Poison 7 & 8

[maderr]

I love you, Kitty <3



Chapter Seven


Noire thought that if he had to travel one more mile he was going to eat the first Form dumb enough to wander across his path.

Not that he actually wanted to eat his countrymen, but on some level it would make him feel better.

He was tired of court, tired of snotty, sniping nobility, tired of the tension in the air, and tired of not being able to see Gael. That he’d not been able to stay at the Golden Palace overnight – even he would not defy that particular expression – was the last blow on the miserable day.

That he had only the Silver Palace to look forward to was only salt in the wound.

Tiredly, Noire slowed to a halt as he reached the cobblestone streets of the Silver City. He lay down in a deep shadowy corner, lifting one paw to rub tiredly at his ears. Did he have anywhere to go that wasn’t the Silver Palace? There were taverns…but he wanted good company…he wanted a friend.

Slowly he stood back up, padding hesitantly along as he contemplated dropping by to visit Ailill. Would Ailill mind? Was it too late to bother his only real friend? Noire hesitated a moment longer, head hanging low, before he gave a mental shrug and decided it could not hurt. Best case, he would have an hour or so of friendly company before he made himself stop bothering Ailill…worst case it would be clear his presence was not wanted, something he was all too capable of discerning, and he would immediately take himself off to the Silver Palace.

When he finally reached Ailill’s townhouse, most of the downstairs and some of the upstairs lights were on. Shadows moved in the curtained windows, telling him people were awake…and it was only about time for an early dinner…so hopefully he wouldn’t be putting anyone out…he just didn’t want to go back to his empty room…

Noire knocked on the door, and was just about to reconsider the whole, stupid idea when it finally opened – but not by the butler. The man before him looked like he’d been carved from a great oak; his shirt probably required nearly as much fabric as Noire’s entire outfit. Marks on his face, the calloused hands…this man had to be part of the mercenary group Ailill had mentioned Ivan headed.

That or he’d sorely misremembered where Ailill lived and this portion of the city was becoming less selective in its residents. “Beg pardon,” Noire said, summoning his manners. “I was hoping to speak with the Marquis le Blanc, if he’s not indisposed.”

The man rolled his eyes and grinned. “Indisposed. I bet Lord Kitty can’t even use that word and keep a straight face. Come in.”

“Master Maksim!” The familiar, cutting voice of Ailill’s butler interrupted the man – Maksim, Noire supposed – before he could say anything further, which was good because Noire was already struggling not to laugh.

Obviously he had the right house, then, and this was indeed one of the mercenaries.

“How many times have I told you not to open that door! You will terrify away—Master Noire, what a pleasant surprise. I do beg your pardon for such an abominable reception.”

“It’s quite all right,” Noire murmured, stepping inside and allowing the Butler to take his coat. “No apologies are necessary.” He turned to Maksim. “You must be one of the mercenaries Ailill mentioned.”

Maksim grinned. “Maksim is the name, none of that ‘Master’ nonsense these idiots keep insisting on.” He snickered as the Butler bristled, nearly puffing up – doubly amusing because his Form, Noire knew, was a robin.

“A pleasure to meet you. Is Ailill around?”

“We’re just starting dinner,” Maksim replied, turning and leading the way to the dining room. “He called you Noire, which means you must be the black panther that pounced Lord Kitty.”

Noire laughed. “Lord Kitty? How do you get away with that?”

“He’s too busy molesting the boss to care what we call him,” Maksim said, then shoved the door to the dining room open with a flourish. “Look who came to see you, Lord Kitty.”

Ailill rolled his eyes – then saw who stood in the doorway and shoved back his seat to stand and moved around the table. “Noire! What a pleasant surprise.” He grasped Noire’s hand and shook it, giving him a half embrace before pulling him further into the room and guiding him toward an empty seat. “We were just talking about you, actually.”

Noire blinked, barely noticing the food that a servant set in front of him. “You were?”

“Ailill was explaining to us that before he met my crew, you were the most mischievous person he knew,” Ivan explained, his voice immediately drowned out by laughter.

“I see,” Noire said, smiling. “I’m afraid with all my duties, these days I’m not very mischievous at all.”

“No…” Ailill said thoughtfully. “I have noticed, the few times I’ve seen you, that you have mellowed much while I was gone. Are your duties that taxing, or has trouble ceased to be as interesting as it was before?”

