Disclaimers: Please see Part 1 for disclaimers.
Nineteen
A red haze shimmered on the horizon by the time Azrael arrived at the palace
walls. The sky overhead darkened, revealing a shroud of stars sparkling in the
sun's aftermath. The street was quiet as they rode along the wall; not many
had cause to be near the palace except on business and rarely in the evening.
Rounding a corner, Azrael and her men saw torch light brightening their path
ahead. They clattered to a stop before a gate.
"General Azrael, here at the king's request," Suma announced to the
gate guards.
With evening fully upon them, the guards gave them much more than a cursory
examination. A torch was called forth to better illuminate the visitors.
The sergeant bowed deeply once proper identification was made. "G'evening,
Your Grace. His Majesty had word of your coming. He asks for you to attend him
in his audience chamber."
Azrael nodded. "Thank you, Sergeant."
He waved her through, calling ahead to the next checkpoint.
They now rode single file along a narrow outer bailey, high walls on either
side. Above them, Azrael could hear the tread of booted feet, Shonal's royal
guard patrolling above, watching them.
A few lengths further, a second gate was open; here they endured another round
of inspection until the guards were satisfied. They were finally given permission
to pass and a soldier sent to the palace to announce Azrael's arrival.
Once clear of the gate, Suma murmured, "Not very trusting, are they?"
Responding in an equal tone, Azrael said, "Apparently my uncle was correct.
Have everyone keep their eyes open. I don't expect anything untoward. Not yet."
Her gaze was dispassionate as she scanned the courtyard they entered, noting
military strength. "Shonal's always fancied himself as clever and sly.
If there's a true threat, he'll have concocted some elaborate scheme rather
than a forthright accusation and attack."
"Aye, Lord Azrael. I'll pass it on when we dismount."
The courtyard was a large cobbled clearing before the palace. A handful of men
and women awaited their arrival - servants, guards and stablehands. Additionally,
Azrael saw archers on the walls and inside upper windows, watching.
Her shoulders fairly itched but she dismounted easily, tossing her reins to
a stablehand. "See the horses get a mash," she ordered. "We've
been riding all day."
"Aye, Your Grace." The lad bowed.
Suma moved among the men, alerting them and bidding discretion. As their general
mounted the steps, they followed, flanking her.
A steward glanced over the soldiers, a gentle tick in his right eye twisting
it into a near wink. "Your Grace," he intoned, bowing deeply. The
handful of servants followed his lead.
Azrael raised an eyebrow at Suma. "While I thank you for the welcome, can
we get on with it?" she asked, her voice warm to ease the sharpness of
her words. "We've been riding most the day. The sooner I see the King,
the sooner we'll be allowed rest."
Straightening, the steward's tick was stronger. "Of course, Your Grace."
He waved two servants forward. "If you please, these will escort your men
to comfortable chambers while you attend His Majesty."
Azrael frowned in thought. "I was informed to meet with my royal cousin
in his audience chamber, not his personal rooms, yes?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Then this is not a familial visit but a public one," Azrael said.
"My men shall escort me." She watched the man redden and wondered
if his eye would freeze, mid squint, forever half blinding him.
Stuttering for a moment, the steward finally was able to speak. "Well...
That is your right, Your Grace." He peered with his clear eye at the soldiers.
"They'll, of course, be required to turn over their weapons . . ."
"Of course."
At a loss for an argument, the steward shuffled a moment before turning away.
"Follow me, if you please, Your Grace." Urgently waving the servants
aside, he led the way into the palace.
Excessive opulence enveloped them as they followed the steward through the entry
hall. It had been some time since her last visit and it appeared Shonal or his
mother had been quite busy in the interim. Every surface sparkled, reflecting
flame from torches and oil lamps. Statues, while eerily lifelike, were as highly
polished, shiny phantoms placed artistically here and there. Even the potted
plants had changed, no longer the assortment of ferns and flowers of her youth.
Instead, thick green leaves sparkled, each leaf polished to a high luster.
Azrael snorted at the fuss Brahim would make if she decided to implement this
type of decor. No doubt it took an army of slaves to keep the walls this pristine.
She could hardly imagine the headache of polishing torch soot off the ceiling
every day.
