On Azrael's Wings

by Redhawk

Disclaimers: Please see Part 1 for disclaimers.

Twenty-two

“Stop this and you’ll live,” Azrael said. Behind her, the rattling door quieted as the men in the hall stopped pounding, the trap closed.

Shonal barked laughter, eyes wide. “In case you haven’t noticed, dear cousin, you’ve two crossbow bolts at your throat. How do you propose to stop me?” He gestured with his free hand and one of the guards edged closer until the bolt dug into Azrael’s flesh.

She refused to respond, dark eyes cold as stone.

“Drop the weapons,” the guard growled.

Ursula shivered as she saw a smile spread across her mistress’ face. It looked very similar to the one on the day they had met. A rush of memory washed over her - the smell of blood and smoke, the screams as the men of her village were impaled. There was no doubt that the room would soon be swimming in blood if that smile was any indication of Azrael’s true feelings. The knife at her throat pressed harder, a trickle of warmth the only indication she’d been cut.

“Do as you’re told!” Shonal said. “Or this sweet morsel will pay.”

Azrael’s smile widened, white teeth flashing, though her eyes did not reflect the humor. “Go ahead,” she answered, letting the sword and dagger clang against the marble floor. “She’s a body slave, one of many I own. She means no more to me than yours do you.”

Shonal grinned, easing back on the blade at the brunette’s throat. “You would have me believe that?” he asked. “After all this trouble? Had you brought young Ursula as ordered, none of this would be happening.”

While the bolt remained against Azrael’s throat, the other crossbowman lowered his weapon. He moved behind her, pulling her arms back with a rough jerk and tying her wrists.

“Shonal,” the woman chided, “You’ve spent your entire life demanding things in my possession. Why would this be different? Can you blame me for getting sick of supplying your entertainment?” Azrael felt a thrill course through her as the guard tied her gauntleted hands. It would be easier to slip the bindings than if he’d bound her bare wrists. There was a chance she could at least get Ursula out of this alive.

The king’s eyes flashed. “So you refuse as a matter of principle?”

“Of course.” The guard finished and Azrael laughed. “Why shouldn’t I? Someone must stand up to you. Stealing from others because you’re lesser than the rest of us gets quite old.”

His smile became wooden as he ground his teeth. “I’m hardly ‘lesser’ than you, dear cousin. I am king, after all. And you are a treasonous bitch who will lose all for a principle.”

“An accident of birth,” Azrael said dismissively. Now that she was safely tied, the crossbow against her throat was removed, the guard stepping away. “As I’ve recently been reminded, I am superior to you in all ways.” She glanced down at Ursula, not allowing her expression to soften. “At least I don’t have to kidnap unwilling bed mates.”

“As you say, she’s only a body servant,” Shonal said, acid in his voice. “She’s trained to be willing.”

Azrael snorted. “Good thing for you, eh? I’d wager the only legitimate offspring you’ll yield will be products of rape.”

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the dagger, unconsciously moving it away from Ursula’s throat. “Do not speak to your liege in this manner,” he growled.

“Or what? You’ll kill a slave?” the bound woman asked. “How . . . courageous. I’m certain the act will be comforting to your people. Will you kill the slaves of everyone who voices an opinion on your ability to father a child?”

“Be silent!”

Ursula fell to her side as she was pushed away, the king towering over her. Despite the fact Azrael was tied and hadn’t moved, the guards behind him stepped forward, hands on the hilts of their swords. Heart pounding, she watched as her mistress endangered herself, tempted somehow to stop things before they spiraled too far out of control.

Azrael wisely remained mute, though her smile was as wide as ever. The crossbows were back at her neck, pinning her between them as Shonal strode forward and backhanded her. “At least I’ll have children,” he said. “Unless, of course, you’re really a man under that armor. It’s been a topic heavily speculated at court these past years.”

“A better man than you, wouldn’t you say?” Azrael grinned, her neck bleeding where she’d cut it against a bolt. Her lip was swelling but not split. Regardless of the pain, she chuckled at the prominent vein pulsing at her cousin’s temple.

