On Azrael's Wings (22 page)

There was a long pause and Azrael wondered if Shonal were playing with her. Would he deny her fealty in this public forum, just to make a scene? Much as she wished to look up and see his eyes, to ascertain what he was thinking, she kept her head bowed, waiting obediently if not patiently. Relief flickered through her as she heard her cousin respond with the proper words.

“I, Shonal, King of Barentcia: Be it known to all men that we have received Azrael, King’s cousin and Duchess of Wrendon, General of the Third Army, as our liege woman. She has sworn on all the gods that she will aid us in good faith, as her liege lord, against every creature, living or dead; she will uphold our authority and come to the aid of the Crown in time of war. At her command the following persons have sworn to us that they approve of this and will support and aid her in keeping this oath: the King’s Council and all gathered Lords and Ladies. For our part, we do swear to uphold, protect and defend Azrael, King’s cousin and Duchess of Wrendon, General of the Third Army, for so long as we remain sovereign of Barentcia, and for so long as Azrael, Duchess of Wrendon, observes her oath of fealty to the Crown.” Shonal’s voice was smug as he said, “Rise, Azrael.”

The woman stood, noting her cousin’s tone also reflected upon his face. Regardless, she stepped forward as he leaned close. They kissed one another on the cheek, sealing the pact. Shonal took Azrael’s hand and turned toward their audience, his cousin following suit.

“All are witness,” he called.

“All are witness,” the crowd repeated before breaking out into applause.

Azrael was glad when the king released her hand - it felt pudgy and sweaty - and she resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her thigh. With a false smile, she bowed deeply to Shonal. “What is your will, My Liege?”

“My will is to celebrate with a banquet, cousin,” Shonal said, a wide grin on his face. “And you shall sit with me at the highest table! To the dining peristyle!” he announced loudly, the nearby herald picking up his order and repeating it for the masses.

As her cousin led her out of the audience hall, Azrael glanced back at the dais. The Queen Mother was still seated on her throne, apparently asleep. It occurred to Azrael that the woman looked much more frail than the last time she’d seen her. Shonal tugged on her arm and Azrael shook the disquiet from her mind. Now was not the time to be woolgathering. The night was far from over and she needed her wits about her.

Azrael wished fervently for this tedious night to be finished.

She drained her mug of wine, dark eyes watchful. Shonal lounged across from her, no less than three body slaves keeping attendance on his royal personage. Azrael wondered how much more of the fondling and ogling she could stand. His ribald attentions were enough to put any sane person off their feed for a week.

The high table she sat beside was long, stretching the width of the dining peristyle. All of Shonal’s council were seated here, to include their wives, consorts, and personal slaves. A handful of loyal officers peppered the politicos as well. Several steps below was the main floor. Here several more tables were filled to capacity with lords and ladies of the court. Suma was at the near end of the closest table, Azrael’s other men relegated to the lowest table and the rear of the room.

Ursula refilled her mistress’ mug from an available ewer. She knelt on the floor beside Azrael, a cushion pillowing her still saddle sore behind. The slave was careful to not look at the king despite an incredible urge to see if he and her mistress resembled each other as much as Nils did. Azrael had carefully instructed Ursula that afternoon on proper royal etiquette. It was all so much different from the other functions the brunette had attended.

With a fond grin, Azrael caressed Ursula’s cheek with the back of her fingers. Her reward was a brilliant smile. Taking her mug, she drank, only then noticing Shonal’s attention.

“She’s a beauty, cousin,” he rumbled, eyeing Ursula. “Where did you get her?”

Azrael swallowed her wine and reached for a roasted pheasant. “At our last uprising in Theara, my liege.”

“Really?” he asked, studying the willowy slave. “Then you’ve not had her long, eh?”

“No. Only three or four months.” She fed Ursula a piece of fowl, hoping he’d change the subject.

Shonal chuckled, a knowing expression on his dark face. “She must be quite the hussy to have your attention for that long. I hear you killed your own men for touching her.”

Azrael’s eyes narrowed. That Shonal had even an idea of what had happened in Theara could only mean one thing - there was a spy in Azrael’s army. “Rumors, Sire, mere rumors. I killed those men for disobeying orders in the midst of battle, putting their fellow soldiers at risk, nothing more.”