“Those are two reasons, among many,” Noire said, wishing more than anything that he could say his lover was all he required anymore. Nothing compared to Gael…the strain of keeping his relationship a secret also took its toll on him, but he knew better than anyone that there was only one month and three days left. “I think trouble is something for which you must have time, and every day I have less and less of that.”

Ailill nodded. “As do we all, except for this lot here – I need to find something for all of them to do besides take all my food.” The words were said teasingly, and met only with laughter.

Noire looked around at the mercenaries. He would not have needed anyone to tell him that’s what they were; even with their fine clothes, their ease in the expensive settings, it was obvious these men had lived hard lives. They all bore scars of battle, and held themselves in a way gentlemen did not – there was an alertness to them, an awareness of their surroundings at all times. Wolfhounds, he realized, they reminded him of wolfhounds. Part dog, part wolf, and heavily in tune with their wild instincts.

Also immediately obvious was that Ivan, despite the jokes and jest constantly directed at him, was their leader. Anyone, even the greatest of idiots, could see these men would do anything for him.

Ivan laughed as one of his men – a tall, skinny man with sharp eyes and long fingers – made a jest about his goatee. Noire watched them all with a smile and quietly ate his food, more than content to sit back and quietly enjoy the company.

“So what did you need to see me about, Noire?” Ailill asked as the laughter faded, breaking into Noire’s thoughts.

Noire looked up from his wine, surprised. “What? Oh.” He almost ducked his head, an old habit when he was feeling uncertain, but doing it reminded him too much of the way Gael teased him for it.

Part of the reason I first called you Kitten. It makes me want to pet you…

“I did not want to go back to the Silver Palace quite yet. I hope—”

“If you are about to say you hope you’re not intruding, you’d better not or I’ll be annoyed enough to sic Maksim and Ferapont on you,” Ailill replied, motioning to Maksim and a broad-shouldered man of average height with dark blonde hair and brown eyes. “Trust me when I say you do not want that.”

Ferapont snorted. “We’re always nice to guests and people we’ve just met…unless of course they’re kitties making eyes at our boss. Those kinds of people we harass.”

Ailill sighed and went back to his soup. “Vanya, you must find something for all these troublemakers to do.”

Ivan chuckled. “Karp and Luka seem to be having fun pretending to manage your estates, or whatever you gentlemen call such things. Isidor has taken over your stables…and I prefer not to know what the other three do all day, but I have noticed they’re on familiar terms with most of the local authorities.”

Maksim, Gleb, and Ferapont all chuckled. “Just some light work, boss,” Ferapont replied lazily as he picked up his wineglass. “Who better to root out trouble than us? Though let me tell you, it adds a whole new element to the fight when your opponent suddenly turns into a bear. I’m glad Maksim was around for that one.”

“That explains the looks I’ve been getting at the Silver Palace…” Ailill murmured, hiding a grin behind his own wine.

Ivan shot the three men warning glances.

“Yes, boss,” they chorused before he could say anything, leaving Ivan to roll his eyes.

Noire chuckled. “I see you are all setting into Verde well enough.”

“Except for the lack of meat,” Karp said, his expression as he poked at a carrot positively mournful. “What I wouldn’t be willing to do for a nicely roasted bit of mutton, or a fat, dripping sausage…”

Noire made a face. “No, thank you. My grandmother was the same way; her best friend after she moved to Verde had a deer Form, but for years she lamented not being able to make her famous venison stew.”

“Venison. That sounds wonderful,” Ferapont said longingly, the other men around him sighing deeply.

“You all sound and look as though you’ve lost your best friend,” Noire said, shaking his head. His words caused another eruption of laughter, and the men once again fell to harassing each other and Ivan, interspersed with anecdotes of their day, as one course after another was brought out.

Noire barely remembered to eat his dessert when it came out, so enthralled was he by their stories of two mermaids they claimed to know, and being lost in Kundou. “How did you come to know mermaids? I thought those were only myth…”

Luka smiled. “We met them in Pozhar; they were part of a small team of thieves we hired from time to time. You’ll have to ask Raz sometime how exactly he met the mermaids; Shio has never seen fit to tell me the story.”

“That would be because you’re too busy—” Karp’s words were cut off as Luka drove an elbow into his stomach. “That was uncalled for,” he said with a grin.

Ivan rolled his eyes. “I apologize, Noire, that you are being forced to put up with my children.”

“Look, if you start calling us children, boss, we’re going to have to respond in kind and start calling you ‘father.’”

Ivan grimaced and held his hands up in defeat. “I concede defeat on the matter. Any form of address other than ‘boss’ and I will be forced to remind you all why I am in charge and you are not.”