Past the entry, they entered what would have been the peristyle of a proper
villa. Here, however, no night sky was visible; a ceiling capped the room far
above. It wouldn't do for the palace to be open to a well aimed catapult. Where
the garden and fountain would have been were more potted plants and a number
of marble benches and tables. Several curtained doorways lined the walls.
They were not alone here. Slaves and servants bustled to and fro in their duties;
it was nearing the evening meal and many carried trays of food. Several of the
Royal Guard lined the walls, their armor appearing golden in the light of braziers
and torches. The benches and tables held scattered occupants, lords and ladies
of the court awaiting attendance on their liege.
Azrael held herself calm, not grimacing as they passed through the peristyle.
All eyes were on them and the first shocked hush gave way to a buzz of whispered
speculation. She nodded acknowledgment to those who tried to catch her eye,
but continued on without stopping. Azrael knew that to stop now would be tantamount
to a wounded fish pausing in a tank full of starving sharks.
The steward led them to a heavily guarded doorway. "Duchess Azrael to see
His Royal Majesty."
Bowing, the lieutenant said, "Good evening, Your Grace. The King is expecting
you."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." Azrael automatically tugged the sword from
her belt. She restrained a smile at the sudden vigilance of the guards, turning
the blade and handing it hilt first to the officer. Behind her, she heard the
rasp of metal on leather as her men followed suit.
Disarmed, she waited for the steward to precede them into the hall beyond. The
itching between her shoulders intensified and Azrael took a measure of comfort
in the proximity of her men. They had drawn closer to protect her with their
very lives. She lifted her chin, a trickle of pride at their loyalty easing
her heart.
The door opened on well oiled hinges, moving lightly aside despite its apparent
weight. Leading the way, the steward darted into the room, wringing his hands,
eye twitching mightily. Azrael and her guard followed at a more sedate pace.
Half again the size of the peristyle, the audience hall was cavernous. The ceiling
was four stories distant, perhaps the largest hall in the world; most definitely
the largest in the kingdom. Polished black granite covered the floor, a strip
of white marble setting counterpoint as it lead a path to the royal dais. It
was along this path that Azrael paced with her men behind. Scattered about the
room were more statues and the like. Royal guards were positioned at all points
of entry and it looked like archers could be placed on a balcony circling the
room with little trouble. The dais rose a man's height at one end, flanked by
ten soldiers. Upon it were two thrones, only one occupied.
Shonal lounged indolently as his cousin approached, a sly grin playing across
his lips. As his eyes flickered across Azrael's guard, they narrowed, casting
a sharp glance at his steward who bowed deeply. His council, a dozen men of
varying ages, loitered nearby, watching the proceedings.
"Your Royal Majesty," the steward intoned to the floor. "Your
Royal cousin, Duchess Azrael, General of the Third Army."
Azrael bowed, her men kneeling before their king.
Shonal's smile soured as he noted the woman didn't go to her knees as well.
He waved the steward away. "Begone, Darsis. My cousin and I have much to
discuss." Ignoring the old man as he fled, Shonal rose to his feet and
descended the steps. "Cousin! It's long since I've seen you. How fare you?"
"Tired and dusty, my liege," Azrael answered, her smile just as false.
"We've been riding since morning from uncle's villa."
Shonal stopped two steps above the floor. "I trust you found Neito well?
I've not seen him since last Solstice."
The woman nodded. "He is well," she said. "As is our cousin,
Nils. I did not have much time to speak with them, however. My desire to answer
your summons caused me to leave prematurely."
"Ah, yes," Shonal said, his expression one of amused regret. "My
apologies for taking you from your home so soon upon your return. It wasn't
my desire." He waved at the men watching. "My council appears to be
a bit nervous about you. You were away when my father passed on and have yet
to officially swear fealty."
Raking her gaze over the gathered officials, Azrael enjoyed the fact that many
couldn't meet her eye. "Had I known it would cause such consternation,
I would have returned sooner, my liege." She dropped to her knee before
her cousin. "I'm prepared to swear fealty immediately to ease the hearts
of your council."
Shonal glanced swiftly about his men, his expression as startled as theirs.
Dissembling, his smile returned and he laughed aloud. "That will hardly
be necessary just yet, cousin," he insisted. "Rise! I've begun preparations
for a banquet tomorrow evening. You can give your fealty then, before all doubters
as witnesses. What say you?"