“Still,” Shonal shrugged. “It was this little morsel that caused the problem to begin with.” Wiping grease from his face with his arm, he leaned forward, upsetting the slave perched in his lap. “Stand up, sweetness. Let’s have a look at you.”

Azrael silently cursed, looking into scared amber eyes. “Do as the king orders,” she murmured.

Swallowing hard, Ursula rose, keeping her head lowered.

“Turn about! Turn about!” Shonal exclaimed, waving his hand in a circle. His voice carried, bringing the attention of other diners to the table.

Ursula turned in place, her olive skin flushing. She was wearing a green and gold gown that accentuated her coloring and frame. When she finished her circle, she stood still, hands clasped before her to stop their shaking.

“As I said, cousin, very nice,” Shonal said.

“Thank you, Sire. Ursula, you may kneel.” Azrael watched her slave sink gratefully to her cushions. Hoping that would be the end of it, she looked up to see Shonal’s reaction. His grin was almost a sneer. A chill wound through Azrael. It was the same expression he’d sported as a child when he demanded royal prerogative over his ‘lesser’ cousins.

“She looks tame enough,” he observed with a wink. “But knowing you, I’ll wager she’s a tigress under the sheets, yes?”

Grinding her teeth, Azrael refrained from growling. “She has her moments,” she finally agreed, racking her brain for a change of conversation.

Shonal continued to study the slave as he drank from his mug. “How about a trade for the evening, cousin?” he asked. Tugging the arm of a redhead at his feet, he continued, “Sallah here has many talents in bed. I think you’ll find her most pleasurable and I’ve a desire to taste your little niblet.”

Azrael’s thoughts raced. She could see Ursula’s skin pale at the implication. “Tempting as that may be to some, cousin,” she said, leaning back on her lounger with a feral grin, “I’ve yet to tire of this one and am not ready to try another.”

Proper etiquette, even for a king, would be an apology and a regretful backing away. But Shonal was anything but proper.

“I believe you misunderstand me,” he said, his grin matching hers. “I wasn’t asking.”

Azrael’s eyes narrowed, her smile fading. “And I wasn’t agreeing.”

Tension filled their section of the table, rippling away from them. Though many didn’t know the reason, all seemed aware of a struggle of wills.

Shonal laughed, his hearty bark serving to ease the ill feelings. “I understood you were infatuated with the girl, cousin, but not to what extent.”

Azrael relaxed a bit, but not completely.

“It’s been quite the eventful day for you,” the king said. “I understand your reluctance. You need a taste of home and hearth tonight to center yourself. No matter.”

Cautious, Azrael said, “I’m glad you see it that way, my liege.”

Winking, Shonal said, “You’ll deliver her to the palace tomorrow evening. I can wait that long.”

There was a long silence. “Excuse me?”

Shonal’s tone was steel, the smile vanished. “I believe you heard me,” he said. “As it bears repeating, however, I’m ordering you to bring this morsel to the palace for my enjoyment tomorrow evening. Is that understood?”

“I comprehend the order,” Azrael said.

He ignored the implicit threat in her voice. “Good. As you stated before all these witnesses this afternoon, ‘I will be true to his life and rulership.’” Shonal sat back, smugness reflecting from his eyes. “I’ve already passed word that you’re not to leave the city. I’d hate for you to lose track of time tomorrow.”

Azrael paced her sitting room, agitation in every step. “I’ll be damned if he’ll get his way in this,” she continued.

“Lord,” Suma began only to be promptly cut off.

“No, Suma. You’ll not talk me out of this. I plan total defiance in this matter.” Azrael stopped. “Wait! There is one thing I can do! Send for a scribe. I can’t very well send a body slave when I don’t have one, can I? I’ll free her!”

The captain frowned. “I doubt that will stop him, Lord Azrael. He’ll just make her a slave once more, this time in his bed instead of yours.”

“Milady,” Ursula said from her place near Azrael’s chair. “If I may?”

“Yes, Ursula.” Azrael attempted an encouraging smile, knowing the girl was no doubt scared senseless. “Don’t worry, sweetling. I’ll not let that royal ass of a cousin have you.”

“Perhaps you should, Milady,” Ursula said, her voice trembling. “He’ll feel he’s succeeded and leave you be.”

“Never, Ursula!” Azrael turned to glare into the fire. “You don’t know my cousin’s appetites. It would have been better for those three to have had you in Theara.”