His men all gave exaggerated winces. Gleb, small and slender, the exact opposite of the large Maksim, rubbed his jaw as if in remembered pain. “Don’t worry, boss, we remember the first lesson.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Ivan said idly, giving them all one last warning look before sipping the dark coffee that had come out with the rich chocolate and raspberry cake.

The talk turned to quieter things, recounting other things they’d been doing in Verde, and Noire was astonished that he’d been too busy to overhear some of the stories from other sources.

He was jarred from his thoughts when he heard his name, and looked up, puzzled.

Ailill smiled at him. “I had completely forgotten, it’s true.”

“Forgotten what?” Noire asked.

“I had a favor to ask you, but I’ve not seen you recently so it completely slipped my mind.”

Noire tilted his head, curious. “What could I possibly do? Though I’m always happy to help.”

“To the study, then,” Ailill said, finishing his coffee and then standing. “You troublemakers go find quiet mischief to get in to. Someone keep Karp away from Andre. I believe he is still angry about having his expenditures so closely watched.”

Chuckling, taunting one another, the six men quickly vanished, leaving the dining room surprisingly empty and quiet. Ivan smiled at him in sympathy. “I am afraid we are a noisome lot. No doubt you came here looking for a quiet meal and a chance to relax.”

“I wanted a friendly face or two,” Noire said. “This was a lot of fun. I thank you for including me.” He smiled, then quickly stood and waited for Ailill to lead the way out, fighting back the loneliness that threatened to take hold as it occurred to him that was something he’d never done with Gael before.

How fun would that be? To eat with Gael, either alone where they could play or with other people where they could tease each other as Ailill and Ivan did. Would they look at each other the same way? Be so obvious about how they felt?

He shoved the thoughts aside, reminding himself sternly that one day soon he would find out. Patience was not his greatest quality, but for Gael he would do anything.

“This way,” Ailill said, and led them through his enormous townhouse to a study done all in brown and dark cream, accented with touches of burgundy. He left Ivan and Noire to wait and talk as he fumbled around on his desk, finally crowing in triumph when he found a thin leather case in one deep drawer. “I think Karp keeps moving things around on me,” he said absently as he crossed the room and presented the case to Noire. “This is part of what her Majesty sent me to find. I know nothing about why, not really, but she has requested that I keep them until after the ceremony – but that I not keep the pieces all together. She said I should disperse them amongst people I trust, and who could bring them quickly when I ask. If you are willing, Noire, I would like for you to hold onto this one for me.”

Noire quietly accepted the case, nodding, too humbled by the trust to say anything. He undid the catch and lifted the lid. “Oh,” he said softly. “It’s beautiful. I have not seen such craftsmanship in ages…”

Nestled in a bed of black velvet was a choker made of glistening white pearls and glimmering onyx beads. Such a necklace would be heavy to wear, and would look awful against the fairness of most Verdens, but it was still a beautiful piece. “You had to search for jewelry?”

“Yes,” Ailill said, shaking his head in amusement. “I cannot wait to discover the true purpose. If not for the things I found along the way…” his eyes drifted to Ivan, and for a moment Noire wondered if he should leave the room. It made him ache, to see such a thing. How many times would he have to remind himself to be patient?

Though, he would be patient for a thousand years if it meant the Ceremony would not kill Gael.

Oh, if his thoughts went there he would never relax enough to sleep. Worse, he would do something stupid.

“I will keep the necklace safe for you, Ailill. I am honored you trust me so.”

“You’re my friend, Noire. I would hardly call you that if I did not trust you. Would you like to rest here tonight?”

Noire shook his head in regret. “I would, and thank you for the offer, but I have a feeling I will be called upon at first light.” He grinned. “I’m certain you have enough commotion to keep you occupied, without them daring me to pounce you as I’m sure they would.”

“That they would,” Ailill said, making a face. “Very well, then. I hope tomorrow is a better day for you. Thanks for coming by for dinner.”

“Thank you for having me.” Noire smiled and sketched a bow in farewell, then tucked the necklace away in his jacket and let himself out, shifting to panther and loping off toward the Silver Palace.

The guards paid him no mind as he ran past them, long used to the Pegasus’s messenger coming and going at odd hours. A few called greetings as he passed, but otherwise Noire traveled across the grounds and through the palace uninterrupted.

He crept along the edge of the inner courtyard, any noise he might have made drowned out by the noise of the fountain in the center, streams of water falling from the center of several large flowers.

