Poison 9 & 10
Apr. 2nd, 2007 06:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrSorry ^^;;;
Chapter Nine
“Your Grace, you look simply stunning…”
“Beautiful…”
Gael let the women mutter and murmur, thanking them absently, reminding himself they were only being nice, or more likely trying to comfort themselves. Pointing out to them that his beauty had very little to do with the fact that he could be dead in sixteen days would accomplish nothing.
Nor, he told himself for the millionth time, would it do to scream at them for accidentally sticking him with their confounded pins.
Queen grant him mercy, he hated being fitted for clothes. Especially formal clothes, because that usually meant he lost an entire day’s worth of work and didn’t he have enough to do without having to stand and get pricked to death only so he could look beautiful when he was killed by his own sisters because no one ever knew what happened on the day of the Ceremony and if they stuck him one more time—
His snarl of pain must have finally alerted the seamstresses to their slow torture, for their quiet murmurs over his beauty turned into abject apologies. Gael hid a wince, feeling bad, for they’d been hard at work for the past four hours while all he did was stand around and silently complain. “Please, my dears, I was more startled than anything. Your work is coming along splendidly, to judge by my reflection in the mirror. This coat…” More white and gold, but at least they’d threaded it with some green…all the same, when he was finished he was never wearing any of these colors again. He was going to forbid anyone to wear them in his presence.
Except Noire. He was going to forbid Noire wear clothing period.
Stiffing a sigh, Gael sternly reminded himself that, on top of everything else, pining over his lover was not going to help. It didn’t keep him from wishing that Noire was about, maybe sitting in the corner teasing him, making quiet suggestions as to the private fitting they could do later…Gael bit back a frustrated curse and shifted his thoughts back to all the work that wasn’t getting done.
That he quickly gave up for a lost cause. He had set aside today for his fittings, because if he’d put it off any longer the seamstresses would likely have had kittens – never mind they were all geese.
Inevitably his thoughts wandered to the reason for the fitting, the pin pricking. The Ceremony…
He knew how it went, what they were technically doing…in theory, anyway.
The Pegasus for the strength of the people – strength against calamity, strength against strife, strength to stand against all obstacles. Upon the wings of the Pegasus rests the will of the people to survive and prosper no matter what seeks to weaken them.
The Unicorn for the purity of the people – purity of the body, to fight against disease and weakness. Purity of the land to fight against blight and tragedy. Purity of the spirit, to live true to one’s heart. Upon the horn of the Unicorn rests the will of the people to live and flourish no matter what seeks to poison their spirit.
The Faerie Queen for the harmony of the people – strength and purity united, to prosper and flourish no matter what strife or tragedy strikes, to stand as one until the end of time. Upon the wings of the Faerie Queen rest all the children of Verde, beautifully and perfectly united.
Once, centuries ago, the three gods of Verde had gathered together in their sacred room and cast a blessing that ensured prosperity for Verde and all the world…just as the Basilisk carefully watched over death, as Zhar Ptitka saw the souls were properly reborn, as the Storm Dragons kept reign on the turbulent sky and seas that the countries were always somehow connected.
Except such blessings had not been cast in more than a thousand years. Instead, every hundred or so the sacred chamber wound up soaked in the blood of those who should be casting the blessings.
If his good mood was not already gone, thinking of the Ceremony would have neatly killed it. Mercy of the Queen, was this how every other Unicorn had felt? Nervous? Sick? Angry? Restless?
So lonely he could not bear it.
With a rough sound, Gael motioned for the women to stop. “Enough, my dears. You have been working hard, and I do not think I was ever meant to hold still. We will resume after lunch, hmm?”
The women giggled and obediently halted in their work, taking off the carefully pinned clothes and carrying everything away.
Sighing in relief, Gael stepped down from the cushioned stool on which he’d been made to stand and retrieved his clothes, sliding into his shirt and tugging on his breeches, then sitting down to pull on his boots.
He was just starting on his shirt when someone rapped on the door. Biting back an urge to inform the knocker there was no one in the room – so few of his Beasts had anything resembling a sense of humor, and only they would knock that loudly upon the door – Gael sighed, stood, and bid the knocker enter.
“Your Grace?”
It was almost gratifying, the way Seraphin stayed uncertainly near the door, as if somehow able to sense that Gael was in a foul mood.
Earl Seraphin Bellerose, the White Mongoose, and right now one of only three people in the palace Gael did not want to kill or at least make suffer. “Yes, Seraphin?”
“I thought you might like to address the storm brewing downstairs.”
Gael finished buttoning his shirt and retrieved the rest of his clothes, quickly knotting his cravat before shrugging into his afternoon jacket. “I suppose simply throwing them into the river is out of the question?”
Seraphin quickly smothered a laugh, though he could not quite kill the humor that danced in his hazel eyes. “Your orders, Grand Duke, are inviolate.”
“That is true,” Gael said thoughtfully. “Very well, let us go see who can be thrown into the river.” Not that he would be that mean, but he gendered enough awe and respect that if he made noises about it being a possibility, people would take it for a genuine possibility – he did not make idle threats – and that would be that.
“What is the nature of this altercation?”
“Beast versus Beast is all I know,” Seraphin said, torn between dry amusement and the same frustration that made Gael glower as they entered the private gardens of the Golden Palace. Gold-flecked stones wove footpaths through the garden, which had been carefully arranged to look almost but not quite wild, the trees, plants, and flowers carefully tended to by a staff of thirty gardeners.
All the footpaths met in the center, around a large artificial pond over which spanned a delicate green and white bridge. In front of the pond were four Beasts – Countess Matilda Hardy, the White Fox and Marchioness Elianne Poulx, the White Eagle, seemed currently to be pitted in heated debate against Duke Rodrigue Sauvegeon, the White Lion and Marquis Honore DuChamps, the White Stag.
“What is the nature of this squabble?” Gael asked, and though he had not raised his voice in the slightest, the four shouting Beasts immediately ceased.
Elianne immediately bowed her head, the long strands of her hair falling over one shoulder. Usually, she was one of those three Gael would never have felt like killing. “Our apologies, your Grace.” Her cool, dark blue eyes landed briefly on Seraphin. “We did mean to disturb you with our disagreement.”
“It’s not me you should be worried about disturbing,” Gael said. He let his senses loose, feeling out for whoever might be in the area. “It is the six gardeners and three maids who should be the source of your concern. Even now they listen to their Beasts bicker like children. Why?” Even as he said it, Gael worked gently to send the hidden workers off. Time and again he and Freddie had struggled with this dilemma – the Beasts forgetting their place, their importance, except where it didn’t matter at all. When the garden and rooms immediately surrounding it were well and truly empty, he asked again more sharply. “Why?”
For a moment no one answered him, and Gael was on the verge of losing his temper when the White Fox, Matilda, finally responded. “We were debating the spring and summer festivals, your Grace.”
“What about them?” Gael asked. “The spring fairs should be coming up soon, yes? I am surprised that I’ve not had requests for funding and such already submitted, come to think of it.”
The White Stag, often very high on the list of people Gael wanted to pitch into the river, answered the question. “What is the point? In three weeks we will all be dead.”
“Yes,” Gael said, voice low and calm – but the entire group recoiled, the White Lion nearly tumbling straight back into the pond. “We very likely will be. You, however, do not say that. You project an air of confidence. You act as though everything is normal. You plan for the spring and summer festivals and be enthusiastic about it.
“How often, little children, must I remind you of your place? You are the Beasts of Verde; the people see you in a way they do not see myself or the Grand Duchess – we are too remote, too far away, for the people to truly look up to us. It is to you Beasts they turn for guidance, for assistance. Do you think you wear those expensive clothes, live in my palace, have your pretty manors and cottages because you’re simply entitled to them?” Gael fell silent a moment, then shouted the next word. “No!”
He stalked closer to his Beasts, longing to just shove and send them all into the pond. “Your duty, by right of birth, is to protect the children of Verde. That means you put on a brave front no matter how scared and worried you are; it means when they need comfort, you comfort. I do not care if you’re miserable yourself! You will plan for the spring and summer festivals, and you will be certain those plans are ready and everything in place before the Ceremony. We might be dead in a matter of weeks, but the rest of Verde will not be, and it is for them those festivals are planned – not you. Have I made myself clear, Beasts?”
“Yes, your Grace,” Matilda and Elianne said quietly, bowing their heads low. He would be willing to bet they had been defending the festivals, in favor of holding them – but the point remained they should not have been arguing about it where the servants could hear, because the servants had been listening and now word would spread that the Beasts were worried and squabbling.
Gael glared at the Stag and Lion until they too finally muttered acknowledgement of his words. Then he turned sharply on his heel and stalked from the garden, dropping the light compulsion that had kept everyone away while he yelled at his Beasts.
Too many messages from Freddie had spoken of exactly the same problem with her Beasts. It meant somewhere along the way, they had both failed to properly teach the Beasts their place…though it was hard to teach men and women who ranged in age from his own thirty years all the way to nearly forty. Why should half of them even think of listening to him, never mind turning to him for guidance?
He tried, though. Instinctively, he knew, the Beasts would always feel compelled to follow and obey the Guardians Prospective. Still, with Freddie so mercurial and himself so…remote…why should his Beasts listen to him?