“But, Milady, he seeks to hurt you! If you deny him, he’ll use it as an excuse to renounce you and your title!”

“The girl is right, Lord,” Suma agreed. “You said yourself he thinks himself clever and sly. This could be the elaborate plot you feared he’d create.”

“No! Both of you!” the dark woman shouted, rounding on them. “Suma, get me a scribe. I’ll have the paperwork brought up to free Ursula. She and one of the servants can leave the city in the morning.”

Suma saluted. “Aye, Lord.”

“I’ll also be sending messages to Brahim and Neito. They’ll know what to do.” She turned back to the fire.

“As you wish.” Suma bowed and left the room.

For a time only the sound of the fire crackling and popping could be heard. Azrael frowned, hearing something else. Slowly, she turned her head to see Ursula shaking with sobs and doing her best to stifle them. A flood of emotion filled her heart and Azrael went to the slave, kneeling before her and gathering her into her arms. “Ah, sweetling. No worries. I’ll see you’re safe.”

“You’re freeing me?” Ursula asked, burrowing into the warm embrace.

“Yes, it has to be done. Shonal can’t ask me to lend him a body slave I do not have.”

“If I’m free, I can make my own decisions?”

“Of course, love,” Azrael held the crying woman close. “In truth, I had planned on freeing you someday,” she admitted. “Just not quite this soon.”

There was a noticeable hitch in Ursula’s breathing. “Why?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Azrael sighed, feeling a lump in her throat and the sting of tears in her eyes. “Because I cannot wed a slave.” She pulled back to look into stunned amber eyes. Chuckling, Azrael said, “I had hoped you would grow to love me as an equal rather than a mistress.”

Ursula sniffled, trying to comprehend what Azrael was saying. “You … you love me?” she asked. “As your equal? Or a slave?”

Swallowing hard, Azrael wished a third time for this evening to be over. “I love you, Ursula. And I would like to see that love grow.”

She ducked her head. “But I will not force myself upon you. I’ll free you and you can stay as long as you wish at my villa. Or, if you prefer to return home, I’ll see you’re safely escorted and handsomely paid.”

“Did I not tell you what I wished this morning, Azrael?” Ursula asked. “I meant every word. I only wish to be with you.”

Heart thumping, Azrael fought back tears as she crushed Ursula to her chest. “All the more reason to send you away now,” she whispered fiercely.

“I don’t want to see you hurt, Azrael.”

“I know, love, I know.” Emotions under control, Azrael pulled back to look into Ursula’s eyes. “As long as you’re safe, nothing can hurt me.”

A knock at the door interrupted them, the scribe arriving as ordered. Azrael gave Ursula a hard kiss before rising, calling for the scribe to enter. It was going to be a long night of transcriptions and missives.

The following afternoon found Azrael at her desk, eyes closed as she massaged her temples. Ursula had left two hours prior, dressed as a serving wench, with two other servants in tow. Presumably, the three were on their way to the villa in Wrendon to collect more personal belongings for their mistress’ stay.

Azrael knew the biggest obstacle would be the gates. But the guard was looking for her or her people. She’d been sure to disguise the trio in the livery of another house to be safe. That and the increased comings and goings as errands were run and deliveries were made hopefully covered Ursula’s tracks well enough for her to escape. No doubt Shonal had his eye on the house and yard.

Sighing, Azrael sat up and glanced out the window at the garden below. She missed Ursula terribly; had begun missing her the night before almost in preparation for the slave’s real absence. No. Not slave. Freed woman. It had taken every ounce of will to persuade the brunette to leave. She’d been afraid that her new status would change her mistress’ opinion of her. Despite the somber situation, Azrael chuckled, knowing that was the least of their worries.

Among the many visitors to the house were no less than four messengers. Two each for Wrendon and her uncle’s estate. She’d had letters sent to inform them of what was transpiring, asking her uncle to see to things in her absence. Brahim’s letters were more detailed as she explained where certain papers were and what to do with them. If worse came to worse, Shonal would find a barren villa, all the slaves freed and escaped from his potential anger at her refusal.

Her rooms were at the back of the house. Nevertheless, she heard the clatter of horses in the courtyard echoing off the garden walls. A challenge was called by the guard and she tensed, wondering if Shonal was too impatient to wait. There was an answer and all seemed well. Azrael relaxed.