Voices cut through the night, charged with anger, growing louder, and Noire backed further into the shadows as he realized they were coming from the door he’d been headed toward. He recognized those voices too. He scrambled to hide himself, not wanting to be found by those two while they were arguing.

A second later two proud, strong-looking women, one in flowing, sparkling white, the other one more soberly dressed in a high neck and shining buttons, stormed into the courtyard, their words rapid fire, hands flying to punctuate the heated exchange, neither seeming to realize the late hour or the very public place of the latest argument.

Not that it was too terribly public so close to midnight – but every guard in the nearby vicinity would hear, and no one loved to gossip more than the palace guards. Noire had learned that quickly.

He let the words wash over him, knowing he couldn’t help – he’d tried, once, and Verenne had shoved him aside. He couldn’t blame her, really. If Gael ever discarded him as Freddie had Verenne…

The thought was one he could not bear. He didn’t know how the Countess survived, if she felt about Freddie the way he did about Gael.

Bitter, angry words spilled over him, and Noire laid down on the ground, burying his head in his paws, wishing he could just sneak away but if they saw him watching them argue…Freddie would not be pleased. Guards she probably did not care about, but she would hate that one of her own had seen them arguing like this.

It wasn’t like the old days, where you could see they were arguing but also trying not to laugh, and would shortly go to make up in private. No…this was sad, painful. He had never seen the Countess in tears before…how could Freddie stand it? Didn’t she care at all? She’d once claimed to love Verenne, how could she reduce her to tears now?

Then walk away. Noire stared disbelievingly as Freddie turned and walked away, leaving Verenne to sit down on the edge of the fountain and sob quietly.

Noire didn’t know what to do. What would he want, if he was the one in her position? He hesitated, then crept soundlessly from the shadows where he lay hidden, padding over to where Verenne sat crying quietly into her hands.

He pushed his muzzle gently against her stomach, making Verenne jump and squeak in surprise – then her face softened and long, gentle fingers reached out to pet him, scratch his ears. Too many of the White Beasts, he often thought, were not like this. Like they should be – as comfortable with a person’s Form as with the person itself. Why did so many in Verde seem not to like their forms?

Pulling back a bit, Noire leaped neatly up onto the edge of the fountain, just wide enough for him to lay upon, and gently licked the tears from her cheeks with his tongue.

“That tickles,” Verenne said with a sputtering laugh. “You’re not a panther, Noire, just a large housecat.” She wrapped her arms around him and hugged tightly. “Thank you, Noire. I have never been as friendly to you as I should have been, hmm? I would like us to be friends.” She ran her fingers through his fur, scratched his ears idly as he settled down with his head just barely on her lap. “I wonder sometimes why I continue to try…but I guess if love were that easy, it would not be love, would it?”

Noire licked her hand in silent agreement, knowing she would understand that’s what he meant. The White Beasts could not speak via mind as the Unicorn and Pegasus could, but they all had – when they bothered – an ability to sort of inherently understand what all the other beasts in Verde were trying to say.

“Thank you,” Verenne said softly, continuing to pet him, the two of them sharing comfort until the tolling of the midnight bells finally drove them to seek their respective rooms.



Chapter Eight


“Do not make me gag every last one of you,” Ivan threatened, shoving Gleb hard enough to send him crashing into Karp, who crashed into Maksim, who merely grunted and set them both back upright.

Karp snickered. “Boss doesn’t think we can behave.”

“No, boss knows we can’t behave,” Luka corrected. “At least we left our swords at home.”

“Only because that scorching bastard hid them,” Karp groused, kicking at a loose stone as if imagining it was Andre’s head. He ignored the laughter and taunts of the others, and all of them eventually fell silent as they reached the gates of the Silver Palace.

Ailill stayed in his form, matching Noire who walked alongside the opposite side of the group of men, occasionally swiping at Isidor or Ferapont, who were closest to him. The antics ceased as they passed through the gates.

He shared a brief, feline smirk with Noire as various nobles shot brief disapproving looks when they thought the White Panther wasn’t looking. Apparently it was all right for them to walk around in ridiculous white clothing, but the Great Beasts could not go about in their white Forms.

If they survived the Ceremony, Ailill hoped one of the things to come out of it was why the rules and strictures of society in Verde had taken such a bizarre turn. The more he thought of the rules that dictated his life, the more he wondered why they existed at all.