“If you do not shut your mouth, I’ll have you killed!” Shonal yelled.

“Heh . . . kinslayer. The title suits you, cousin. Perhaps you have some experience?”

The king’s rage dissipated, his dark eyes glancing about the room at his guards. More focused on the prisoner than the chatter, the men failed to note the reference. “Get out,” Shonal ordered, his tone no longer belligerent.

“But, Your Royal Majesty --”

“Get out!”

As his yell echoed off the walls, the guards jumped in surprise before hastily making for the door.

The last one to pass paused a moment. “The slave, my liege?”

“Leave her! Get out of my sight!”

Once the door was closed and the room quiet, Shonal stepped back from Azrael, lip lifted in distaste. He turned away, walking across the room to pour himself a mug of wine from an ewer, setting the knife down.

Azrael watched, pleased to see the cup shaking in his hand. He remained standing with his back to the room, staring out the window. She began to shift the bonds on her wrists, glancing over at Ursula. Her lover had curled up on the floor, amber eyes wide as she watched the king. Azrael would give anything to collect Ursula in her arms but that was impossible. Forcing herself to look away, to lock up her love lest Shonal see and use it against them both, she continued to work on her bonds.

Several long moments passed as the king finished his wine. With a deep breath, he thumped the mug onto the table, rattling the items there. “What did you mean by your remark?” he asked, lips pursed as he stared at the table top.

“I thought I was rather straight forward,” Azrael said, conversationally. “Kinslaying is something you come to easily, is it not? Or should I say king slaying?”

“You have no proof!” Shonal said, whirling around to glare at her. “Your accusation is meaningless without proof!”

Azrael shrugged, using the movement to get closer to freedom. “You’re right. I don’t. Not with me anyway.”

The man rushed her, eyes flashing. “You’re lying!” he said, voice raised along with his fist.

Though she expected the blow, it stunned her, knocking her to the floor.

“No proof!” Shonal hissed.

Azrael used the fall to fight the ropes at her wrists, her attempts adding to the awkwardness as she struggled to her knees. Rather than remain there before him in a parody of supplication, she forced herself upward. “So it’s true,” she said, her smile awash in blood. “I knew you were a dishonorable thief, cousin, but not a murderer, as well.”

“Silence!” the king roared, sending Azrael to the floor once again. Sweat covered his brow and his eyes flashed.

Grunting in pain, Azrael spit a wad of blood and phlegm onto the floor. She’d be lucky if her cheekbone wasn’t broken; as it was, one of her upper teeth felt loose. She fought to stand, only to be bent double by a kick to her abdomen. Sparks flared at the edges of her vision as he spoke.

“You know nothing of what you say,” Shonal said, face flushed and hands flexing. “My father died in his sleep! No poisons, no struggles! He never even woke up!” He kicked again his cousin for good measure. “The surgeons confirmed it!”

He growled in frustration at the chuckle he heard, grappling at his waist for his dagger and finding the scabbard empty. Shonal looked wildly about the room, spotting his blade where he’d left it on the table.

Azrael gathered her wits as he stormed across the room. She was almost free of her confines, one gauntlet half off. Just a little more time.

The king scooped up his dagger and marched toward the prone woman.

“Your Majesty! No!”

Shonal flinched away from Ursula’s grabbing hands. He shoved her away, intent on Azrael who was writhing on the floor. The slave was on him again before he made two steps. Fully facing her, his handsome face twisted into a snarl.

“Get off me, slut!” he said, punching Ursula in the face. Unused to such pain, she crumpled to the floor and Shonal grinned. “You and I will have our fun later.”

“I doubt that.”

Looking up, Shonal had no time to duck as a fist crashed against his chin. Fingers wrapped about his, crushing his hand around the hilt of his dagger.

“You really should reconsider your idea of fun, cousin,” Azrael said. Before he could pull away, she grabbed him by the throat. “I think this is much more entertaining.” She threw him backwards, years of warring giving her the strength to toss him as if he were a child.
The resulting crash of furniture was pleasing. Azrael took a step toward him, stopping as she heard questioning voices from the hallway. Striding to the door, she bolted it and turned to grin at Shonal. “We don’t wish to be interrupted until our little game is over, do we?”