Except that wasn’t really the point. They could ignore him all they wanted if they just saw to their people instead of sniping at each other and complaining of wearing white. Not that he blamed them for those complaints, but it was one more thing they should keep to themselves and speak of only in absolute private. They wore white to always separate themselves out from the crowd; so that even in the middle of chaos, the Beasts would stand out like beacons.
Though, the way they squabbled, all one had to do was follow the shouting.
Stifling a sigh, Gael murmured a thank you to Seraphin and then made his way back to his office. Sitting behind his desk, he allowed his head to fall back against the high back of his chair and just sat for a moment.
The spring and summer festivals…they were always held as spring was turning into summer, so as to ensure as much as possible that no rain would ruin everything, and that it would not be too hot. All over Verde, each of the provinces would have half a dozen or more going on at all times, so that no matter where anyone lived there would be a festival within reasonable distance. The festivals thrown in the cities of the three great palaces were beyond compare – foreign dignitaries often planned their visits around the festivals.
Gael smiled faintly, realizing for the first time that if he didn’t die in three weeks, he and Noire could attend the festival together…did gods attend festivals? Well, he would. Holding his lover’s hand and stealing kisses at every opportunity. Almost as fun would the chance to feed Noire all the different delicacies that would be sold, watch his black panther play…and then drag him back to their room to play with his panther.
Thinking about such things was not helping him in the least, but it did bring a smile to his face. If there was any possibility of surviving the Ceremony, he would find it. He had to; he would not go gracefully to his death when there was the chance to play with Noire at the festivals dangling before him.
A rapping on the door broke into his thoughts, and tiredly Gael bid the knocker enter.
He was not surprised to see Matilda appear, a sheaf of paper in her hand. “White Fox, Matti. What can I do for you?”
Matilda smiled at him and handed over the papers in her hand. “All my requests and such. I was on my way to deliver them and then have luncheon with Elianne when we encountered the other two. In our defense, your Grace, we went into the garden to hide from the servants. We should have been more careful than that, but we were thinking on it. All the same, I am sorry.”
“It is over and done,” Gael said, accepting the papers and putting them where he would remember to go over them when he was finally allowed a few hours to do paperwork. “You wanted something else,” he said.
“Yes, your Grace…” Though all his Beasts were allowed to call him ‘Gael’ the way the Western Beasts called the Grand Duchess ‘Freddie,’ for whatever reason, they very seldom did.
I wouldn’t call you Gael either, if it wasn’t for the fact that…
The fact that I keep you naked and pinned beneath me as often as I possibly can, Kitten?
Yes, that. ‘Your Grace’ suits you. Freddie…is less scary if you call her Freddie.
“What is the matter?”
Matilda bit her lip, ducking her head in thought a moment before she finally sat back up, squaring her shoulders. “It isn’t true, you know, that the people look to us more than you.”
Gael tilted his head. “I realize of course the people are constantly hoping to see myself and my sister…but you Beasts are more accessible, less intimidating. That is what I meant.”
“Perhaps…but you seem to forget, Gael, that we Beasts are just as human as the people we serve. Perhaps the peasants and lesser nobles look to us…but we Beasts look to you and Freddie.” She looked down at her hands. “We’re childish upon occasion…we’re childish frequently…but that doesn’t mean we’re blind or stupid.” She looked up again. “I do not know anything of Freddie, but the six of us here have been watching you closely. You tell us to put up a front when around the people and of course we should, and try to do.
“But your Grace, I do not think you should have to do the same for us. You’re always so reserved…yet we’re used to that, and can read you better than you probably realize. It’s clear to the six of us that you’re as worried sick as the rest of us, and knowing you that means you push yourself harder than ever to prove to everyone that you’re not worried. I don’t think it’s fair to yourself or to us, who are your council and representatives to the eastern province, to keep all your worries and problems hidden.
“We perhaps say too much, your Grace, but you perhaps do not say enough. Something has been troubling you for a long time, and perhaps it is merely the Ceremony…but I do not know. Seraphin does not know. Nor do Elianne, Rodrigue, or Honore. If you cannot confide in your Beasts, your Grace…then clearly we are failing in more ways than one.” Matilda bowed her head. “I am sorry to be impertinent.”
“Hardly that,” Gael said, still trying to absorb her words. “Freddie would say you are not nearly impertinent enough. You’re still being polite, after all.” He attempted a smile. “Perhaps you are right, I do keep too much to myself. I…things weigh heavily, Matti, and I am not certain where they will fall, or who will suffer for it, should I try to shift the weight to let someone else share the burden. It is not for lack of wanting to confide…it is that if I do confide, I fear there will be tragic consequences.”
Matilda’s eyes widened briefly, the words clearly not what she’d been expecting to hear. Then she merely looked sad. “Surely you know you can trust us, your Grace. Even Rodrigue in a full snit still would lay down his life for you.”
“I know,” Gael said quietly. “I live with that knowledge every day. Lives are precious, and I will not use them carelessly. I will share my burdens when I feel I can. Believe me, though, when I say that I keep my silence not because I do not trust my Beasts, but because I fear there may be things listening that even I cannot detect.”
“As you wish, your Grace. Just remember that we are here.”
“Of course, Matti. I think you for coming to speak to me.”
Matilda stood and dropped him a graceful curtsy, then turned and strode from the room.
Gael sat in the sudden silence and stared at his desk, completely lost as to what to do.
Obviously he had been failing completely to hide his distress. He could blame it on the Ceremony of course, and call the matter done. He buried his face in his hands. Why? Why was he so reluctant to tell anyone about Noire? Why was he so certain that if anyone knew he loved the black panther, then Noire would die?”
That was the entire reason for his constant misery, the sick dread that knotted his stomach…all of it. If somehow the wrong person found out he was in love with Noire, his lover was going to die. He was certain of it.
How easy it would be, to call Matti back in, call all the others…to be able to turn to his Beasts. Tell them everything, set them to watch Noire, protect him. A frivolous thing, but if he lost Noire, he lost everything. All he had to do was summon them and his Beasts would come. They would listen to him, ask questions, and help him devise a plan. It would be that simple.
Except…he didn’t know of whom to be afraid. What if one of his Beasts was the unknown source of fear? Was the enemy right beneath his nose? Why did he know so little? Noire’s life was at stake, he knew it, and all he could do was hide in his office and worry himself sick over it.
He couldn’t even trust the Beasts sworn to help him…he couldn’t even trust his own sisters.
Despair clawed at him, and ruthlessly Gael fought it off. He could not give up, as much as he wanted to…the Ceremony was in fifteen days. He had lasted this long, he could last fifteen days more.
Absently, Gael reached up and pulled his hair over his shoulder, tugging free the pale blue ribbon that kept it tied back. So many times he’d come close to cutting his hair, but always conceded defeat when so many people wailed at the idea. It wasn’t until shy, gentle fingers had combed through it that first night in the glade…
With a rough sound, Gael leaned forward over his desk and attempted to order his thoughts. He had already told himself a million or so times that worrying the days away would help nothing. He had to stay busy. Focused. The Ceremony. Right now that was what mattered. If he could get through the Ceremony, by some mercy of the Gods, then all his problems would be over. That was where his thoughts needed to focus.
Except much like the problem with Noire…he knew only that there was a problem. He had no clue as to the reason for the tragedy that occurred time after time, nor did he have any possible solutions. All he had was a desire to live, to not be another casualty of the bloody Ceremony. He had nothing more than a silent vow to survive, and then do everything he could with his lover that they had not been able to do before.
Like the festival…simple things like eating together, walking the halls of the palace… Gael’s hands curled into fists on the desk, as if desperately wishing they were touching something else. Mercy of the Queen, all he wanted was to be able to see Noire in the hallway and greet him like everyone else greeted their lovers.
Somehow, he would survive the Ceremony. He would not let the tragedy strike again. Then, when everything was over and he was the god everyone wanted him to be…he would hold Noire tight and never again let him go.
Chapter Ten
Noire woke slowly, feeling groggy and immediately like something was wrong.
He looked blearily toward the window, gauging that it must be either still night or very early in the morning.
What had woken him? He looked carefully around the room, but nothing was wrongly open or closed…nothing had been moved…he listened carefully but could hear nothing. Frowning, because something had woken him from a particularly nice dream and he would find out what, he shifted and stood up in bed.
There was a smell that did not belong. Leaping neatly from his bed, Noire padded out of his bedroom and into the sitting room beyond which he seldom used. More than once he’d fantasized about Gael seeking him out…but that’s all they were. His friends he had no reason to invite here, when there were more convenient places to meet them.
Yes…the foreign smell was here…faint…as though someone had been here only briefly. It was not a scent he recognized, though it was animal – so a Form. No…a stronger bit of it lingered.
Noire reared up and placed his front paws on the high wooden table beside the long couch, the table that was closest to the window…that someone had managed to unlock from outside, it seemed, and then relocked after he or she had left the same way. He looked down at the table.
Immediately he shifted back to human, then gingerly picked up the plain piece of thick white paper that had been sealed shut with black wax, no marking of any sort upon it. Something was tucked inside it, soft and light. Moving to his desk, Noire fumbled for a moment to light the lamp and then find a letter opener. He could just tear it…but something told him he wanted to put off opening it as long as possible.
Was it from Gael? Surely not. This wasn’t Gael’s style at all. If his lover had come this far to tell him something, he would have simply woken Noire up. Besides, Noire would have known his scent anywhere.