The main courtyard of the Silver Palace was covered in white tiles that contained flakes of silvery mica. When the sun struck them, the sight was truly dazzling. More of the same stone trimmed various parts of the castle, and on a bright summer day it could nearly sear the eyes to look directly upon it.

He was eternally grateful he did not live in the Golden Palace – that one was even worse. Currently the courtyard was filled with people coming and going, horses and carriages, servants scurrying about, some as humans, others in their Forms.

They passed through this main courtyard and into the inner, a place most never saw as they were directed to the public sections of the palace, not the private areas reserved for the Pegasus and her six Beasts.

Here the floor was pale gray tiling, a large fountain with flowers spilling water into a large pool below at the center, and most of the large square space filled with lush plants and colorful flowers.

Ailill slowed his steps as they drew closer to the group standing near the fountain, locked in a quiet conversation.

“Ah, Marquis le Blanc. We keep hearing that you had returned, but this is the first we have seen you. I see you are still as…eccentric as ever.”

Resisting an urge to growl, Ailill instead sat back on his haunches and yawned wide – the White Wolf, Countess Lyall Richelieu, might have a fine set of teeth herself, but they both knew he was more comfortable with his Form, as well as faster and more agile. Richelieu loved being high-ranking nobility, but like too many of the White Beasts she was not as in tune with her Form as once all the Beasts had been.

Those that were, like Noire and Ailill, were mocked for it.

Noire sidled up beside him, lifting one massive paw to lick in a slow, lazy fashion that never failed to earn him withering looks. It was proof that he’d been with Ivan and his men too long when Ailill began to imitate Noire, so that they were black and white mirrors of each other.

The White Wolf rolled her eyes, and the man beside her – the sturdy-looking but self-absorbed White Ram, Earl Loic Giles – grimaced in disgust. “Honestly. You are both peers of the realm. Why do you insist on acting like children? Like kittens.” Around them, the small cluster of lesser nobles tittered nervously, obviously leery of what could turn into an ugly argument.

Beside him, Noire suddenly growled low in his throat.

Ailill playfully swiped at Noire, then backed away to stand beside Ivan, finally shifting back to human form. Noire did the same, turning stiffly away from Earl Giles in a blatant show of rudeness.

“Now see here, boy,” Giles snapped. “I don’t care if you are the Grand Duchess’s pet, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Freddie’s voice rang out, cracking like a whip over the tension that had accumulated hard and fast in the inner courtyard. She looked briefly, coolly, at the lesser nobles, who quickly fled. Alone with her Beasts, Ivan’s men having purposely put themselves in the background, Freddie moved slowly, calmly toward the group. “If my Beasts want to snipe and fight like children, that is fine – but you will do so only in the presence of each other and not where others can see you. You are the White Beasts of Verde, how many times must I remind you? Set the example. I do not care how much some of you may hate each other,” her eyes slid from Ailill to Richelieu to Giles and back again, “When you are in front of others you will display a united front. If those who are born to protect them cannot get along, why then should our people?”

No one said a word, the Beats and Noire merely all nodding their heads.

“She was speaking to us,” Giles told Noire coldly. “I do believe you are black, not white, kitten.”

Faster than anyone could blink, Noire shifted and sprung at Giles, roaring loud enough to shake the courtyard as he tackled the White Ram to the floor. As Giles shifted into his Form, the air vibrating with magic as he tried to form a spell, the much more experienced cat simply grabbed the large ram by the back of the neck and hauled him over the fountain and into the water.

Before anyone could move, all of them frozen in shock, Noire turned and fled the courtyard.

Ailill stared after Noire, confounded as to what could have upset him so much he’d risk not only Freddie’s wrath with such a stunt, but Earl Giles’s eternal hatred. “I’d better go see what’s wrong with him,” he said to Ivan, who merely nodded and took a quick kiss before letting him go.

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Noire was much younger than the rest of them. Only…twenty four or so now, which was old enough for most things but could still be a problem when faced with all the trials and travails of court, especially for Noire, who was pushed so hard delivering messages, snooping about for tidbits of information…with precious few friends to lean on at the end of the day.

He searched the palace – the gardens, the libraries, even Noire’s room and a few parlors before finally landing upon the idea of the tower.

Freddie had found Noire as a young man, after he’d made his way to the city from a poor village buried in the Border Mountains. He’d caused a ruckus in the main courtyard, but after everything was sorted it out, they’d learned Noire was the one least responsible for the disaster – something involving the Forms of three women and two men besides Noire. Ailill no longer remembered the specifics, but from the day forward Freddie had not let the young black panther out of her sight. Three years later, when he was old enough and her elk ready for retirement, Noire had taken up the role of Grand Duchess’s messenger. That had been five years ago, just a couple of months before Ailill had left on his mission.