Azrael frowned a moment, searching for a trap. Slowly, she gained her feet and
bowed once more. "I would be honored, my liege," she said.
"Good!" Shonal said, coming down the final steps to slap the woman
on the shoulder. "It is good to see you, cousin! Let's drop the formalities,
eh?" Putting an arm across her shoulders, he steered her toward a table
laden with food and drink. "You and your men must break your fast and tell
me how things fare in the northern parts of my kingdom."
Nodding, Azrael waved her men forward and began regaling the king with tales
of her activities the last two years.
A single candle illuminated the bedchambers, a golden glow casting shadows upon
the wall. The bed was freshly made, Azrael's robe draped at the foot. All that
was needed was her mistress to return. Ursula pulled a shawl closer about her
shoulders as she waited, wondering when Azrael would come back from the palace.
This house was built up rather than sprawling about as the villa. Three stories
held public rooms on one level, the owner's personal quarters on the second
and slaves and servants on the third. Murals and mosaics decorated walls and
floors, reminiscent in many ways to the villa. Ursula considered that it was
a means of making Azrael feel at home, since both residences were similar.
Rising from the stool, the slave padded to the window to look upon the courtyard.
She'd nearly fallen asleep twice now. It wouldn't do to be caught napping when
she was supposed to be waiting for her owner. Looking much the same, it didn't
appear that Azrael had returned. At this rate, the moon would be well risen
before her arrival.
It had taken some time before Ursula could convince the servants that she was
a slave rather than a lady. Since none had been apprised of her status all had
assumed she was high ranking. She finally had to bare her shoulder and the slaver's
tattoo before they'd believe her. Still, deference had been paid to her since
she was Azrael's body slave. Apparently, Midia had been right all those weeks
ago when she'd said that they were of a higher station than the rest of the
slaves in their owner's care.
The bath had been luxuriant. A shelf held several types of oils and perfumes
and Ursula argued for long minutes with herself before deciding against any
of them. She didn't know when her mistress would return and needed to be prepared.
Perhaps later, she could experiment with the available scents. Afterwards, she
took a late supper in Azrael's quarters. Upon further exploration, she found
a small room with a cot, table and chair. Assuming that to be for the personal
slaves, she deposited her bags there before rushing off to ready Azrael's bed.
Movement caught her eye and Ursula's heart sped as five riders turned into the
courtyard. Considering what she'd overheard regarding the king, she heaved a
small sigh of relief that Azrael was safely home. Anxious, the brunette threw
the shawl from her shoulders and ran to the door, calling for servants to prepare
their mistress' bath as she dashed down the stairs.
The steward here, Edric, opened the door and greeted the general. "Milady!
Welcome home! Your men are bedded down in the stable and a room has been prepared
for Captain Suma. Would you have your bath now?"
Azrael tramped into the foyer, her weary smile brightening as she saw Ursula's
arrival. "A bath would be very welcome, Edric, thank you." She turned
to her men. "You're dismissed. Join your fellows in the stable for tonight
and prepare for guard rotations on the morrow." As the three dispersed,
she regarded Suma. "Shall I have a bath brought to your rooms?" she
asked.
"That would be most generous, Lord," the blond man said, closing the
door behind them. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Until morning, then." Azrael watched him stride away, a fond grin
on her face. "Ursula," she said, pulling the willowy brunette into
a hug. "Attend me."
"Yes, Milady."
Azrael sat in contemplation, the muslin sheet pooled about her waist, body cooling
from its pleasurable exertions. Ursula was cuddled beside her, drowsing in the
safety of her mistress' arms. The slave stretched and sighed, her breath whispering
across Azrael's chest. Smiling, the dark woman hugged Ursula close, brushing
hair away from her lover's sweaty brow and kissing her. Despite their recent
activity, she was amused to note a thrill of arousal as soft lips responded
to hers.
With a chuckle, Azrael broke off the kiss and held Ursula close once more, relaxing
as she felt arms tighten around her middle. "Gods, I love . . ." Startled
at herself, Azrael prevaricated, "I love the way you make me feel, Ursula."
Ursula felt her mistress stiffen a moment before easing again. Uncertain of
the cause, she ignored it, smiling instead. She brought her hand up to caress
Azrael's throat. "Thank you, Milady."