One hand holding his bruised throat, Shonal staggered to his feet, waving the dagger before him. “Guards,” he grunted, coughing to clear his throat. “Guards!”

Someone heard, the heavy door thumping as the men in the corridor pounded. For the king’s safety, however, it was constructed with the strongest of materials. It would be some time before they would break through.

Azrael used Shonal’s fear to her advantage for a moment’s rest. She wiped at the blood on her face and spat again, tonguing her teeth. If she survived this, she’d lose a tooth, no doubt. She chuckled. If she survived, she’d lose more than a tooth when this was over.

Ursula moaned softly, gaining the attention of both of them. Azrael’s grim humor vanished at her lover’s cry. In an instant, Shonal leapt forward, grabbing the woman and pulling her toward him by her hair. Knowing she couldn’t intercept Shonal in time, Azrael dived for the weapons she’d been forced to abandon earlier. Armed once more, she spun around.

Shonal backed away, Ursula held in front of him, his hand wrapped in her hair. Tears streamed down her face as she scrambled with him, still partially on her knees. The dagger was sharp, cutting into her neck just below the ear, blood oozing from the wound. The king’s face was twisted into a grimace, eyes wild as he tried to scan the room for exits and keep his cousin in sight simultaneously.

Sword and dagger in hand, Azrael stepped forward, dropping into battle readiness as she moved.

“Stay away from me!” Shonal said, his voice an octave higher. “I’ll kill her! I will!”

“You won’t have time.”

Ursula squeezed her eyes shut, knowing she soon would meet death, not wanting her last vision to be that of her mistress, her lover with blood on her hands and face. Steel bit into her neck with a jerk and her hair was yanked. She sobbed when the dagger clattered to the floor. The king pulled her backward, toppling her over to land atop him before his grasp in her hair loosened.

Rolling to her hands and knees, Ursula caught a quick glance of Shonal, a dagger sprouting from his chest, blood flowering across his gold tunic. She stumbled backward with a shriek, not heeding where she went until she bumped into something. Hands grabbed her shoulders and she whimpered until she heard a welcome voice.

“Shhh, sweetling, you’re safe. It’s over.”

Sobbing, Ursula turned and buried herself in the strong embrace.

Azrael eyed her cousin, glad to see he wasn’t breathing. She knelt on the floor, holding Ursula close, knowing it would be the last time. The king was dead by her hand. Azrael would either rot in prison or die by beheading as a result.

She closed her eyes and pushed speculation aside. What mattered was that Ursula was safe. Neito would come and claim the throne, or perhaps Nils. In either case, the kingdom would be in much better hands. It would grow and prosper and not be ruled by fear and deceit.

Quite some time passed before Ursula’s tears faded. With no more activity inside the king’s quarters, the sound of the door finally breaking was sharp. As the soldiers fumbled with the heavy door, Azrael pushed away from Ursula, standing. By the time the guards rushed in, Azrael stood well away from the woman and Shonal, weapons on the floor and hands held out to show her surrender.

“Grab her!”

Ungently wrestled to the ground, Azrael felt her head pounded from the beating she’d already sustained. She made no protest at the rough treatment. Hauled back to her feet, hands firmly bound behind her back, she saw that Ursula was also tied and crying anew.“Leave her be,” she said to the guard captain. “She’s nothing to do with this.”

“Maybe so, maybe no,” the man said, spitting at her feet. “What of the king?”

“Dead, sir. Dagger through the chest.”

The captain swore. He eyed Azrael. “And you dressed in Queen’s colors.”

“You’ll find the Queen Mother napping,” Azrael said. “I made certain she was comfortable before tying her.”

“Gah!” The captain turned to two of his men. “Go check on the Queen Mother. No one speaks of this until she’s been seen to and we get orders. Someone notify the council.” Men left to do his bidding and he turned to Azrael. “And you. Duchess or no, I’ll not give you the opportunity to escape again.”

The captain nodded sharply at one of the men behind her and Azrael knew what was coming. Her last sight was Ursula, horrified and struggling to reach her, as pain erupted at the base of her skull.