In those five years, Noire had changed a great deal – far more than Ailill had implied a couple of nights ago. There was a deeper maturity to him now, like Noire had finally grown fully into himself…there was also a deeper sadness, and Ailill wondered what had caused it.

Whatever had caused all the changes, and he sensed it was not simply five years as Freddie’s messenger, he sensed it was tied to Noire losing his temper. He should have looked more closely, seen that Noire was this troubled about something.

Throwing Giles into the fountain was no small matter – Noire had officially earned himself a bitter enemy for life, and he must have known that would happen.

His first year or so of adjusting to noble life, Noire had often retreated to the one of few places almost never occupied – the western tower of the four that crowned the Silver Palace. More than once Ailill or Freddie had found him there in a state of confusion or misery.

It would seem they had not done their best to see that Noire adjusted and found his place.

Climbing the steps, noting ruefully it had been much easier to do five years ago, Ailill pushed the door open and saw Noire sitting beneath the window, his head propped on one knee, the other leg stretched out.

“Noire,” Ailill said softly, closing the door behind him. “What’s wrong? Normally the Earl does not get to you so.”

“I guess I’m more tired than I thought,” Noire said tightly, slowly looking up.

His pale blue eyes told a story at complete odds with his words. Something about what the Earl had said or done had cut Noire deep.

“You’re not fooling anyone, Noire.” Ailill slowly sank down to sit beside him. “The Earl will very like do his best now to see you suffer miserably all the rest of your days.”

Noire closed his eyes, head leaning back against the wall. “I don’t care,” he whispered. “All I care about is the day after the Ceremony…”

Ailill looked at him sharply. “Why?”

“Why?” Noire laughed, the sound tired and sad. “Because in exactly one month all the people I care about may die. In one month and one day I will be either the happiest man in the world…or likely dead, for I will not live so completely alone.”

“Noire…” Ailill drifted off, not knowing what to say. Finally he just reached out and tugged him into a loose embrace. “I am sorry. All of us have been fretting about the Ceremony, but it is not about those of us who will die that everyone should be concerned. It is those of you who will continue living, should everything go wrong again, who face the greatest burden, and we have been neglecting that.”

In point of fact he’d been trying very hard not to think about it. He knew part of the reasons Ivan’s men had been so boisterous and loud of late was to keep all of them, and Ailill’s servants, from dwelling on the fact that in thirty one days they could very well be burying the Marquis le Blanc alongside eleven other Beasts and the three would-be gods.

He’d been so busy thinking about how he didn’t want to die, he – and apparently all the other Beasts – had neglected those under their protection. It was all too easy to think of Noire as his peer, his equal. So far as he was concerned, Noire was the better of anyone in the palace and beyond.

Noire wasn’t, however, a Beast. That meant he’d still be alive when – if – they all died. What would happen to him? To the people of their provinces?

Ailill suddenly felt woefully inadequate a Beast.

“You should not speak of killing yourself – it would make none of us happy to know that you died as well. If we have to die because we all proved unfit, because our Guardians Prospective and Faerie Queen were not worthy…then so be it. We are the Beasts. That brings us status, wealth, power, great magic…and if that means we must also die because of it all, then that is a fair price to pay.”

Noire shook his head. “What will Ivan do, should you die?”

“He will return with his men to Pozhar,” Ailill said softly. “Live out his days quietly, doing small jobs, simple things, and spend time with the friends he has there. He will hate every second of it but find what joy he can, and take comfort in knowing we will see each other again someday.” He smiled. “Zhar Ptitka himself told us that our souls are forever bound, that in every life, no matter the circumstances, we will find each other again.”

Longing burned in Noire’s eyes as he looked at Ailill. He’d never seen emotion run so deep, but those pale blue-silver eyes positively blazed with it. What in the name of the Queen was Noire keeping so deeply buried it was tearing him apart? “Do you think…do you think…” he shook his head and buried it once more in his folded arms.

“Ivan’s men were given a similar blessing, shortly before we left Pozhar,” Ailill said slowly. “The Sacred Firebird promised that in every life, they would find each other and Ivan.”

Noire didn’t lift up his head, voice muffled as he spoke. “So it could be others are so blessed?”