Capturing the hand before it could stray, Azrael squeezed it. "Ah, what
did I say earlier?"
The slave ducked her head with a shy smile. "To call you by your given
name when we're alone."
"And that name is?" the dark woman asked, her tone reminiscent of
a tutor she'd once had.
Ursula blushed. "Azrael," she murmured.
Everything about the slave was honey, including her voice. Azrael's mouth went
dry as she tilted Ursula's face upward. "Again."
"Azrael."
The voice was musical, the tones striking deep into the recesses of Azrael's
heart and soul. Her head dropped closer, eyes closing, lips hovering just out
of reach. "Again," she whispered.
Ursula could feel her mistress' heart thumping. "Azrael," she responded
in kind, drawing the name out until her mouth was taken in a fiery kiss.
Sleep was not forthcoming.
Azrael stared out the window of her bed chambers, seeing the almost imperceptible
change of color in the sky as the sun made its way to the eastern horizon. Beside
her, Ursula slept, a faint smile on her face. Occasionally, Azrael would reach
over to touch her; caressing a bared arm or thigh, running fingers through dark
hair, tracing a jaw line with her thumb. The resultant sigh and squirm almost
gave her cause to wake Ursula for another bout of love making. Instead, Azrael
tortured herself with pulling away, letting the slave return to her slumber
while she burned with need.
It was frightening, this need. Once Azrael had accepted what was happening to
her, it seemed the dam of her emotions had burst and was now overflowing. She'd
never felt such intensity, not even as a youth with the fair Lenore. Azrael
shook her head, recalling how she'd almost told Ursula of her love only hours
before.
What would a slave know of love? It was ludicrous to think that Ursula, held
against her will, could become romantically attached to her mistress. Azrael
knew that her slaves loved her but this was a different emotion than theirs.
Ursula no doubt felt the same way as Midia or Felicia - a deep caring love that
would never be the same as the one she'd feel for her future husband.
Or the one Azrael felt for her.
Not liking this turn of thought, Azrael eased out of the warm bed, grabbing
up her robe. Donning it, she stepped into the sitting room, pleased to note
that embers still glowed in the fireplace. She stirred the coals to life and
added wood until flames crackled before sitting down to brood.
The whole of Ursula's life stretched out before her wandering mind. Sooner or
later, the brunette would find a handsome young man to cleave to, would desire
to bear him children and live with him as his wife. What would Azrael do? Deny
her that right? Jealously keep Ursula to herself and damn all the consequences?
The love that Ursula held for her mistress would wither and die, no doubt, dead
on the vine for lack of water, lack of true love.
A vision of an elderly statesman came to mind and Azrael snorted. Widacus, profound
and powerful leader on the King's Council, had gone along this path, as well,
falling madly in love with one of his body slaves. He'd doted on her in public,
allowing her all manner of transgressions with nary a frown, treating her as
his equal though he still held her leash. People were pleasant to his face,
but wagging tongues remarked on his lack of sense and decorum. He was made a
fool, a high born idiot slavering after a pretty face. His reputation became
shabby and ragged by turns until he quietly retired to his estate, the butt
of jokes among the aristocracy.
And here she was following in his footsteps. It was bad enough that Azrael was
of royal blood. She also commanded an army! What would happen if she were to
lose the trust and loyalty of her men?
With a sigh, she leaned forward, dropping her face to her hands and scrubbing
in frustration. She rested there, elbows on knees, face covered as she tried
to formulate some plan of action. Never one to be idle, the thought of just
letting things go along on their own was incomprehensible. There should be something
she could do to fix things.
"Azrael?"
The voice was hesitant and Azrael looked up to see Ursula poised in the doorway.
A tired smile crossed her face. "Yes, Ursula?"
Chewing on her upper lip a moment, Ursula took a step into the room. She was
wearing a silk robe of deep green. "Are you all right, Mi . . . Azrael?
Do you wish to be left alone?"
Azrael sat back, her smile widening. "No, Ursula. Your presence will always
be preferable to solitude," she said, waving the slave forward. When Ursula
was close, Azrael pulled her into her lap, leaning back in her chair. She rubbed
the brunette's back, content despite misgivings and thoughts. "And why
are you up at this hour?"
