On Azrael's Wings (25 page)

“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.