His heart seized up. Was it someone else because Gael wasn’t able to do it himself? Had something happened, so awful it required informing Noire despite the risks? Was Gael all right?
Ignoring all the logical arguments trying to fight against his growing panic, Noire sliced open the wax seal and unfolded the thick paper.
A long, pale blue ribbon fell out into his lap. Noire suddenly found it hard to breathe, so overwhelming was the fear that seized him. “Gael…” he picked the ribbon up carefully and held it up to the lamp – and relaxed slightly. The ribbon was nearly an exact match for the one he’d given Gael so long ago…but only nearly. Not exact. He knew what his lover’s ribbon looked like, and this was not it.
Finally, taking a slow, deep breath, Noire held the note to the light and finally read.
If you want no harm to come to your lover, thereby guaranteeing tragedy at the Ceremony, then come to the address below before dawn.
Come alone.
His lover. The blue ribbon. No one knew he’d given Gael that ribbon. No one…where had he messed up? Noire buried his head in one hand, crushing the letter in the other. This was his fault, somehow. Gael had always told him to be more careful, to always be on guard. A thousand times Gael had told him, because he felt there was danger. Now there was, and Noire knew he was to blame.
This was obviously a trap. No one would dare to hurt Gael, not with the Ceremony so close. They wouldn’t dare risk such an important thing. No…Gael had been right all along. No one would dare to harm the Unicorn. It was the black panther they wanted, though Noire couldn’t even begin to imagine why.
What should he do?
More than anything, he wanted to run to Gael, let him handle it.
Except…what if they did hurt Gael? Just to get to him?
Could Ailill help? Verenne? Freddie? The idea of waking up the Pegasus at this hour of the night was terrifying, but the idea of her charging into the bad parts of the city to wreak havoc on those who had dared…
If the persons who had left the notes felt comfortable threatening the Unicorn, though, the Pegasus was hardly a threat. That made the Beasts even less of one.
Noire swallowed. He had to go see what this was about. If he tried to get help, other people would get hurt too. Someone had snuck into his room and done just enough to leave the note and wake him…they felt comfortable leaving notes threatening the Unicorn. Somehow they’d discovered he and Gael were lovers.
This was all his fault. If he’d just listened, instead of being weak…
Standing, Noire threw the note on his desk and strode back into the bedroom to get dressed. He threw on older clothes, worn and soft, easy to move in – then reached into the very back of the shelves holding miscellaneous articles and pulled out items he knew how to use, and had used, but very rarely.
Swordsmanship he’d learned from the Piedren villagers, who refused to believe that every problem could be solved simply by being a gigantic black cat or whatever other Form they were shown. So Noire had learned.
He wasn’t terrible, but he wasn’t great either. Certainly he was nothing like Ivan and his men, who wore their swords like everyone else wore clothes…or skin. Swiftly he strapped the heavy leather belt into place, settling the sword before fastening a dagger to his left thigh and sliding a thinner one into his knee-high boot.
“Gael…” Noire closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again. Moving to his jewelry box, he immediately found and pulled out the object he sought, tucking it away in the pocket of his jacket. Leaving the dressing chamber, he moved to the bed and tossed the pillows aside. Letting his fingers wander carefully over the wood, he waited until he felt the slight catch – then pressed hard, opening the hidden hollow in the headboard.
From it he pulled the leather case Ailill had given him, containing the pearl and onyx necklace. Closing the headboard niche back up, Noire carried the case back to his desk and sat down.
Removing the necklace from its velvet bed, he carefully pulled at the velvet lining, freeing just enough of it he could hide something beneath it. Setting the case aside, he pulled out pen and paper and swiftly wrote. He waved the paper back and forth to dry the ink.
When it was dry, he folded the paper up and retrieved the note given to him – then took the object in his jacket out and used that to pin the notes together. He clutched the paper close, ducking his head and curling in on himself for a moment, then forced himself to sit up, hide the paper away and restore the velvet lining.
Closing the case back, he then took out a scrap of paper, writing swiftly and melting wax in the lamp, using it to hold the paper to the top of the case.
Slowly Noire stood, struggling to think if there was anything else he needed to do…no…all that he wanted to do, he could not. Taking up the box, Noire stepped out into the hallway and quietly made his way through the silent palace.
At the entrance, he stopped in front of a footman – one he’d spoken to often, one he could trust. “If I do not return by midday, you are to give this to the Marquis le Blanc at all costs.”
The footman’s eyes widened slightly, but his training overrode his curiosity. “Yes, Master Chevalier.”
“Thank you,” Noire said quietly, then turned away, shifting as he did so and hitting the ground at a run.
The address on the note had dictated an old inn on the seedier side of town. Noire had only come here a handful of times, and then only because he’d been following suspicious leads for her Grace as to various problems with Form groups feuding – the last time had been wolves plotting against foxes.
Noire padded along, the early morning mist giving everything a dream-like quality. He wished badly that it was a dream, that any moment now warm hands would stir him awake. He’d open his eyes slowly and be greeted by a smile that always warmed him through, no matter how cold or lonely he felt…
Which reminded him quite forcefully that he was here to make certain nothing happened to that smile. Noire closed his mind to thoughts that would just distract him if and when things got out of control. Whatever these people wanted, he wouldn’t let them have it without a fight.
The Dancing Vine loomed as he turned down a narrow street and crept along. The hair on the back of his neck raised – he did not want to be here, and he could feel eyes that disliked his presence just as much.
Still, this was for Gael. Nothing and no one would stop him.
Reaching the inn, he shifted back and pushed the door open. A single man skulked at the counter, sipping heavily from a dark bottle – some sort of rum, to judge by the smell. Though looking at the man’s clothes, his general state, the smell of rum could just be him, not necessarily what he was presently drinking.
“I’m meeting someone,” Noire told him, following the instructions that had been written out below the address.
The man merely nodded and slid him a grimy key. Noire picked it up and turned away. The scent of unclean flesh and general filth thickened as he traveled up the stairs and all the way to the room in the back.
Outside, he stopped to run through his thoughts one last time.
Perhaps he should have gone for help…it would have been so much more reassuring to have Ailill along, or Ivan, any one of his men. But who knew what would happen in here? What if whoever wanted him really was willing to kill? He’d never forgive himself if he got others killed simply because he was too scared to do this alone.
He was Gael’s lover. The Unicorn’s lover. How could he stand beside Gael someday if he was too scared to even open a door? And he would stand beside Gael someday. They were so close, only ten days…he would not let some coward who only left notes take him away from Gael.
Determined now, Noire slid the key into the lock and turned, then shoved the door open and stepped inside.
A single lamp was lit on a small table in the far corner of the room. He could just barely see the bed, little more than a large shadow with sheets he’d probably be happier never seeing up close.
Noire drew his sword and turned in a slow circle. There was no one here.
Was this all…had this happened only because someone wanted to confirm a suspicion? What if all he’d done tonight was confirm for someone that he was indeed Gael’s lover? The thought made his stomach twist, and he fought panic. He should have gone to Ailill, to someone who knew about this sort of thing.
The door closed behind him, the sound of the lock tumbling into place painfully loud, and to Noire it sounded eerily like something was coming to an end. He turned around, sword held tight…
…And found a leopard sitting in front of the door. This, however, was like no leopard he’d ever seen. Instead of golden fur and black-brown spots…this one was a brilliant white, the spots pure black.
“Who are you?” he breathed.
In a thousand years, not once has that spirit changed. Through murder, betrayal, lies, deceit…it does not matter what I do to you, lover of Gael, always you return with that crystal spirit. As clean as untouched snow, as pure as the Unicorn Spring. It makes me hate you.
“What?” Noire asked, and his hand began to shake, sword falling to the ground, as he realized the voice was speaking in his head. Only three people in all of Verde had that ability.
Only one had the ability to appear as any animal she chose.
“It can’t be…” Noire said. “Why would you…?”
The Unicorn and Pegasus belong to me, and I am tired of you and that other always taking them away.
Noire shook his head and stumbled back, unable to accept what he was seeing, hearing. “I just—”
Go to sleep.
He tried to fight the compulsion, to resist it and retrieve his sword, but such powerful magic was beyond his ability to counter. Thinking hopelessly that he had to tell someone, Noire crumpled to the ground.
The leopard padding forward, shifting as it reached the fallen Noire. Shifting, Etain knelt on the floor, oblivious to the filth that immediately clung to her pale skirts. On her back, rainbow wings slowly unfurled, filling the dim room with pale, shimmering light. Gently she lifted Noire’s head into her lap, stroking his hair. “I really do hate you,” she said softly, “but you are also one my children, and so I also love you. I wish I did not, for then I could simply be rid of you…” Softly the Queen began to murmur, as if talking to herself. She ran her hands lightly over Noire’s body, as if spreading something over it…and slowly he began to shimmer…and then to change.
With a blinding flash, the shimmering was gone, leaving only the Queen and a small, black kitten curled up in her lap. “If I had known you would come so quietly in this life, lover of Gael, I would not have dragged us both all the way out here.” Sighing, Etain stood up and bundled the tiny kitten close. “Off we go then.” Making certain the folds of her cloak hid the kitten from sight, the woman unlocked the door and strode down the hall, past the innkeeper, and out into the dark of the early morning.
