1.11, 1.12 & 1.13

-11-

            “Ishitar?”

            Upon hearing Zadkiel’s’ voice, Ishitar turned toward him and offered him a tired smile.  He had waited up half the night for Zadkiel to return from his audience with Ishitar’s father.  The other half had been spent applying salves to the wounds on Zadkiel’s back where he had been whipped.

            “Raphael is here to collect you.”

            Ishitar sighed and stood.  “Great.”

            Zadkiel offered him a weak smile.  “Loki is a fine God.  You could do worse for a mentor.”

            “I already have a mentor.”  Ishitar muttered to that as he raised his fingers to the bridge of his nose to ward off an oncoming headache. 

            Zadkiel smiled sadly at him.  “I’ve done what I could to prevent this.” 

            “I know that you have.”  Ishitar replied, lowering his hands.  His fingers hurt worse than his damn headache after spending the full of the night putting medicine to the open wounds on Zadkiel’s’ back.

            “Come.”  Zadkiel held the arm that was not draped over his staff toward Ishitar.  “Best not keep your father waiting.”

            Having no choice, Ishitar followed Zadkiel to the front door of his cottage where Raphael stood waiting for them.  Raphael gave him a patient smile, which Ishitar managed to somehow return.  Before leaving he turned to Zadkiel and said, “I love you.”

            Zadkiel looked swiftly away.  When he spoke, his voice was heavy with his pain. “And I you.”  He returned his gaze and gave Ishitar a tight smile.  “Mind yourself now.  Don’t make me hunt you down and beat you with my staff.”

            Ishitar, who had fond memories of Zadkiel trying to chase him for just that purpose but who had never been able to keep up with him due to his deformity, laughed.  “Just you try to catch me, old man.”

            Zadkiel laughed at that and then swiftly closed the door.

            Raphael sighed.  “I’m sorry about this, my Lord.  It isn’t what anyone wants.”

            “If that were true then Zadkiel’s back wouldn’t have been ripped apart for trying to prevent it.”  Ishitar replied to that, his eyes dancing over Raphael’s handsome face.  He looked just like Ishitar’s father.  Ishitar had always resented him for that.  Not that he would ever say as much to Raphael, of course.

            Raphael flinched, sighed and then nodded.  He held out his hand.  Ishitar took it and willed them both to his father’s library.  Raphael made sure that he was comfortable and then bowed and took his leave.

            Some ten minutes later, the door to Lord Noliminan’s library opened.  Ishitar turned toward it, holding his breath.  Upon first gaze of him, Ishitar’s mind was often overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of his glory.  Though he looked, physically, exactly like Raphael, he had a glow about him that seemed to thrum from within.  Ishitar felt no less in awe of him that morning than he ever had when Lord Noliminan had exalted him with his presence.

            His awe today, of course, was tempered by the slow brewing anger that had been building within him since the moment that Zadkiel had fainted in his arms after having returned home the night before a bloody mess.

            Lord Noliminan gave Ishitar a tired smile as Ishitar stood and lowered his head in fealty.  “My Lord.”

            “My son.”  He replied, his tone gentle.  “Please sit, Ishitar.  This isn’t a formal meeting.”

            Based on what Zadkiel had told him, Ishitar knew that this wasn’t entirely true.  Still, Ishitar raised his gaze to watch Lord Noliminan walk across the library so that he could sit on the other side of his massive desk.  As he did so, Ishitar too, took his seat. 

            Once settled, Lord Noliminan raised his light brown eyes to meet Ishitar’s gaze.  “How have you been, boy?”

            “I have no complaints where I am concerned.”  Ishitar, who, at two hundred and fifty thousand and some years old, was no longer a boy, said, skirting forward on his seat.  He marked that his father’s eyes narrowed slightly.  He knew that his father understood that Ishitar was referring to the state in which Zadkiel had returned from his audience with Lord Noliminan.  “Zadkiel has raised me well and all twelve of the Quorum have told me that I do well with my lessons.”