Azrael sat in the dark, conserving her strength. She’d never been to the dungeons before and was unaware of the master’s daily schedule. Her only hint at the passing time were the waterings. There’d been eight so far but whether that was four days or eight, she didn’t know. Of course, for perversity’s sake, the small bucket of rusty tasting liquid could be delivered at random hours.

Lack of food was also beginning to take its toll as she rose from the moldy straw to stretch. She felt shaky and weak, the shackles and chains seeming to weigh more and more with each passing hour. Regardless, she forced herself to exercise. Not only would it keep her muscles toned, but it would warm her, as well. Azrael ignored the rustling of her companion, a large rat on the other side of the room. They’d come to an understanding when she’d first awakened to find him nibbling at the blood on her clothes.

She kept her mind occupied with analyzing what had happened and what her future held. Gerina was no doubt rabid for Azrael’s blood after the death of her only child. To be honest, the dark woman was rather surprised she was still alive. The only thing to account for it was Shonal’s council - perhaps they refused to follow the Queen Mother’s orders until Neito or Nils were confirmed. It wouldn’t be the first time powerful men refused to pay heed to a grieving queen.

Another possibility was the council planned on taking power for themselves rather than allow another spoiled king on the throne. It that were the case, Gerina might well be in a cell down the dank corridor, Nieto and his son further down. Azrael was uncertain how loyal the King’s Guard were and where those loyalties lay.

Ursula. Ursula was always on her mind. The last glimpse of the brunette crying and struggling to come to her . . . Azrael hoped that Ursula wasn’t also a guest in the dungeons. An innocent pawn in a surprise power struggle was her only crime. Of course, if Gerina was thwarted in an attempt to avenge her son’s death, it was a fair wager that Ursula would bear the brunt of her fury.

That Ursula could already be dead she refused to contemplate.

Azrael’s musings were interrupted by the sound of booted feet, more than one pair, approaching her door. She inhaled deeply, wondering if she would now meet death. Calming her mind, she vowed to greet her punishment with dignity and the last shreds of her honor wrapped about her.

As the door opened, she winced at the torch illuminating the grimy little cell. Three guards tramped in, crowding the room even more as one shoved the torch into a bracket.

“C’mon, Yer Grace,” one said, coming forward with chisel and hammer. “Someone wants to speak with yer.”

Azrael remained silent as he struck off the bolts holding the shackles about her ankles. When she held out her hands, however, the guard snorted.

“Nay. you’ll keep those on, Yer Grace. We’ve heard how easy it is for you to slip your bindings. We’ll stay on the safe side.”
Nodding in understanding, Azrael followed the men out of her cell.

Guards were everywhere along their path as Azrael was escorted out of the dungeons. It was a few moments before she could find familiar surroundings, glancing out a row of windows along one corridor to see a corral. Behind the stables then, an area rarely explored in her childhood.

Soon she stood before the council chambers. Azrael felt a vague sense of relief. At least the council was in charge rather than her aunt. That alone boded well for Ursula’s survival, providing she hadn’t been given to Gerina as a bone of appeasement.

One of the guards flanking the door knocked and entered. Whatever discussion being had silenced. The guard stepped out, holding the door wide.

“The council will see you now, Your Grace.”

Azrael was brought inside and deposited at the end of a long table. The guards with her took up positions inside the room as the door closed with a heavy clunk. Gathered around the table were Shonal’s council, seven men varying in age from twenty to fifty. Only two looked pleased, the younger men reflecting expressions of dull anger, disgust or fear. As Azrael scanned the table, her heart stuttered to a stop.

Neito sat at the head in the chair normally reserved for the king. He was dressed in his armor, dusty from the road. Flanking him were Nils and Suma.

Azrael flushed, nearly dropping her gaze. It was one thing to kill kin; it was quite another to face respected family members and companions after the fact. Nostrils flaring, she refused to look at her cousin or captain, lifting her chin in defiance of the guilt she should profess. Shonal was dead and she did not regret her actions.