Noire woke with a groan, head aching, filled with the most terrible dreams.
What would cause him to dream such terrible things? There was no way her Majesty would….
He froze as he finally lifted his head up enough to take in his surroundings – not his bed, not his room…not anywhere he’d ever seen before.
Then he realized he was still in Form. Well, perhaps that would be best for now. If his attacker, for surely it had been a Beast, or someone impersonating…it could not have been the Queen herself. That was impossible.
He was in a small, square room with silk covered walls, a simple, unadorned bed in one corner, a small wooden table and chair in another. Over the table was spread a plain meal, but the scent of the food only enraged him further – an infuriating touch of normalcy when everything about this was far from normal.
The giant rug covering the floor was a distracting pattern of blue, green, white, gold, and silver. All the colors of the Beasts. The rest of the furniture matched, and Noire had the sick feeling that he was in the Queen’s Palace somewhere.
He fought back panic, restlessly prowling the room, desperately seeking the one thing he could not seem to find.
A door.
The room was a perfect, unbroken square. No windows, no door…but there must be. Had he not gotten in here somehow? Where was the way out? Where? Panic spread through him though he tried to tamp it down.
He needed out. He needed Gael. To tell Gael. What was he going to do? He couldn’t. Screaming in anger, fear, Noire swiped his claws across the walls, willing a door to appear, to reveal itself. Anything. Not trapped. Not unable to tell Gael.
Only exhaustion finally stopped him, and Noire collapsed on the bed, shifting back as he did so only because he was too hot in his Form. He buried his face in a pillow that smelled of stale soap, digging his hands into the soft, worn fabric, willing it to be his pillow in his room and he was asleep and this was a dream and he’d wake up in Gael’s arms and tell him over and over how much he loved him.
Gael. He couldn’t give up now. The Ceremony…how far away was it now? Surely he hadn’t been unconscious more than a few hours…a day or two at most. That meant the Ceremony was between seven and nine days away. Would Ailill have his message by now?
Stupid. That’s what he’d been. He should have gone for help – at least then someone else would have known…
The thought was too hard to think. Noire choked back a sob of disbelief and made himself sit up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and buried his head in his hands.
Queen Etain herself…why? Noire closed his eyes and struggled to remember all that had happened.
Not much. He’d gone prepared to fight…even a Beast or two he could have handled. Their compulsions would have been difficult to counter, but he’d been taught how to fight them to some degree…
Why? That was what confused him. Everyone knew the stories of the Faerie Queen and Guardians. She united everyone, brought children and Beasts and Guardians together. Their love for each other was deep and true; they were all that siblings should be…
The Unicorn and Pegasus belong to me, and I am tired of you and that other always taking them away.
Noire repeated the words over and over in his head, willing them to make sense.
…Jealousy? Surely not. That was absurd. Why would the Faerie Queen be jealous of him? He was nothing. A poor cross-breed from the mountains who had been born with a Form that had been a curse as much as a blessing…he had precious few friends, even less respect from society…no one wanted his position, constantly running back and forth, sniffing out potential problems. Those few things that meant everything to him would mean nothing to anyone else. He didn’t have riches, not really. Gael was the only thing of true importance in his life, and everyone knew of his love and loyalty to his Queen.
There was absolutely no reason the Queen should be jealous of Noire. Just thinking it made him feel presumptuous.
Who was ‘the other’? Noire shook his head where it rested in his hands, willing the mysteries to resolve themselves.
All he wanted was to know that Gael would be all right. Had his stupidity tonight somehow guaranteed that Gael would die soon? Was it his fault the Ceremony might fail?
He couldn’t give up, he couldn’t. Gael would never give up on him.
If only—oh, what did it matter. He could say ‘if only’ all night and eventually he’d wind up at the starting point – if only he hadn’t snuck out after Gael at that party.
He hadn’t even planned on going. That entire week had been an agony like no other. Newly appointed as Freddie’s messenger, Noire had thought people would finally soften toward him, that a few of the cooler individuals would finally thaw, smile, maybe offer him some small welcome….instead they’d only grown colder.
It had been devastating.
Unable to bear staying in the Silver Palace, he had taken Freddie’s advice and gone to the party being thrown at the Unicorn’s country manor – the reason for it Noire no longer remembered.
All he’d cared about at first was being invisible. Two seconds after arriving he’d realized it was stupid to think one party would be different from another.
Then he’d seen the Unicorn…
Never had he thought a man could be that beautiful. The Grand Duke was tall and slender, not soft like so many nobles but neither was he as rough and labor-hardened as Noire, who felt even more like an imposter staring at the man.
His hair…it really was like gold, so fine against his lightly tanned skin. The white looked strange on him, but not in the slightest bit wrong.
Just as Noire had realized he was staring, however, the Grand Duke vanished in a crowd of people.
Noire had felt bereft. In desperate need of a closer look, to see if his eyes had been deceiving him. When he’d noticed a flash of white in the yard from where he’d been hiding on a balcony, he’d given in to impulse…
When he’d been caught…never in his wildest imaginings had he ever thought the Unicorn would want him. Love him.
Now he was on the verge of losing him, all because he’d been too stupid to ask someone for help. All because he’d been careless about seeing Gael. Not willing to listen when Gael told him not to do it.
He wouldn’t give up though. If he’d been put in here, there had to be a way out. He would find it, and then he would save Gael from the Faerie Queen.
Ailill finished closing the laces on his shirt as he stepped into the foyer.
A footman of the Silver Palace. Who had claimed he needed to speak immediately with the White Panther, on a matter that quite possibly meant life or death. Fingers lightly touched his back as Ivan came in behind him. “What is the matter?”
The man looked as though he were going to be ill any moment. “M-mi’lord, he said to wait until noon, but it’s not like him…”
“Start at the beginning,” Ailill said sharply. “What is the problem?” He put compulsions behind the words – to calm down, to obey. The footman eased visibly beneath the silent commands, and held out a leather case he’d been holding tightly to his chest.
Ailill drew a sharp breath. “That…” he immediately took it as the footman began to speak.
“He came out, wearing a sword and everything, just past three in the morning, my lord. Said that if he did not return before noon, then I was to see you got that at all costs, and to give it to her Grace if you could not be found.”
Three in the morning…it was just past four now. “You did well,” Ailill said. “Return to your post. Speak to no one, not even her Grace, until I give you leave. Thank you for bringing this immediately to me.”
“My lord,” the man said, then bowed and fled the room.
Ailill moved to the desk and opened the case.
Just his necklace…Noire wouldn’t simply hand it back. What was going on here?
Ivan came up beside him and snatched up the necklace, setting it aside on the desk and then going back to the case, calloused fingers moving over the velvet. Grunting softly, he pulled a knife from somewhere Ailill didn’t see and cut the soft velvet out.
“Mercy of the Queen…” Ailill said softly, immediately snatching up the items which had been hidden. He glanced briefly at the silver cravat pin, immediately recognizing it as the one he suspected as being a love token, but his attention was for the notes. His breath hissed between his teeth. “Vanya.” He handed the notes over.
Ivan read them quickly. “There’s no time to wake the others.”
Ailill nodded, and shifted as he turned from the desk, leading Ivan out of the house and off into the night.
Chapter Nine
“Your Grace, you look simply stunning…”
“Beautiful…”
Gael let the women mutter and murmur, thanking them absently, reminding himself they were only being nice, or more likely trying to comfort themselves. Pointing out to them that his beauty had very little to do with the fact that he could be dead in sixteen days would accomplish nothing.
Nor, he told himself for the millionth time, would it do to scream at them for accidentally sticking him with their confounded pins.
Queen grant him mercy, he hated being fitted for clothes. Especially formal clothes, because that usually meant he lost an entire day’s worth of work and didn’t he have enough to do without having to stand and get pricked to death only so he could look beautiful when he was killed by his own sisters because no one ever knew what happened on the day of the Ceremony and if they stuck him one more time—
His snarl of pain must have finally alerted the seamstresses to their slow torture, for their quiet murmurs over his beauty turned into abject apologies. Gael hid a wince, feeling bad, for they’d been hard at work for the past four hours while all he did was stand around and silently complain. “Please, my dears, I was more startled than anything. Your work is coming along splendidly, to judge by my reflection in the mirror. This coat…” More white and gold, but at least they’d threaded it with some green…all the same, when he was finished he was never wearing any of these colors again. He was going to forbid anyone to wear them in his presence.
Except Noire. He was going to forbid Noire wear clothing period.
Stiffing a sigh, Gael sternly reminded himself that, on top of everything else, pining over his lover was not going to help. It didn’t keep him from wishing that Noire was about, maybe sitting in the corner teasing him, making quiet suggestions as to the private fitting they could do later…Gael bit back a frustrated curse and shifted his thoughts back to all the work that wasn’t getting done.
That he quickly gave up for a lost cause. He had set aside today for his fittings, because if he’d put it off any longer the seamstresses would likely have had kittens – never mind they were all geese.
Inevitably his thoughts wandered to the reason for the fitting, the pin pricking. The Ceremony…
He knew how it went, what they were technically doing…in theory, anyway.
The Pegasus for the strength of the people – strength against calamity, strength against strife, strength to stand against all obstacles. Upon the wings of the Pegasus rests the will of the people to survive and prosper no matter what seeks to weaken them.