            “They tell me the same.”  Lord Noliminan replied, choosing to ignore Ishitar’s comment in regard to Zadkiel and his parenting skills.  His lips were dancing at their corners.  Ishitar couldn’t decide if that was because he wanted to smile or frown.  “Dear Gods.  But you do look like more and more like Lucias every time that I see you.”

            Ishitar swallowed.  Hard.  He knew well and good how Lord Noliminan felt about Lord Lucias.  The last thing in the world that he wanted was to remind his father of him.  “I prefer to think that I look more and more like Gabriel.”

            Lord Noliminan chuckled and lowered his gaze.  “Six and half a dozen.”  He sighed and then raised his gaze to meet Ishitar’s again.  “But you do have my eyes.”  He grinned.  “So I suppose that I must truly be your father.”

            Ishitar smiled and nodded.  It was an old and, somewhat tired, joke, generally followed up with an insult about Ishitar’s mother and her inability to keep her thighs together.  Ishitar had always found the joke offensive.  Today was no different.  “Yes, my Lord.”

            Lord Noliminan nodded, sighed and fell back in his chair.  “Things are rather quiet around here as of late.”

            Ishitar, who was never allowed to leave Zadkiel’s property without express permission from his father, could only smile.  Other than through Zadkiel and his brothers, Ishitar had never had any way of knowing the goings on of the Sixty Kingdoms.

            “And given that you’ve passed the lessons that the Quorum can teach you,” that strange almost there smile appeared at the corner of his lips again, “I’ve decided that it’s time that you leave my realm and bide your time in your mother’s.”

            “Have I displeased you?”  Ishitar asked, choosing not acknowledge the fact that his father had most definitely displeased him.  “Do you mean to exile me as well?” 

            Lord Noliminan chuckled and shook his head.  This wasn’t the reaction that Ishitar had been fishing for.  “What moon on which world gave you that idea?”    Ishitar smiled tightly at him.  “I only mean that you’ve learned all that you can in the Heavens.  It’s time that you fall under Lord Raziel’s care.”

            Ishitar continued to smile tightly at him.  “Very well, my Lord.”

            “You’ll be staying with Loki.”  Noliminan clearly understood Ishitar’s reaction because his tone and expression both softened.  “He’s Luci’s apprentice and will afford you the most opportunity to learn the lessons that your mother wanted you to learn.”

            ”If that is your will.” 

            “When you aren’t with him, you’ll be staying with Aiken.”

            “The fairy?”  Ishitar asked, surprised and, he would admit it to himself if to no one else, a bit eager.  Zadkiel had been generous in his praise and admiration for Lord Aiken. And for the demon who had served him that had eventually lead the second revolution.

            “Ta.”  Lord Noliminan smiled at him very strangely.  “The fairy.”  And then his smile faded.  “His demon is the perfect example of what happens when you allow children free will.”  He snapped.  “As I am sure that Aiken still spends time in his company—despite my decree that he must not—he is my best opportunity to show you exactly why your mother is wrong in her ridiculous fight for equality.”

            Ishitar, who wanted no part of any conversation in regard to the old argument—and who had never heard reference be made to his mother in his female form other than when Lord Noliminan made the suggestion that she was always whoring herself—said, “The Quorum seem fond of him.”  His father’s eyes darkened and narrowed.  “Lord Aiken, I should mean.  Not the demon.”

            The anger flashed out of his father’s face as he nodded.  “He’s the catalyst of many unnecessary problems.”  He muttered.  “But he means well enough at his heart.  You could do worse than learning Aiken’s brand of governance.”

            “Yes, my Lord.”

            He smiled softly.  “Or Loki’s brand of disobedience.” 

             “I look forward to meeting them both.”