A scribe rose from a small table, parchment shaking slightly in his hands, and cleared his throat. “Azrael, Duchess of Wrendon and General of the Third Army, you stand accused of murdering King Shonal of Barentcia, your cousin and sworn liege, by stabbing him in the chest with a dagger. You also stand accused of kidnapping and coercing the Queen Mother into assisting your infiltration of King Shonal’s palace. What say you?”

“I am not guilty,” Azrael said, her voice clear and firm as she threw her life to the winds.

The council’s shocked silence lasted only a moment before they all burst into argument.

Azrael paid them no heed, their voices fading to a drone as she and her uncle studied each other.

“Be silent!” Neito finally ordered, black eyes flashing as he pounded the table with a fist. As his request was granted, the council sullenly watching, he returned his attention to his niece. “What exactly are you not guilty of, Azrael? Shonal is dead by a dagger you carried. Was it the slave who did the deed?”

“Like she’d tell you the truth!” one of the men said, ruddy complexion reddened to a livid color by his anger. A glare from Neito forced him to silence, mouth snapping shut with an audible click.

Azrael ignored the outburst. “I did not murder Shonal. My fealty oath forbids murder.”

Neito’s brow furrowed as he listened. “So you argue the use of the word murder to explain your actions,” he said. Waving the others to silence before they could speak, he continued. “If it wasn’t murder, what was it?”

“I believe you received a document implicating Shonal in the death of his father?”

The council responded in shocked and angered cries of protest. It was telling that not all seemed surprised; apparently Shonal hadn’t been as sophisticated in his dispatch as he’d assumed. Suspicion, however, wasn’t grounds to bring a king up on charges.

Remaining still in his seat, Neito waited for the hubbub to quiet. “Yes, I received the deposition four days ago from Captain Suma. I’ve sent men out to locate the witness but you seemed to have taken matters into your own hands.”

Azrael nodded. “I swore an oath to the crown to uphold and execute the common law of the land, Your Grace,” she said, using her uncle’s title. “Murder is punishable by death.”

Another councilman growled and spat on the floor. “So you became judge and executioner?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said eyeing him.

He flushed under her gaze, reminded of her reputation as the Angel of Death, but didn’t back down.

“You had no right to judge him, Azrael,” Neito said. “No right to execute a death sentence.”

“I am aware of that,” the dark woman said, finally dropping her gaze to stare at her shackles. “But if I had not acted, an innocent would have died.”

“Ah, yes. The slave girl, Ursula.”

“She’s not a slave, Your Grace. She was freed from my service and given her papers the day she was taken by Shonal.” Azrael burned with the need to ask about Ursula’s fate but forced herself to silence in the matter.

Neito raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I see.” He pondered for long moments. “Tell me, Azrael, had you no information on Shonal’s guilt, would you still have done this deed?”

Azrael sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. To deny would be dishonest, to admit would prove her dishonor. “Yes, I would have done the same to protect Ursula.”

This set off another round of outrage that Neito shouted down. When the room was once again still, he ordered his niece to look at him.

“You stand accused of murder and kidnapping, Azrael. Granted, the Queen Mother wasn’t hurt by your actions and you brought her to her own rooms rather than away for ransom, but the charges stand.” He sighed, obviously unhappy. “You claim your actions were not murder but murder was in your heart nonetheless. That accusation stands, as well.”

Azrael nodded, heart sinking. She wondered if she’d at least hear of Ursula before she was executed. Certainly her uncle would understand.

“Your actions, however, have saved Barentcia from a bloody civil war. I’m certain Shonal would have denied any allegations regarding his father and resisted with force. You’ve also saved me from having to make the decision on his execution. I have no doubt that he was guilty of murder and would have received punishment for his actions.”

The council, having had enough surprises for the day, snorted and scoffed amongst themselves but did not speak their sentiments aloud.

“I have been confirmed as King by these wise and noble men,” Neito continued, voice rough with sarcasm. The nobles in question at least had the decency to blush. “It is my duty to judge you as I see fit, Azrael. Do you submit to my judgment?”

“Of course, Your . . . Majesty,” Azrael said, confused at his question.