The Unicorn for the purity of the people – purity of the body, to fight against disease and weakness. Purity of the land to fight against blight and tragedy. Purity of the spirit, to live true to one’s heart. Upon the horn of the Unicorn rests the will of the people to live and flourish no matter what seeks to poison their spirit.
The Faerie Queen for the harmony of the people – strength and purity united, to prosper and flourish no matter what strife or tragedy strikes, to stand as one until the end of time. Upon the wings of the Faerie Queen rest all the children of Verde, beautifully and perfectly united.
Once, centuries ago, the three gods of Verde had gathered together in their sacred room and cast a blessing that ensured prosperity for Verde and all the world…just as the Basilisk carefully watched over death, as Zhar Ptitka saw the souls were properly reborn, as the Storm Dragons kept reign on the turbulent sky and seas that the countries were always somehow connected.
Except such blessings had not been cast in more than a thousand years. Instead, every hundred or so the sacred chamber wound up soaked in the blood of those who should be casting the blessings.
If his good mood was not already gone, thinking of the Ceremony would have neatly killed it. Mercy of the Queen, was this how every other Unicorn had felt? Nervous? Sick? Angry? Restless?
So lonely he could not bear it.
With a rough sound, Gael motioned for the women to stop. “Enough, my dears. You have been working hard, and I do not think I was ever meant to hold still. We will resume after lunch, hmm?”
The women giggled and obediently halted in their work, taking off the carefully pinned clothes and carrying everything away.
Sighing in relief, Gael stepped down from the cushioned stool on which he’d been made to stand and retrieved his clothes, sliding into his shirt and tugging on his breeches, then sitting down to pull on his boots.
He was just starting on his shirt when someone rapped on the door. Biting back an urge to inform the knocker there was no one in the room – so few of his Beasts had anything resembling a sense of humor, and only they would knock that loudly upon the door – Gael sighed, stood, and bid the knocker enter.
“Your Grace?”
It was almost gratifying, the way Seraphin stayed uncertainly near the door, as if somehow able to sense that Gael was in a foul mood.
Earl Seraphin Bellerose, the White Mongoose, and right now one of only three people in the palace Gael did not want to kill or at least make suffer. “Yes, Seraphin?”
“I thought you might like to address the storm brewing downstairs.”
Gael finished buttoning his shirt and retrieved the rest of his clothes, quickly knotting his cravat before shrugging into his afternoon jacket. “I suppose simply throwing them into the river is out of the question?”
Seraphin quickly smothered a laugh, though he could not quite kill the humor that danced in his hazel eyes. “Your orders, Grand Duke, are inviolate.”
“That is true,” Gael said thoughtfully. “Very well, let us go see who can be thrown into the river.” Not that he would be that mean, but he gendered enough awe and respect that if he made noises about it being a possibility, people would take it for a genuine possibility – he did not make idle threats – and that would be that.
“What is the nature of this altercation?”
“Beast versus Beast is all I know,” Seraphin said, torn between dry amusement and the same frustration that made Gael glower as they entered the private gardens of the Golden Palace. Gold-flecked stones wove footpaths through the garden, which had been carefully arranged to look almost but not quite wild, the trees, plants, and flowers carefully tended to by a staff of thirty gardeners.
All the footpaths met in the center, around a large artificial pond over which spanned a delicate green and white bridge. In front of the pond were four Beasts – Countess Matilda Hardy, the White Fox and Marchioness Elianne Poulx, the White Eagle, seemed currently to be pitted in heated debate against Duke Rodrigue Sauvegeon, the White Lion and Marquis Honore DuChamps, the White Stag.
“What is the nature of this squabble?” Gael asked, and though he had not raised his voice in the slightest, the four shouting Beasts immediately ceased.
Elianne immediately bowed her head, the long strands of her hair falling over one shoulder. Usually, she was one of those three Gael would never have felt like killing. “Our apologies, your Grace.” Her cool, dark blue eyes landed briefly on Seraphin. “We did mean to disturb you with our disagreement.”
“It’s not me you should be worried about disturbing,” Gael said. He let his senses loose, feeling out for whoever might be in the area. “It is the six gardeners and three maids who should be the source of your concern. Even now they listen to their Beasts bicker like children. Why?” Even as he said it, Gael worked gently to send the hidden workers off. Time and again he and Freddie had struggled with this dilemma – the Beasts forgetting their place, their importance, except where it didn’t matter at all. When the garden and rooms immediately surrounding it were well and truly empty, he asked again more sharply. “Why?”
For a moment no one answered him, and Gael was on the verge of losing his temper when the White Fox, Matilda, finally responded. “We were debating the spring and summer festivals, your Grace.”
“What about them?” Gael asked. “The spring fairs should be coming up soon, yes? I am surprised that I’ve not had requests for funding and such already submitted, come to think of it.”
The White Stag, often very high on the list of people Gael wanted to pitch into the river, answered the question. “What is the point? In three weeks we will all be dead.”
“Yes,” Gael said, voice low and calm – but the entire group recoiled, the White Lion nearly tumbling straight back into the pond. “We very likely will be. You, however, do not say that. You project an air of confidence. You act as though everything is normal. You plan for the spring and summer festivals and be enthusiastic about it.
“How often, little children, must I remind you of your place? You are the Beasts of Verde; the people see you in a way they do not see myself or the Grand Duchess – we are too remote, too far away, for the people to truly look up to us. It is to you Beasts they turn for guidance, for assistance. Do you think you wear those expensive clothes, live in my palace, have your pretty manors and cottages because you’re simply entitled to them?” Gael fell silent a moment, then shouted the next word. “No!”
He stalked closer to his Beasts, longing to just shove and send them all into the pond. “Your duty, by right of birth, is to protect the children of Verde. That means you put on a brave front no matter how scared and worried you are; it means when they need comfort, you comfort. I do not care if you’re miserable yourself! You will plan for the spring and summer festivals, and you will be certain those plans are ready and everything in place before the Ceremony. We might be dead in a matter of weeks, but the rest of Verde will not be, and it is for them those festivals are planned – not you. Have I made myself clear, Beasts?”
“Yes, your Grace,” Matilda and Elianne said quietly, bowing their heads low. He would be willing to bet they had been defending the festivals, in favor of holding them – but the point remained they should not have been arguing about it where the servants could hear, because the servants had been listening and now word would spread that the Beasts were worried and squabbling.
Gael glared at the Stag and Lion until they too finally muttered acknowledgement of his words. Then he turned sharply on his heel and stalked from the garden, dropping the light compulsion that had kept everyone away while he yelled at his Beasts.
Too many messages from Freddie had spoken of exactly the same problem with her Beasts. It meant somewhere along the way, they had both failed to properly teach the Beasts their place…though it was hard to teach men and women who ranged in age from his own thirty years all the way to nearly forty. Why should half of them even think of listening to him, never mind turning to him for guidance?
He tried, though. Instinctively, he knew, the Beasts would always feel compelled to follow and obey the Guardians Prospective. Still, with Freddie so mercurial and himself so…remote…why should his Beasts listen to him?
Except that wasn’t really the point. They could ignore him all they wanted if they just saw to their people instead of sniping at each other and complaining of wearing white. Not that he blamed them for those complaints, but it was one more thing they should keep to themselves and speak of only in absolute private. They wore white to always separate themselves out from the crowd; so that even in the middle of chaos, the Beasts would stand out like beacons.
Though, the way they squabbled, all one had to do was follow the shouting.
Stifling a sigh, Gael murmured a thank you to Seraphin and then made his way back to his office. Sitting behind his desk, he allowed his head to fall back against the high back of his chair and just sat for a moment.
The spring and summer festivals…they were always held as spring was turning into summer, so as to ensure as much as possible that no rain would ruin everything, and that it would not be too hot. All over Verde, each of the provinces would have half a dozen or more going on at all times, so that no matter where anyone lived there would be a festival within reasonable distance. The festivals thrown in the cities of the three great palaces were beyond compare – foreign dignitaries often planned their visits around the festivals.
Gael smiled faintly, realizing for the first time that if he didn’t die in three weeks, he and Noire could attend the festival together…did gods attend festivals? Well, he would. Holding his lover’s hand and stealing kisses at every opportunity. Almost as fun would the chance to feed Noire all the different delicacies that would be sold, watch his black panther play…and then drag him back to their room to play with his panther.
Thinking about such things was not helping him in the least, but it did bring a smile to his face. If there was any possibility of surviving the Ceremony, he would find it. He had to; he would not go gracefully to his death when there was the chance to play with Noire at the festivals dangling before him.
A rapping on the door broke into his thoughts, and tiredly Gael bid the knocker enter.
He was not surprised to see Matilda appear, a sheaf of paper in her hand. “White Fox, Matti. What can I do for you?”
Matilda smiled at him and handed over the papers in her hand. “All my requests and such. I was on my way to deliver them and then have luncheon with Elianne when we encountered the other two. In our defense, your Grace, we went into the garden to hide from the servants. We should have been more careful than that, but we were thinking on it. All the same, I am sorry.”
“It is over and done,” Gael said, accepting the papers and putting them where he would remember to go over them when he was finally allowed a few hours to do paperwork. “You wanted something else,” he said.
