they would not have come simply to talk. Once, he had been less reluctant…had managed to learn to enjoy what he could of their strange relationship.
Not anymore. Now it only felt as though he were betraying Noire. He did not want to know how badly it would hurt his lover to know the thing Gael did…had to do…because some part of him said it would be much worse if he tried to stop it.
The atmosphere had changed, and Gael broke from his thoughts to see that his sisters were fast growing impatient with idle chatter. He had come prepared to endure this…but suddenly he just could not do it. He knew in whose arms he belonged, and as beautiful and wonderful as his sisters were, their arms were not the right ones.
Setting down his teacup with a hard clink, Gael strode toward the door.
“Gael?” Etain asked, obviously startled, Freddie no less surprised beside her.
He gave them a fond smile, hoping his tension did not show. “I am sorry, my darlings, but I cannot relax and play while so many problems loom, while my people hurt themselves and each other with their worry and fear. I will be more than happy to play after the Ceremony, when there is much to celebrate.” He would play with Noire, after showing everyone who truly held his heart, and celebrate that until he was too exhausted to move.
Freddie sighed softly from her own seat. “You are right of course, Gael. Still, we do miss seeing our brother.”
“I know,” Gael said softly. “I love you both, and I will see you later.” With a last bow, he turned and exited the room. Outside, he barely kept his pace sedate as he headed back toward his suite.
He turned idly to look out over the garden as he passed along an open hallway…and slowed as his eyes landed on a familiar figure. Longing and shame washed over him, desire for his lover mingling with the fact that he had just been kissing two other people. Not because he wanted to…
Noire looked as stunning as ever, and Gael wondered that no one had claimed him before Gael. He was handsome and sensual, mixed blood giving him a touch of exotic that no one else possessed…though it was his smiles and those pale, blue-silver eyes that really caught him. Especially those smiles, he positively ached to see them. One of Noire’s smiles would do much to dissipate the clouds of gloom that hung over him.
He paused to watch a moment, smiling faintly at the way Noire laughed and obviously teased a man Gael realized a second later was the Marquis le Blanc. Cats playing together, he could not help but think. He had known they were friends, Noire had mentioned it before, but it was nice to actively see it…to confirm with his own eyes that Noire had friends, people who could and would be with him in public…
That thought brought the agony crashing back down upon him, and Gael started to turn away – but right as he did, Noire threw his head back, laughing at some joke, and abruptly stopped as he saw Gael. He flashed a grin and immediately bent into a graceful bow. The Marquis le Blanc turned to see what had caught Noire’s attention, and then dipped into his own bow.
Gael nodded back, eyes lingering just a second too long on his lover, then continued calmly on his way, as though simply passing through – not as though he had been passing through and stopped to stare.
At the end of the hallway, however, he abruptly changed his mind and cut down a different one, away from his room. He flagged down the first footman he saw and sent the man to ready his carriage.
He could not, would not stay here a moment longer. If he did, his sisters would continue to push him, and he would probably cave in to weakness and seek out his lover. Such selfishness on his part would not do; he would not endanger Noire simply because he was confused, lonely, and miserable. One day, if he could just hold on to his patience for a couple months more, he would able to seek Noire out whenever and wherever he wanted.
Outside, Gael closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the sunshine, the smell of spring in the air, blocking out the sounds of civilization until he was forced to acknowledge his carriage as it clattered across the stones of the courtyard and halted before him at the bottom of the steps.
Accepting his coat, Gael eschewed a footman’s help as he clambered into the carriage – barely keeping himself from stopping halfway inside as he realized there was another figure already in it.
He kept silent until they were well away from the palace. “You should not be here,” he hissed. “I do not ask you keep us a secret so that you may risk revealing everything.”
Noire ignored him, moving to sit next to him, arms wrapping around him, and despite himself Gael could not resist letting go of all his tension as Noire’s warmth and scent surrounded him. “Kitten, you put yourself in danger.”
“You say that, but I do not know of what danger you speak.”
“Neither do I,” Gael said softly, stroking the thick, dark strands of Noire’s hair before tracing the bones of one fine cheek, brushing his fingertips softly across tempting lips. “Just trust me, please.”
“I do, Gael.” Noire’s tongue flicked out to taste his fingers, making Gael shiver. Pale blue eyes looked at him intently. “I’m sorry for taking the risk – no one saw me, though. Even Ailill thinks I had to report to Freddie since I saw you out of session. No one will notice my absence, trust me, and I’ll slink away when you stop to rest the horses. Promise.” He nuzzled against Gael, fingers stroking soothingly over his arms and chest. “You looked so unhappy, I had to make certain you were all right.”
Gael dipped his head to brush a soft kiss to one sun-dark cheek. “Ah, Kitten. Only you would notice at such a distance. I do not like…speaking with my sisters leaves me tense. Nor will I be happy until I can seek you out and kiss you breathless whenever I like. I want that so very much it hurts.”
“Gael…” Noire breathed the word, turning so that their lips were barely a space apart, and if it were possible for even a god to resist such temptation, Gael wanted never to be a god.
Yes, that was what he needed. Noire’s kiss, warm and willing, flavored with coffee and cream, that lithe body pushing against him, the movement unconscious and immediate. Gael sorely regretted that they were in a confining carriage, that the tight quarters kept him from doing the things he never tired of doing. “I vow you were born to steal my sense, Kitten.”