            “Good.”  He nodded and stood.  “Find Raphael and have him make you some breakfast.  I must speak with Loki and Aiken about this at once.”  He wore a strange expression then.  “Rumors abound about your existence.  But I’ve never admitted to anyone that you are a factual being.  Only the Quorum knows for sure.”  He lowered his gaze slightly.  Ishitar didn’t miss the strange light that burned within them before he did so, however.  He wanted very much to know what thought had caused his father displeasure.  “Though I know that Raziel and Loki know about you.  But, thus far, they have been discreet.”

            “Yes, my Lord.” 

            After seeing to the welts on Zadkiel’s back—and knowing the great wrath of which his father was capable of—what else was he to say?

-12-

            Balean approached Lord Wisterian very wearily.  He had been very moody for the past couple of days; ever since that demon had attempted to enter Prince Iladrul’s apartment.

            And the Prince had been acting even more strangely still.  Balean’s own son, who was but a year younger than the lad, had told him that he refused to play at boyish games.  And worse yet, his son had told him, though this was done hesitantly so, the Prince no longer gossiped with him about his desire for others, be they freeman or freewoman or those born from those angels who had agreed to breed their children into servitude. 

            It was this last that troubled Balean the most.  Though Prince Iladrul was fifty years yet from selecting his first hand servant, Balean knew from watching all of the children that some five years back all of them had begun to gossip among themselves about the mysteries of sex and the manner of service within which those born in the doxy quarters were meant.  And Faunus, himself, had admitted that day to sneaking behind the doxy village and spying on the doxies whilst they bathed.

            “Are you going to hover in the shadows all evening, Balean?”  Wisterian sighed, not looking up from the paper he was writing.  “Or do you mean to palaver.”

            “Forgive me, my Lord.”  Balean bowed to him.  “I was lost in thought.”

            “You’re lost in thought overly much these days.”  Wisterian raised his emerald gaze and pushed his long, copper hair behind his ear.  “You’re not thinking of calling upon Lord Zadkiel I hope?  I need you yet.”

            Balean smiled at this and shook his head.  “No, my Lord.  Nothing like that.”

            “I’m glad to hear it, my old friend.”  Wisterian nodded to him.  “I would be lost without you.”

“I appreciate your honor, my Lord.”  Balean bowed to him. 

“Then honor me enough, in like kind, to speak your mind.”  His wide pink lips were curled into a soft smile.  “What troubles you Balean?”

Balean sighed, frowned, and bowed.  “I am concerned about Prince Iladrul.”

“Iladrul?”  Wisterian asked, his eyes widening slightly and his lips now twitching.  “Why?”

“My son,” Balean gave him a tired, proud smile, “Faunus. He tells me that Iladrul hasn’t spent time with him and the other boys since the demon attacked.”

“Is that true?”  Wisterian asked, now visibly concerned.

“He is Faunus’ best friend.” Balean counseled Wisterian.  “He would sense a change in Iladrul if any of the boys were to do so.”

Wisterian sighed and nodded.  “I will speak with him.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”  Balean bowed. 

“No, my friend.”  Wisterian smiled sadly at him.  “The thanks go entirely to you.”  Balean bowed again, meaning to take his leave.  “And how is Jeanir?”

Balean stopped in his tracks, heat flushing through his entire body.  “My Lord?”

Wisterian chuckled.  “I can smell him on you from here.  Do you need to use my bathing pools before you return to your wife?”

Balean lowered his gaze, but he was smiling now.  “If you would not find it an inconvenience it would certainly scrape me out of a jam.”

“I’ll be up for a while.”  Wisterian lowered his pen and smiled at him.  “But you didn’t answer my question.  How is he?”

“Angry.”  Balean shrugged.  “But he understands that he agreed to pull the stones.  Just like the rest of us.”

“What is he angry about?”  Wisterian asked, his expression gentle.  “Being put in the doxy village, or losing you?”

Balean smiled.  There were perks to being in the doxy village and Jeanir—judging by the sheer number of children that he had sired—was enjoying those just fine.  “Losing me.”