“I have not a single doubt,” Ailill answered immediately, his suspicions growing.

Slowly Noire sat back up, though he still did not look at Ailill. He reached up a hand to touch a teardrop shaped cravat pin nestled in the folds of black silk, the gesture clearly an unconscious one.

Ailill’s suspicions tripled. Noire had a lover…or at least was very much in love. He thought carefully back over the scene in the garden, replaying everything from the moment the Wolf and Ram had started speaking to them.

Why do you insist on acting like children? Like kittens. That bit had made Noire growl. I do believe you are black, not white, kitten. That had caused the White Ram to wind up in the fountain.

“Kitten,” Ailill said suddenly, suspicions confirmed when Noire shot him a startled, half-panicked, half-furious look. “You didn’t like that the Earl called you kitten.”

Fury filled Noire’s face. “No one e—is allowed to call me Kitten,” he said furiously. “No one. If he or anyone else does it again, I will do much worse than throw them into the fountain!”

Ailill said nothing. If Noire had worked this hard to keep his lover a secret – though Ailill had plenty to say to and about a man…or woman, he supposed, but something told him Noire was in love with a man…who kept Noire like a dirty secret.

Except Noire wasn’t stupid. If he thought he was being strung along…but that wasn’t necessarily true. He’d seen smarter people turn dumber when it came to such things.

“Noire…whatever is going on, are you certain it’s the right thing?”

The smile Noire gave him was the saddest thing he’d ever seen. “If you know of any way to make certain the Ceremony goes as it should, Ailill, I beg of you to see that it does. If in thirty-one days all of you are dead, I will be dead by the thirty-second. Perhaps Ivan is strong enough to survive, but I am not. Thank you for coming to find me. I fear I must go apologize to Freddie now…wish me luck…” He pushed himself forward, shifting as he moved, and turned to give Ailill a last parting look before nudging the door open and padding silently back down the stairs.

Ailill played the options over and over in his head.

On the day of the Ceremony, according to bloody tradition, sixteen people would die. The would-be Faerie Queen and Guardians, slain by one another, the Twelve Great Beasts…and one stranger…

So Noire was either in love with that unknown sixteenth person and knew something the rest of them didn’t…unlikely. Such vital information, when his friends were at stake, Noire would not keep to himself.

Ailill immediately discarded two thirds of the Beasts, who all were either taken, disliked Noire too much for such a thing, or had no interest in men…of the four left…they had no reason to keep a lover such as Noire a secret. Freddie and the Grand Duke were not the sort to care who their Beasts consorted with; either was far more likely to encourage a relationship that set everyone on their ear.

That left…oh, mercy of the Queen…surely not…

Freddie and the Queen were out, if what Verenne said was true and Ailill had no reason to doubt her. Unless he was mistaken about the possible Beasts, the only other person Noire could be in love with was…

Grand Duke Gael d’Hiver.

Ailill laughed softly and shook his head. “Leave it to Noire…” No wonder he was all but falling apart.

That, however, begged the question of why the Grand Duke was keeping their love affair a secret…because it was obvious the secrecy was a large part of Noire’s agony. Well, whatever the reason, Noire had also said it was the Ceremony that mattered. He’d quite literally begged Ailill to help prevent it becoming yet another tragedy. If, by the grace of the Queen, they all lived…and the Grand Duke did not step forward and reveal the secret, Ailill knew seven men he could hire to turn the Grand Duke’s life into an agony.

Sighing, standing up and futilely brushing dust and grime from his white clothes, Ailill shifted to his Form and padded down the stairs and through the halls, eventually reaching Freddie’s private suite of rooms.

The large receiving room was appointed in the requisite blue, white, and silver, even the wood of the furniture chosen for its whitish color. Opposite the door, on the farthest end, the room spilled into an enormous balcony from which one could see for miles.

Currently standing there, kneeling with his head down, was Noire. Ailill politely did not try to hear the words, leaving Noire to make his apology to the stern-looking Freddie in private. Instead he padded over to where Ivan and his men sat in one corner, helping themselves to the alcohol but otherwise being unusually quiet.

Ailill went straight to Ivan, rubbing against his legs, looking up curiously as the scent of blood caught him. The knuckles of Ivan’s right hand were split, as though he’d punched someone – hard. Chuffing softly, Ailill licked the blood away.

“That Ram had more to say after you left,” Ivan said by way of explanation, steel blue eyes glinting. “I decided to share my opinion as well. I wish Shio and Shinju were here, because I could not quite bring myself to hit that Wolf.”