“Yes, your Grace…” Though all his Beasts were allowed to call him ‘Gael’ the way the Western Beasts called the Grand Duchess ‘Freddie,’ for whatever reason, they very seldom did.
I wouldn’t call you Gael either, if it wasn’t for the fact that…
The fact that I keep you naked and pinned beneath me as often as I possibly can, Kitten?
Yes, that. ‘Your Grace’ suits you. Freddie…is less scary if you call her Freddie.
“What is the matter?”
Matilda bit her lip, ducking her head in thought a moment before she finally sat back up, squaring her shoulders. “It isn’t true, you know, that the people look to us more than you.”
Gael tilted his head. “I realize of course the people are constantly hoping to see myself and my sister…but you Beasts are more accessible, less intimidating. That is what I meant.”
“Perhaps…but you seem to forget, Gael, that we Beasts are just as human as the people we serve. Perhaps the peasants and lesser nobles look to us…but we Beasts look to you and Freddie.” She looked down at her hands. “We’re childish upon occasion…we’re childish frequently…but that doesn’t mean we’re blind or stupid.” She looked up again. “I do not know anything of Freddie, but the six of us here have been watching you closely. You tell us to put up a front when around the people and of course we should, and try to do.
“But your Grace, I do not think you should have to do the same for us. You’re always so reserved…yet we’re used to that, and can read you better than you probably realize. It’s clear to the six of us that you’re as worried sick as the rest of us, and knowing you that means you push yourself harder than ever to prove to everyone that you’re not worried. I don’t think it’s fair to yourself or to us, who are your council and representatives to the eastern province, to keep all your worries and problems hidden.
“We perhaps say too much, your Grace, but you perhaps do not say enough. Something has been troubling you for a long time, and perhaps it is merely the Ceremony…but I do not know. Seraphin does not know. Nor do Elianne, Rodrigue, or Honore. If you cannot confide in your Beasts, your Grace…then clearly we are failing in more ways than one.” Matilda bowed her head. “I am sorry to be impertinent.”
“Hardly that,” Gael said, still trying to absorb her words. “Freddie would say you are not nearly impertinent enough. You’re still being polite, after all.” He attempted a smile. “Perhaps you are right, I do keep too much to myself. I…things weigh heavily, Matti, and I am not certain where they will fall, or who will suffer for it, should I try to shift the weight to let someone else share the burden. It is not for lack of wanting to confide…it is that if I do confide, I fear there will be tragic consequences.”
Matilda’s eyes widened briefly, the words clearly not what she’d been expecting to hear. Then she merely looked sad. “Surely you know you can trust us, your Grace. Even Rodrigue in a full snit still would lay down his life for you.”
“I know,” Gael said quietly. “I live with that knowledge every day. Lives are precious, and I will not use them carelessly. I will share my burdens when I feel I can. Believe me, though, when I say that I keep my silence not because I do not trust my Beasts, but because I fear there may be things listening that even I cannot detect.”
“As you wish, your Grace. Just remember that we are here.”
“Of course, Matti. I think you for coming to speak to me.”
Matilda stood and dropped him a graceful curtsy, then turned and strode from the room.
Gael sat in the sudden silence and stared at his desk, completely lost as to what to do.
Obviously he had been failing completely to hide his distress. He could blame it on the Ceremony of course, and call the matter done. He buried his face in his hands. Why? Why was he so reluctant to tell anyone about Noire? Why was he so certain that if anyone knew he loved the black panther, then Noire would die?”
That was the entire reason for his constant misery, the sick dread that knotted his stomach…all of it. If somehow the wrong person found out he was in love with Noire, his lover was going to die. He was certain of it.
How easy it would be, to call Matti back in, call all the others…to be able to turn to his Beasts. Tell them everything, set them to watch Noire, protect him. A frivolous thing, but if he lost Noire, he lost everything. All he had to do was summon them and his Beasts would come. They would listen to him, ask questions, and help him devise a plan. It would be that simple.
Except…he didn’t know of whom to be afraid. What if one of his Beasts was the unknown source of fear? Was the enemy right beneath his nose? Why did he know so little? Noire’s life was at stake, he knew it, and all he could do was hide in his office and worry himself sick over it.
He couldn’t even trust the Beasts sworn to help him…he couldn’t even trust his own sisters.
Despair clawed at him, and ruthlessly Gael fought it off. He could not give up, as much as he wanted to…the Ceremony was in fifteen days. He had lasted this long, he could last fifteen days more.
Absently, Gael reached up and pulled his hair over his shoulder, tugging free the pale blue ribbon that kept it tied back. So many times he’d come close to cutting his hair, but always conceded defeat when so many people wailed at the idea. It wasn’t until shy, gentle fingers had combed through it that first night in the glade…
With a rough sound, Gael leaned forward over his desk and attempted to order his thoughts. He had already told himself a million or so times that worrying the days away would help nothing. He had to stay busy. Focused. The Ceremony. Right now that was what mattered. If he could get through the Ceremony, by some mercy of the Gods, then all his problems would be over. That was where his thoughts needed to focus.
Except much like the problem with Noire…he knew only that there was a problem. He had no clue as to the reason for the tragedy that occurred time after time, nor did he have any possible solutions. All he had was a desire to live, to not be another casualty of the bloody Ceremony. He had nothing more than a silent vow to survive, and then do everything he could with his lover that they had not been able to do before.
Like the festival…simple things like eating together, walking the halls of the palace… Gael’s hands curled into fists on the desk, as if desperately wishing they were touching something else. Mercy of the Queen, all he wanted was to be able to see Noire in the hallway and greet him like everyone else greeted their lovers.
Somehow, he would survive the Ceremony. He would not let the tragedy strike again. Then, when everything was over and he was the god everyone wanted him to be…he would hold Noire tight and never again let him go.
Chapter Ten
Noire woke slowly, feeling groggy and immediately like something was wrong.
He looked blearily toward the window, gauging that it must be either still night or very early in the morning.
What had woken him? He looked carefully around the room, but nothing was wrongly open or closed…nothing had been moved…he listened carefully but could hear nothing. Frowning, because something had woken him from a particularly nice dream and he would find out what, he shifted and stood up in bed.
There was a smell that did not belong. Leaping neatly from his bed, Noire padded out of his bedroom and into the sitting room beyond which he seldom used. More than once he’d fantasized about Gael seeking him out…but that’s all they were. His friends he had no reason to invite here, when there were more convenient places to meet them.
Yes…the foreign smell was here…faint…as though someone had been here only briefly. It was not a scent he recognized, though it was animal – so a Form. No…a stronger bit of it lingered.
Noire reared up and placed his front paws on the high wooden table beside the long couch, the table that was closest to the window…that someone had managed to unlock from outside, it seemed, and then relocked after he or she had left the same way. He looked down at the table.
Immediately he shifted back to human, then gingerly picked up the plain piece of thick white paper that had been sealed shut with black wax, no marking of any sort upon it. Something was tucked inside it, soft and light. Moving to his desk, Noire fumbled for a moment to light the lamp and then find a letter opener. He could just tear it…but something told him he wanted to put off opening it as long as possible.
Was it from Gael? Surely not. This wasn’t Gael’s style at all. If his lover had come this far to tell him something, he would have simply woken Noire up. Besides, Noire would have known his scent anywhere.
His heart seized up. Was it someone else because Gael wasn’t able to do it himself? Had something happened, so awful it required informing Noire despite the risks? Was Gael all right?
Ignoring all the logical arguments trying to fight against his growing panic, Noire sliced open the wax seal and unfolded the thick paper.
A long, pale blue ribbon fell out into his lap. Noire suddenly found it hard to breathe, so overwhelming was the fear that seized him. “Gael…” he picked the ribbon up carefully and held it up to the lamp – and relaxed slightly. The ribbon was nearly an exact match for the one he’d given Gael so long ago…but only nearly. Not exact. He knew what his lover’s ribbon looked like, and this was not it.
Finally, taking a slow, deep breath, Noire held the note to the light and finally read.
If you want no harm to come to your lover, thereby guaranteeing tragedy at the Ceremony, then come to the address below before dawn.
Come alone.
His lover. The blue ribbon. No one knew he’d given Gael that ribbon. No one…where had he messed up? Noire buried his head in one hand, crushing the letter in the other. This was his fault, somehow. Gael had always told him to be more careful, to always be on guard. A thousand times Gael had told him, because he felt there was danger. Now there was, and Noire knew he was to blame.
This was obviously a trap. No one would dare to hurt Gael, not with the Ceremony so close. They wouldn’t dare risk such an important thing. No…Gael had been right all along. No one would dare to harm the Unicorn. It was the black panther they wanted, though Noire couldn’t even begin to imagine why.
What should he do?
More than anything, he wanted to run to Gael, let him handle it.
Except…what if they did hurt Gael? Just to get to him?
Could Ailill help? Verenne? Freddie? The idea of waking up the Pegasus at this hour of the night was terrifying, but the idea of her charging into the bad parts of the city to wreak havoc on those who had dared…
If the persons who had left the notes felt comfortable threatening the Unicorn, though, the Pegasus was hardly a threat. That made the Beasts even less of one.
Noire swallowed. He had to go see what this was about. If he tried to get help, other people would get hurt too. Someone had snuck into his room and done just enough to leave the note and wake him…they felt comfortable leaving notes threatening the Unicorn. Somehow they’d discovered he and Gael were lovers.