“Yours,” Noire whispered against his mouth. “I was born only to be yours.”
Gael held him tight and buried his head against Noire’s shoulder. “We were meant to be, Kitten, that is all there is to it. I am sorry my strange fears make everything so difficult.”
“Two months and twenty-two days,” Noire said, brushing his lips softly over a bit of Gael’s throat right above his cravat. He laughed softly. “Still going to have your wicked way right in the middle of your hall?”
Gael growled softly and nipped a bit of throat for himself. “If a certain Kitten keeps tempting me in my own carriage, I may just take you in the Queen’s Palace in the middle of court.”
“You’re supposed to help keep order, Gael, not traumatize everyone.”
“The only thing they would be, Kitten, is insanely jealous,” Gael said between sharp, nipping kisses, fingers moving restlessly, longing to remove the offending clothes that kept them from the skin they wanted.
Noire chuckled but did not reply. “How long before you stop for a break?”
“Three hours or so,” Gael said softly, and after a last long, lingering kiss, he settled back against the cushions and arranged them more comfortably. Though he would never pass up an opportunity to ravish his lover to exhaustion, there was much to be said for a chance simply to be together. “Thank you, Kitten. I wanted quite badly to be with you.”
In reply, Noire only cuddled closer, a warm, welcome weight, and sighed softly in contentment. It would only be a brief contentment, but until Gael thought it was safe – and hopefully that day would come – they would take what they could get.
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Date: 2007-03-19 10:38 pm (UTC)*huggles Verenne and Noire*
I love this so, so, so much. Seriously. *hearts*
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Date: 2007-03-19 10:46 pm (UTC)And is it bad that when I saw this that Ivan had, in a past, ancient life, been the first King of Pozhar. Himself the wolf that had stood by that ancient king’s side…, which I had known before, I stopped and started laughing? Because MATTI AND DIETER.
And even in just passing mentions, Ailill's valet pwns everything.
Awesome chapters, A+.
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Date: 2007-03-19 11:26 pm (UTC)Given one each to someone you trust...
I think you might mean "Give" one to...
...I suppose we should to business..."
"get" to business, maybe?
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Date: 2007-03-20 12:51 am (UTC)Etain is totally thinking that if they are closer, it will be less likely to happen. I think she's wrong, and I want her to find someone who isn't Freddie >.>
That is all :D Can't wait for next week!!!
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Date: 2007-03-20 12:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-20 01:02 am (UTC)Gail x Noire forever! ^.^
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Date: 2007-03-20 01:44 am (UTC)I can't but help to think that Freddie is trying to save Verenne by abandoning her. Since their relationship is/was already known, she just couldn't do keep it secret like Gael is doing with Noire.
Come to think of it... Five corpses. Three (almost) gods are obvious. One white beast could be Verenne, and that leaves one more for Noire.
Anyway, I don't much comment but I like to read everything you write. *waves*
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Date: 2007-03-20 01:59 am (UTC)and all of these little feelings of wrongness that everyone is feeling...i have a feeling that despite etain's belief that their 'bond' will save them, it is really what has been their predecessors downfall...i can't wait to see how this all turns out!
mondays and thursdays are my favorite days of the week because of these updates! ^_______________________^
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Date: 2007-03-20 02:07 am (UTC)I find myself like Etain, despite her strangeness.
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Date: 2007-03-20 02:30 am (UTC)I see your Gael x Noire and I raise you an Ivan x Ailil forever! ^__~
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Date: 2007-03-20 03:06 am (UTC)<33333
Date: 2007-03-20 03:08 am (UTC)Ack, must there be so many days between now and next Monday?!
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Date: 2007-03-20 03:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-20 03:53 am (UTC)I feel like if anyone finds out about Gael and Noire before the ceremony, the same thing will happen to them that happened to Freddie and Verenne. Ack. And then there's the wondering if there's a bit of a darker, possessive side to Etain, and the way you write everyone's uncanny, mysterious fears and bad feelings makes me feel the same. Reading this story makes me feel so paranoid @.@ (Which is fun, actually). Gah, I'm so scared for Gael and Noire.
On a side note, I feel like a certain Marquis would make a very good ambassador to Pozhar. Hmm. Wonder if that would work out? Well, I guess that's getting ahead off things a bit, first this darn ceremony thing has to happen! I'm dreading it/looking forward to it being over almost as much as the characters, at this point!
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Date: 2007-03-20 05:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-20 06:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-20 08:22 am (UTC)But seriously, does this mean Gael has been sleeping with the girls (who have already earned a lot of my dislike)?
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Date: 2007-03-20 08:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-20 10:46 am (UTC)Gael needs to flaunt Noire, Freddie needs to publicly make up with Verenne, and perhaps the best way to make sure the tragedy doesn't repeat itself is to simply not do the Ceremony?
Gah, my mind's spinning. Can't wait to see how it all plays out :D
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Date: 2007-03-20 03:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-20 07:28 pm (UTC)I can't wait to see what happens.
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Date: 2007-03-20 11:10 pm (UTC). . . and I'm still rooting for Verenne.
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Date: 2007-03-22 05:39 pm (UTC)The mystery is killing me. I am one of those who reads the last chapter first. ;___________;