Ursula played with the leading edge of her mistress' robe as it sloped from
her neck. "I'm always up at this hour," she reminded. "I woke
to call for your morning tea and prepare for the day, but you were already gone
from bed." She looked up, her fingers straying to brush against Azrael's
jaw line. "You seemed deep in thought. Am I not interrupting?"
Kissing the fingers, Azrael chuckled. "Perhaps, but it's a welcome interruption,
sweetling. My thoughts were going nowhere, circling with no end." She hugged
the slave. "I'm glad you're with me."
They sat in companionable silence for long moments before Ursula finally dared
to venture, "Is it your cousin, Azrael? Is he what has you in a worrisome
mood?" She waited, wondering if her forward behavior would result in punishment.
Azrael blinked in surprise. Was it already so obvious to the slave that she
could take liberties without fear of retribution? Even Midia hadn't attempted
to be so bold until she'd been with her mistress for two years. The thought
of Midia brought a grin to Azrael's face. Of course. Midia had been tutoring
Ursula for months.
"I wish it was my cousin," she admitted with a chuckle. "At least
he I can understand. As a child he was a bully and a coward. I don't believe
he's grown into an honorable man." Azrael stopped, a chill in her heart
as she wondered why she was talking near treason to a slave. Deciding to change
the subject, she said, "Have you cousins, Ursula?"
Puzzled, Ursula wondered what had saddened her mistress, disappointed that Azrael
wouldn't speak of it. She shrugged. "I don't know. Possibly. My mother
had two brothers, but she hasn't had word of them for years."
Azrael had a sudden desire to learn all about the brunette in her arms. "What
of siblings? I recall you mentioning a sister or brother to Midia once."
"Aye, I've both. There were eight of us."
Frowning, the dark woman considered a moment. "You were lucky. I was the
only child in my home. When I was younger, I wished for a brother but it never
happened."
Ursula gave a half smile, snuggling closer, returning her fingers to the robe
collar. "Not that lucky," she said. "No privacy, four to a pallet
in the corner, not enough food . . . and terrors! My brothers were horrendous
with hair pulling and dropping bugs down our dresses." She paused in fond
memory, startled from it by the next question.
"Do you miss them?"
It was Ursula's turn to frown as she pondered the answer. "Yes and no,
I suppose," she finally said. "I miss the pleasant times we had, but
it was terribly hard. I don't miss working in the fields with poorly crafted
tools or hoping for an early spring so we wouldn't starve." She looked
at Azrael's profile as she stared into the dwindling flames. "Farming's
a difficult life."
"Especially in the northern lands," Azrael agreed. "I'd be loathe
to eke a living out of that cold, rocky soil." She rocked the woman in
her arms. "Tell me, Ursula, with a life as rough as yours, did you not
have dreams and wishes?"
Ursula sobered. "Aye, Azrael, as a child. But when I grew older, I gave
up childish things. They meant nothing, just dawdlings. By the time my father
gave me away, I knew there was no place for dreams." She shrugged, intent
on the collar beneath her fingers. "They only cause regret and sadness."
Azrael hugged the brunette close, hearing the muted pain in her voice. "Everyone
deserves to have wishes come true, Ursula," she said, brushing the top
of the slave's head with a kiss. She held her breath, cursing herself for torturing
her heart. A part of her desperately needed to know the answer, however, and
she found herself asking, "What were your dreams? Did you wish for a fair
and strong knight to ride into your life? Someone to defend your honor and love
you forever?"
Chuckling despite her melancholy, Ursula said, "No. None of that, though
my sisters all swore that their true love would come from the Fey Well deep
in the forest to take them away."
It seemed Azrael's heart stopped, mid beat. When no further words were forthcoming,
she whispered, "What then, Ursula? What were your dreams?"
"They're silly," she said, blushing. She was jostled and her mistress
gave her a warning growl. With a laugh, she finally said, "I was always
the knight, saving the lady in distress, fighting to the death for love and
honor. I remember being so disappointed when my brothers told me only men could
become soldiers."
Azrael's heart began beating once more. A slow smile grew on her face at the
thought, recalling many childhood summers pretending to do the same. "Well,
as you now know, women can become soldiers and knights, too. Would you still
wish to be one?"
Ursula shook her head, leaning forward to kiss the dark woman's neck. "No,
Azrael. I'd rather wish to remain in your arms forever."