Licking Ivan’s hand again, this time in approval, Ailill then settled his head in Ivan’s lap, letting his eyes close, his growl soften, as Ivan scratched and petted.

He looked up only when he could hear footsteps approach, and glared at Freddie in resentment.

Freddie laughed and sat down next to Ivan on the sofa. “I think you cat Forms have it best. All anyone ever does when I shift is pull on my feathers.”

“How exactly does a horse fly?” Isidor asked. “I cannot fathom it.”

Freddie leaned back in her seat and turned her head to look at him in amusement. “I will show you sometime.”

“Scor—ouch!” Isidor glared at Luka, rubbing his arm where Luka had punched him. He rolled his eyes. “I thank you, your Grace.”

“Better,” Luka muttered.

Isidor rolled his eyes again. “Since when are you little Miss Manners?”

“Enough,” Ivan said gently, but the men immediately obeyed.

Lapping at his hand one last time, Ailill moved away from Ivan and toward where Noire sat at the edge of the rug, rubbing against him before settling down beside him.

“They are day and night,” Freddie said. “It never fails to amaze me. In every way but color, they look exactly alike. I wish others would notice; to me, it always drove home how close the Beasts truly are to their fellows. All the White this, White that…once, things were not so.” She sighed and waved her hand in the air, as if trying to flick away all the problems buzzing around her. “Perhaps, one day, things will be right again.” Sighing again, she forced herself up off the couch and turned to face them all. “Master Ivan, gentlemen, I’ve heard much about you. I am most displeased that only now is Ailill bothering to bring you to meet me. Is there something about you that he is trying to hide?”

The men threw their heads back and laughed. “He’s only trying to hide us, but that’s enough,” Maksim said. “We’re good in a fight, but not at tea parties.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Freddie said dryly. “I should think you’d give me a reason to stay awake at tea parties.”

Ailill shifted back to human with a groan and stood up. “Freddie, don’t encourage them, please. I had finally gotten them to promise to behave.”

Freddie quirked a brow at him. “Yes, I saw how well they were behaving downstairs…”

“You have a point,” Ailill conceded, wincing. “I apologize, Grand Duchess. I did not mean to get into a fight before others with the Countess and Earl. I did not mean to get into a fight with them at all.”

“I’m well aware of who started it, believe me,” Freddie said, and glared at the absent Wolf and Ram. “Still, I did expect better of you, my White Panther.” She flicked her gaze briefly to Noire, who merely lowered his dark head. “Enough, Noire. I have said I am no longer angry…the sight of Giles climbing out of that fountain was the funniest thing I have ever seen in my life. Oh, I wish I could do such things to that lot at times…but I am supposed to set the example. A pity.”

Noire padded across the room and nudged her hand, and fondly Freddie pet him and scratched his ears. “Yes, Noire,” she said softly in reply to whatever he silently said. Noire seemed to nod, then finally pulled away and changed back to his human shape.

“How did you do that?” Gleb asked Noire as he stood up. “I’ve gathered from watching Ailill throw things around – and claw faces nearly off – that I never want to make a giant cat really mad, but it still couldn’t have been easy to just pick him up and haul him over the edge like that.”

“I was angry,” Noire said, ducking his head briefly before making himself look up again. “I’ve also…had a lot of practice defending myself. It wasn’t hard really, I already had momentum on my side – it was just a matter of using it to haul him up over the edge and then I let go.”

“Neatly done,” Luka said. “Don’t think I could have done it better myself.” He pointed a thumb at Maksim. “He could have, but Maksim could lift a horse or an ox and barely notice the weight.”

“It was only a pony,” Maksim said with a grin.

Ailill shook his head. “I bet even now that poor stable hand tells the story of the rogues who tried to tear his stable asunder.”

Isidor yawned. “They shouldn’t have been abusing the horses.”

Freddie chuckled and motioned to them all. “Come. I invited you to dinner and made my cooks slave all day. They have even managed to prepare a few Pozharian meals that Verde can handle. If you do not eat it all, I fear my cooks will finally rebel. If you cost me my cooks, I will be forced to hate you and none of us want that, do we?”

“No, Grand Duchess,” Ailill said formally, bowing low to hide a snicker.

“The impertinence around here is getting out of control,” Freddie said, shaking her head and laughing. “Come, let us eat. I promise no one will bother us. If they do…well, by now the story of the fountain will have circulated the palace and city twice. No one will bother us.”