Neito nodded, studying her. “Azrael, Duchess of Wrendon, General of the Third Army, you stand accused of the murder of King Shonal of Barentcia, your sworn liege and cousin. You have pleaded not guilty but this Crown believes you would have slain Shonal regardless of the circumstances of his father’s death. You are guilty of murder, Azrael.

The dark woman dropped her gaze again, mouth tasting of ashes. Her argument had been a last attempt to turn the tide, but the verdict was expected.

“You also stand accused of kidnapping the Queen Mother, Gerina, and coercing her to assist you in actions that caused the death of Shonal.” Neito tilted his head as he gazed at Azrael. “The deposition you sent me, however, had Gerina’s signature as witness. Therefore, I find you not guilty of these charges. I believe that the Queen Mother was asking for your assistance with the deposition and, while her assistance was somewhat coerced by you, she had ample time to stay you from your course.

“It is the decision of the Crown to banish you.”

Azrael’s head snapped up as she stared at her uncle. Hope flowered in her heart, lack of food compounding the weakness in her body and causing her to shiver.

“You are hereby remanded to Wrendon where you will remain for the rest of your days, Azrael. The Third Army is to be disbanded, though any and all of your men are welcome to petition the crown for transfer into other units. You are allowed only twenty men as your guard. Your properties and belongings here in the city are hereby confiscated by the Crown.” Neito sighed and leaned forward. “Do you have any questions for me?”

Her mouth worked a moment before she found her voice. “If it please the Crown, Majesty,” she said. “What has become of Ursula, the woman who was with me in Shonal’s chambers?”

“Fortunately for young Ursula, the council took pity upon her. It was obvious from all reports I’ve read that she had nothing to do with Shonal’s demise. She is safe.”

Azrael snapped her eyes shut, the rush of relief so palpable she wavered. Her uncle was still speaking and it took a moment for her to return her attention to him.

“. . . you will be escorted to Wrendon. In that time, you will remain sequestered in the family wing. I want a full report of what transpired that day, Azrael, do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, nodding. “You shall have it by the end of the day.”

Neito finally smiled. “Oh, I think tomorrow will be soon enough, Azrael.” He leaned over and murmured something to Suma before calling to the men at the door. “Guards! Remove the Duchess’ shackles.”

“Aye, Your Majesty!”

Azrael was led out of the council chambers by the guards who stopped outside to call for a chisel and hammer. Suma exited with them, standing stoically nearby as they waited. Once the required tools were delivered and the shackles removed, he stepped forward. “I’ll escort the Duchess to her quarters.”

There was some grumbling among the guards but Suma’s tone brooked no argument and he outranked them. Once they were dispatched, he asked, “Are you well?”

Rubbing her wrists, Azrael said, “As well as can be expected under the circumstances. How long has it been?”

“Five days since I left,” the blond said as they began to walk down the corridor.

“Report.”

A ghost of a smile played across Suma’s lips. “We had no trouble leaving the city. Shonal apparently had no idea of what we carried. They turned down another hall. “After our arrival at your uncle’s he ordered me to muster the army and march them here.”

Azrael grunted. If the sun was any indication it looked to be only mid afternoon. “When did you leave Neito’s?”

“Midnight, force marched to get here so quickly.”

“I take it there were no difficulties upon your arrival?”

“One or two.” At her questioning look, Suma shrugged. “The city guard were none too pleased to have an army demand admittance and control. It took a bit of time for the council to decide it was politically beneficial for them to allow us inside.”

The military discussion served to ground Azrael, a subterfuge of normalcy that eased her nerves. When they arrived at her suite, she was heartened to see two of her personal guard. She responded to their salute, almost believing it was a normal visit and that they weren’t there to guard but to keep her imprisoned.

“Suma,” she said, turning.

Before she could continue, the captain held up a hand. “I’ve had a bath drawn for you and food delivered.” He paused. “You’ll find her inside.”

Azrael’s heart thumped and she sighed. “Thank you.”

“As you’re no longer my general, Your Grace,” Suma said, using her royal title for the first time, “I would petition to be the captain of your guard. When you have time to consider my request, you can call me.”