This was all his fault. If he’d just listened, instead of being weak…
Standing, Noire threw the note on his desk and strode back into the bedroom to get dressed. He threw on older clothes, worn and soft, easy to move in – then reached into the very back of the shelves holding miscellaneous articles and pulled out items he knew how to use, and had used, but very rarely.
Swordsmanship he’d learned from the Piedren villagers, who refused to believe that every problem could be solved simply by being a gigantic black cat or whatever other Form they were shown. So Noire had learned.
He wasn’t terrible, but he wasn’t great either. Certainly he was nothing like Ivan and his men, who wore their swords like everyone else wore clothes…or skin. Swiftly he strapped the heavy leather belt into place, settling the sword before fastening a dagger to his left thigh and sliding a thinner one into his knee-high boot.
“Gael…” Noire closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again. Moving to his jewelry box, he immediately found and pulled out the object he sought, tucking it away in the pocket of his jacket. Leaving the dressing chamber, he moved to the bed and tossed the pillows aside. Letting his fingers wander carefully over the wood, he waited until he felt the slight catch – then pressed hard, opening the hidden hollow in the headboard.
From it he pulled the leather case Ailill had given him, containing the pearl and onyx necklace. Closing the headboard niche back up, Noire carried the case back to his desk and sat down.
Removing the necklace from its velvet bed, he carefully pulled at the velvet lining, freeing just enough of it he could hide something beneath it. Setting the case aside, he pulled out pen and paper and swiftly wrote. He waved the paper back and forth to dry the ink.
When it was dry, he folded the paper up and retrieved the note given to him – then took the object in his jacket out and used that to pin the notes together. He clutched the paper close, ducking his head and curling in on himself for a moment, then forced himself to sit up, hide the paper away and restore the velvet lining.
Closing the case back, he then took out a scrap of paper, writing swiftly and melting wax in the lamp, using it to hold the paper to the top of the case.
Slowly Noire stood, struggling to think if there was anything else he needed to do…no…all that he wanted to do, he could not. Taking up the box, Noire stepped out into the hallway and quietly made his way through the silent palace.
At the entrance, he stopped in front of a footman – one he’d spoken to often, one he could trust. “If I do not return by midday, you are to give this to the Marquis le Blanc at all costs.”
The footman’s eyes widened slightly, but his training overrode his curiosity. “Yes, Master Chevalier.”
“Thank you,” Noire said quietly, then turned away, shifting as he did so and hitting the ground at a run.
The address on the note had dictated an old inn on the seedier side of town. Noire had only come here a handful of times, and then only because he’d been following suspicious leads for her Grace as to various problems with Form groups feuding – the last time had been wolves plotting against foxes.
Noire padded along, the early morning mist giving everything a dream-like quality. He wished badly that it was a dream, that any moment now warm hands would stir him awake. He’d open his eyes slowly and be greeted by a smile that always warmed him through, no matter how cold or lonely he felt…
Which reminded him quite forcefully that he was here to make certain nothing happened to that smile. Noire closed his mind to thoughts that would just distract him if and when things got out of control. Whatever these people wanted, he wouldn’t let them have it without a fight.
The Dancing Vine loomed as he turned down a narrow street and crept along. The hair on the back of his neck raised – he did not want to be here, and he could feel eyes that disliked his presence just as much.
Still, this was for Gael. Nothing and no one would stop him.
Reaching the inn, he shifted back and pushed the door open. A single man skulked at the counter, sipping heavily from a dark bottle – some sort of rum, to judge by the smell. Though looking at the man’s clothes, his general state, the smell of rum could just be him, not necessarily what he was presently drinking.
“I’m meeting someone,” Noire told him, following the instructions that had been written out below the address.
The man merely nodded and slid him a grimy key. Noire picked it up and turned away. The scent of unclean flesh and general filth thickened as he traveled up the stairs and all the way to the room in the back.
Outside, he stopped to run through his thoughts one last time.
Perhaps he should have gone for help…it would have been so much more reassuring to have Ailill along, or Ivan, any one of his men. But who knew what would happen in here? What if whoever wanted him really was willing to kill? He’d never forgive himself if he got others killed simply because he was too scared to do this alone.
He was Gael’s lover. The Unicorn’s lover. How could he stand beside Gael someday if he was too scared to even open a door? And he would stand beside Gael someday. They were so close, only ten days…he would not let some coward who only left notes take him away from Gael.
Determined now, Noire slid the key into the lock and turned, then shoved the door open and stepped inside.
A single lamp was lit on a small table in the far corner of the room. He could just barely see the bed, little more than a large shadow with sheets he’d probably be happier never seeing up close.
Noire drew his sword and turned in a slow circle. There was no one here.
Was this all…had this happened only because someone wanted to confirm a suspicion? What if all he’d done tonight was confirm for someone that he was indeed Gael’s lover? The thought made his stomach twist, and he fought panic. He should have gone to Ailill, to someone who knew about this sort of thing.
The door closed behind him, the sound of the lock tumbling into place painfully loud, and to Noire it sounded eerily like something was coming to an end. He turned around, sword held tight…
…And found a leopard sitting in front of the door. This, however, was like no leopard he’d ever seen. Instead of golden fur and black-brown spots…this one was a brilliant white, the spots pure black.
“Who are you?” he breathed.
In a thousand years, not once has that spirit changed. Through murder, betrayal, lies, deceit…it does not matter what I do to you, lover of Gael, always you return with that crystal spirit. As clean as untouched snow, as pure as the Unicorn Spring. It makes me hate you.
“What?” Noire asked, and his hand began to shake, sword falling to the ground, as he realized the voice was speaking in his head. Only three people in all of Verde had that ability.
Only one had the ability to appear as any animal she chose.
“It can’t be…” Noire said. “Why would you…?”
The Unicorn and Pegasus belong to me, and I am tired of you and that other always taking them away.
Noire shook his head and stumbled back, unable to accept what he was seeing, hearing. “I just—”
Go to sleep.
He tried to fight the compulsion, to resist it and retrieve his sword, but such powerful magic was beyond his ability to counter. Thinking hopelessly that he had to tell someone, Noire crumpled to the ground.
The leopard padding forward, shifting as it reached the fallen Noire. Shifting, Etain knelt on the floor, oblivious to the filth that immediately clung to her pale skirts. On her back, rainbow wings slowly unfurled, filling the dim room with pale, shimmering light. Gently she lifted Noire’s head into her lap, stroking his hair. “I really do hate you,” she said softly, “but you are also one my children, and so I also love you. I wish I did not, for then I could simply be rid of you…” Softly the Queen began to murmur, as if talking to herself. She ran her hands lightly over Noire’s body, as if spreading something over it…and slowly he began to shimmer…and then to change.
With a blinding flash, the shimmering was gone, leaving only the Queen and a small, black kitten curled up in her lap. “If I had known you would come so quietly in this life, lover of Gael, I would not have dragged us both all the way out here.” Sighing, Etain stood up and bundled the tiny kitten close. “Off we go then.” Making certain the folds of her cloak hid the kitten from sight, the woman unlocked the door and strode down the hall, past the innkeeper, and out into the dark of the early morning.
Noire woke with a groan, head aching, filled with the most terrible dreams.
What would cause him to dream such terrible things? There was no way her Majesty would….
He froze as he finally lifted his head up enough to take in his surroundings – not his bed, not his room…not anywhere he’d ever seen before.
Then he realized he was still in Form. Well, perhaps that would be best for now. If his attacker, for surely it had been a Beast, or someone impersonating…it could not have been the Queen herself. That was impossible.
He was in a small, square room with silk covered walls, a simple, unadorned bed in one corner, a small wooden table and chair in another. Over the table was spread a plain meal, but the scent of the food only enraged him further – an infuriating touch of normalcy when everything about this was far from normal.
The giant rug covering the floor was a distracting pattern of blue, green, white, gold, and silver. All the colors of the Beasts. The rest of the furniture matched, and Noire had the sick feeling that he was in the Queen’s Palace somewhere.
He fought back panic, restlessly prowling the room, desperately seeking the one thing he could not seem to find.
A door.
The room was a perfect, unbroken square. No windows, no door…but there must be. Had he not gotten in here somehow? Where was the way out? Where? Panic spread through him though he tried to tamp it down.
He needed out. He needed Gael. To tell Gael. What was he going to do? He couldn’t. Screaming in anger, fear, Noire swiped his claws across the walls, willing a door to appear, to reveal itself. Anything. Not trapped. Not unable to tell Gael.
Only exhaustion finally stopped him, and Noire collapsed on the bed, shifting back as he did so only because he was too hot in his Form. He buried his face in a pillow that smelled of stale soap, digging his hands into the soft, worn fabric, willing it to be his pillow in his room and he was asleep and this was a dream and he’d wake up in Gael’s arms and tell him over and over how much he loved him.
Gael. He couldn’t give up now. The Ceremony…how far away was it now? Surely he hadn’t been unconscious more than a few hours…a day or two at most. That meant the Ceremony was between seven and nine days away. Would Ailill have his message by now?
Stupid. That’s what he’d been. He should have gone for help – at least then someone else would have known…
The thought was too hard to think. Noire choked back a sob of disbelief and made himself sit up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and buried his head in his hands.