“I would be proud and honored to have you.”

They stared at each other before Suma pulled her into a hug. “Thank you for staying alive as I requested,” he whispered gruffly in her ear.

Tears threatened Azrael and she fought them back, returning the embrace. “Aye, I told you I’d not be the one dying.”

Pulling away with a suspicious snuffle, Suma bowed. “You have someone waiting, Your Grace. I’ll check in on you tomorrow morning.”

Azrael nodded and inhaled deeply, regaining some equilibrium. “Good afternoon, Captain.” She turned to the door, hesitating for a mere heartbeat before stepping inside.

Despite the fact she hadn’t been in this suite of rooms since her father died, it looked clean and cheerful. A fire burned merrily, dispelling the early autumn crispness that could be seen through the windows. The smell of food made her head spin and she swallowed against a bout of nausea at the rush of hunger.

Ursula was nowhere to be seen.

Needing the brunette more than sustenance, Azrael swallowed against the bile and stepped further into the common room. “Ursula?” she called, voice rusty. A clatter and exclamation drew her attention to her father’s old quarters. Before she could move toward the doorway, her lover appeared there, amber eyes wide.

“Milady!” Ursula exclaimed, dashing forward to embrace the dark woman. “I was so worried about you! The council would tell me nothing of your whereabouts and health!”

The impact of their meeting almost caused Azrael to take a tumble. She held tight to Ursula for balance, sinking into the delicious sensation of her lover’s body against hers. “Ah, sweet Ursula,” she murmured. She inhaled deeply of brunette hair, a hint of roses dissipating the last of the dungeon stench in her nostrils. “You were all I thought of every waking moment.”

Ursula helped her to a chair near the fire, hands insistent as she explored Azrael for injuries. She made soft noises upon her discoveries, eyes mournful as she found the receding lump on Azrael’s head. “We must call a surgeon!” she said, following the blood stains on Azrael’s clothing to the cut on her neck. “This is beginning to fester!”

Azrael caught her lover’s hands. “We’ll call later, Ursula. A little while longer won’t make a difference and I’d much rather fill my afternoon with your visage than some crusty physician.” She noted the woman wouldn’t meet her eyes, chewing her upper lip as was her wont when upset. “Look at me, Ursula.”

Amber flinched away from black once, twice, before being captured. The tears that threatened spilled over and she threw herself into Azrael’s arms. Days of fear now relieved poured from her.

Some time passed as they embraced one another and released their worries. As Ursula regained control of her emotions, she pulled back to see tear stains on her mistress’ face. In wonder, she wiped away the moisture with a thumb. “You cry for me?”

Azrael smiled. “Yes, love, I cry for you.”

Ursula swallowed against a fresh bout of tears. “When I was taken at the gates, the soldiers destroyed my papers,” she said.

Gaze sharpening, Azrael said, “No matter. I’ll draw up new ones tomorrow.” She hugged Ursula, dreading the turn of conversation. “You’re a free woman, sweetling, and can do or go where you please.”

“What is going to happen to you?”

Azrael sighed. “I’ve been banished to Wrendon and sentenced to remain there until I die. No more warring for this soldier; only plantings and harvests to the end of my days.”

A curious smile crossed Ursula’s face. “It doesn’t seem like much of a punishment.”

“It doesn’t, does it?” Azrael agreed, squeezing the brunette. “My uncle is now king and is a good hearted man. While what I did was wrong, other factors came into play. Shonal was not long for his throne in any case, regardless of my actions.”

Ursula nodded, having heard rumors of many things over the past few days. “And I am free to do as I wish?”

Azrael became grave. “Yes, Ursula, you are a free woman and I will do everything in my not so extensive power to assist you in your choice.” She swallowed as the woman in her arms thought over her fate.

“I told you before, Azrael,” Ursula chided, voice gentle. “I only wish to be with you. If that means banished to Wrendon for the rest of my days, so be it.”

Unsure of her hearing, Azrael paused to stare at Ursula. The welcome smile and warm eyes melted her and she crushed the brunette to her. “Gods, I love you, Ursula!”

“I love you, Azrael.”

Finis