Queen Etain herself…why? Noire closed his eyes and struggled to remember all that had happened.
Not much. He’d gone prepared to fight…even a Beast or two he could have handled. Their compulsions would have been difficult to counter, but he’d been taught how to fight them to some degree…
Why? That was what confused him. Everyone knew the stories of the Faerie Queen and Guardians. She united everyone, brought children and Beasts and Guardians together. Their love for each other was deep and true; they were all that siblings should be…
The Unicorn and Pegasus belong to me, and I am tired of you and that other always taking them away.
Noire repeated the words over and over in his head, willing them to make sense.
…Jealousy? Surely not. That was absurd. Why would the Faerie Queen be jealous of him? He was nothing. A poor cross-breed from the mountains who had been born with a Form that had been a curse as much as a blessing…he had precious few friends, even less respect from society…no one wanted his position, constantly running back and forth, sniffing out potential problems. Those few things that meant everything to him would mean nothing to anyone else. He didn’t have riches, not really. Gael was the only thing of true importance in his life, and everyone knew of his love and loyalty to his Queen.
There was absolutely no reason the Queen should be jealous of Noire. Just thinking it made him feel presumptuous.
Who was ‘the other’? Noire shook his head where it rested in his hands, willing the mysteries to resolve themselves.
All he wanted was to know that Gael would be all right. Had his stupidity tonight somehow guaranteed that Gael would die soon? Was it his fault the Ceremony might fail?
He couldn’t give up, he couldn’t. Gael would never give up on him.
If only—oh, what did it matter. He could say ‘if only’ all night and eventually he’d wind up at the starting point – if only he hadn’t snuck out after Gael at that party.
He hadn’t even planned on going. That entire week had been an agony like no other. Newly appointed as Freddie’s messenger, Noire had thought people would finally soften toward him, that a few of the cooler individuals would finally thaw, smile, maybe offer him some small welcome….instead they’d only grown colder.
It had been devastating.
Unable to bear staying in the Silver Palace, he had taken Freddie’s advice and gone to the party being thrown at the Unicorn’s country manor – the reason for it Noire no longer remembered.
All he’d cared about at first was being invisible. Two seconds after arriving he’d realized it was stupid to think one party would be different from another.
Then he’d seen the Unicorn…
Never had he thought a man could be that beautiful. The Grand Duke was tall and slender, not soft like so many nobles but neither was he as rough and labor-hardened as Noire, who felt even more like an imposter staring at the man.
His hair…it really was like gold, so fine against his lightly tanned skin. The white looked strange on him, but not in the slightest bit wrong.
Just as Noire had realized he was staring, however, the Grand Duke vanished in a crowd of people.
Noire had felt bereft. In desperate need of a closer look, to see if his eyes had been deceiving him. When he’d noticed a flash of white in the yard from where he’d been hiding on a balcony, he’d given in to impulse…
When he’d been caught…never in his wildest imaginings had he ever thought the Unicorn would want him. Love him.
Now he was on the verge of losing him, all because he’d been too stupid to ask someone for help. All because he’d been careless about seeing Gael. Not willing to listen when Gael told him not to do it.
He wouldn’t give up though. If he’d been put in here, there had to be a way out. He would find it, and then he would save Gael from the Faerie Queen.
Ailill finished closing the laces on his shirt as he stepped into the foyer.
A footman of the Silver Palace. Who had claimed he needed to speak immediately with the White Panther, on a matter that quite possibly meant life or death. Fingers lightly touched his back as Ivan came in behind him. “What is the matter?”
The man looked as though he were going to be ill any moment. “M-mi’lord, he said to wait until noon, but it’s not like him…”
“Start at the beginning,” Ailill said sharply. “What is the problem?” He put compulsions behind the words – to calm down, to obey. The footman eased visibly beneath the silent commands, and held out a leather case he’d been holding tightly to his chest.
Ailill drew a sharp breath. “That…” he immediately took it as the footman began to speak.
“He came out, wearing a sword and everything, just past three in the morning, my lord. Said that if he did not return before noon, then I was to see you got that at all costs, and to give it to her Grace if you could not be found.”
Three in the morning…it was just past four now. “You did well,” Ailill said. “Return to your post. Speak to no one, not even her Grace, until I give you leave. Thank you for bringing this immediately to me.”
“My lord,” the man said, then bowed and fled the room.
Ailill moved to the desk and opened the case.
Just his necklace…Noire wouldn’t simply hand it back. What was going on here?
Ivan came up beside him and snatched up the necklace, setting it aside on the desk and then going back to the case, calloused fingers moving over the velvet. Grunting softly, he pulled a knife from somewhere Ailill didn’t see and cut the soft velvet out.
“Mercy of the Queen…” Ailill said softly, immediately snatching up the items which had been hidden. He glanced briefly at the silver cravat pin, immediately recognizing it as the one he suspected as being a love token, but his attention was for the notes. His breath hissed between his teeth. “Vanya.” He handed the notes over.
Ivan read them quickly. “There’s no time to wake the others.”
Ailill nodded, and shifted as he turned from the desk, leading Ivan out of the house and off into the night.
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Date: 2007-04-02 10:18 pm (UTC)^____^ Got it out of my system. Hee.
*luvs on Gael & Noire* <3
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Date: 2007-04-02 11:01 pm (UTC)Hooray for Ailill and Ivan, though. Maybe they'll be enough to tip the balance, this ceremony?
Either way, GAH! Noire!
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Date: 2007-04-02 11:11 pm (UTC)KD
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Date: 2007-04-02 11:24 pm (UTC)Yay for the footman!!! He deserves something wonderful for that... I hope an hour was enough time. *bites nails*
So, probably she only turned him into a kitten to smuggle him away, and he is full-sized now, but I was waiting to see if he'd still be a kitten when he woke up, and now have this vision of a dollhouse room with a tiny-sized Noire hanging out. Eee, cute! I want my own. ^_^
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Date: 2007-04-02 11:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-02 11:50 pm (UTC)I'm pretty sure that should be "thank."
But GOD DAMN YOU WOMAN!!!! I want more **wails like a three year old**
I am so completely in love with this entire series. Probably love this one even more than the rest, I'm not really sure yet though. But I want more of them.
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Date: 2007-04-03 12:15 am (UTC)of course, that doesn't mean i'm not this close to pulling out my credit card to bribe you into posting the rest right now. {wink}
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Date: 2007-04-03 01:00 am (UTC)And I was wondering if you would mind if I friended you? To cease with the creepy stalking that is. ;)
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Date: 2007-04-03 01:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-03 01:45 am (UTC)that would be horrible, cause that would mean that all the white beasts are going to die. and Ivan and Noire are going to be heart broken :`(
O_O
Date: 2007-04-03 02:08 am (UTC)>_O Evil Queen Of Ev0lness. She's lucky she's a fictional character, or I'd kick her in the face. May find a way to do this anyway. ARGH. >_____< Nooooire, poor Kitten! My heart is bleeding for him.
...is it next Monday yet????
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Date: 2007-04-03 02:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-03 03:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-03 03:03 am (UTC)Agh! Agh! AGH!!!
Seriously, I don't care that my thesis will be one week closer to being due because it needs to be next Monday right now! I mean, really, Etain? Although, hm... It makes sense... Because then it's Noire and Verenne as the other two found after the Ceremony, hm... I think I know what happens during the Ceremony to make everyone dead, but I don't quite get why. I mean, Etain wants her siblings that much? Hm, hm, hm...
No, seriously, next Monday needs to be now. ^__^
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Date: 2007-04-04 02:17 am (UTC)Or at least that is my take on it, I am probably far off (I usually am) I do agree with the person who said that Thursdays are now open, and since there isn't anything else to be posted.... I nominate this story and future Lost Gods story for that position.
I love this story, and the Lost Gods is my favorite series of yours (followed by Paradise) PLEASE keep writing.
Catherine
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Date: 2007-04-03 05:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-03 08:30 am (UTC)At this moment, Etain represent every disappointment in life, every fly in someone's soup, and the colour that has gone outside the line. she must die
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Date: 2007-04-03 09:17 am (UTC)I'm going with posession.
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Date: 2007-04-03 10:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-03 11:58 am (UTC)Oh, how can I wait until next week? Curse you for making this so exciting!
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Date: 2007-04-03 03:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-03 03:21 pm (UTC)And seriously? Yay for the footman not doing as he was told.
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Date: 2007-04-03 08:31 pm (UTC)*insert mindless fangirling here*
What are you doing, sitting around reading comments?! Write the next part, fast!
Poor Noire! Three cheers for the independent minded footman!
The Queen? needs a spanking. Spoiled brat!
Grrr! Evil cliffhangers! Write the next part! My heart is just going a mile a minute!
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Date: 2007-04-03 08:37 pm (UTC):wibbles: Noire!
I have full confidence that Ailill and Ivan will save him though!
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Date: 2007-04-03 10:52 pm (UTC)*Breathe. Calm. Breathe*
Please could we have more? Soon? Very very soon? I think Lost Gods is my favourite... unless you have Sandstorm updates or a Prisoner sequel or Meant to Be or... Er. Please write lots of things and post them? All at once?
I have been a bad reader and have read lots and lots without commenting - but I will try and back track and comment while I am waiting
impatientlypatiently for the next installment of something. But I expect you to ignore comments in favour of writing!