Wisterian nodded.  “I’ll move him to the room across my hall.”  He said.  “Maybe you can spend more time together then.”

Balean started at that.  “You would—you’d do that for me?”

“I’ll say that I need him to be my doxy.”  Wisterian shrugged.  “No one will think it odd.”  And then with a furrowed brow.  “And I truly could use a personal assistant if he wouldn’t find that beneath himself.”

“I think that he will be grateful that you gave him the privacy of his own rooms.”  Balean replied, grateful, himself, to Wisterian for his grace and understanding.

“I’ll have Helena see to it tomorrow.”  Wisterian smiled at him as he picked up his pen.  Then with a little chuckle.  “Though she won’t like the idea that I want to own a doxy.  Especially one of the male persuasion.”  Then serious.  “And I’m going to need you first thing in the morning.  I need you to take a message to Jamiason.  We need to meet.  I need to ask him if he’s striking war or if this was a onetime occurrence.”

“I think we both know better than that.”  Balean replied, frowning.  “Three of my human scouts were brought back in litters just yesterday.  We’re going to have to set them to pier lest the poison in them didn’t kill them and they come back as vampires.”

“If they haven’t already then they won’t.”  Wisterian shook his head.  “But best we start that practice now so it’s ingrained in Iladrul by the time he takes my crown.”

“Yes, my Lord.”  Balean nodded.  “Do you believe that Jamiason will be honest with you?”

“I believe that he shall be diplomatic with me.”  Wisterian replied to this.  “I know that he values me—and our friendship.   But he won’t turn against his people if they’ve raised war.  He’ll lead them if he has to.”

“Even against you?”  Balean asked, surprised by this.

Wisterian nodded.  “I doubt that he has a choice.  Otherwise, his people will be in chaos.  He has to remain their leader until Paul is ready to take his crown.”

Balean felt his brow furrow at that.  He couldn’t even begin to picture that human turned vampire as any kind of King.  He was a laughing, idiotic fool.  He was always cracking wise, even during the most inappropriate of times.  More than once Balean had lost his patience with Paul and nearly backhanded him, himself.  What he said was, “Yes, my Lord.”

“Good night, Balean.”  Wisterian nodded at him, dismissing him.

“Good night, my Lord.”  Balean bowed low to him.  “And thank you for the bath.”

“You’re welcome.”  Wisterian smiled at him.  “Mayhap one day you’ll remember the favor and grant me the same when I’ve found myself wandered from my wife’s bed.”

-13-

            Though Ishitar’s only desire was to return to Zadkiel’s cottage nestled high in the mountains on the furthest of all of the inhabited worlds, he instead found himself standing before the door that he had been told belonged to Lord Loki.  He raised his hand and knocked, his lips dancing into a frown as he looked around himself at the subdued angels bearing large black wings.  Not a one of them was making a sound as they passed him by.  And nor did any of them look at him.

            Ishitar found that passing strange.

            When the door opened, the angel behind it gave him a guarded, almost hesitant smile.  His eyes—which were as black as his wings—darted downward, as he pushed his foot behind him and gave Ishitar what could only be considered as a very clumsy bow.  Ishitar found himself smiling at that as the angel raised his gaze.  “My Lord.”

            “I’m told that I might find Lord Loki here.”  Ishitar replied, his eyes dancing over the angel’s face.  He was handsome, Ishitar decided.  Not strikingly so, but still pleasing to the eye.  “I’ve been told that I am to reside with him.”

            “He’s in the basement at the moment.”  The angel replied to this, pulling the door open to allow Ishitar entry.  Ishitar, who had no idea to what the angel was referring, made no reply.  “But I can show you your room.” 

            He held out his hand.  Ishitar looked at it for a moment and then smiled.  The angel must have been human when he had been mortal and he meant for Ishitar to shake his hand.  Ishitar complied.  “My name is Samyael.  But you can call me Sam.”

            “My name is Ishitar.”

            “I know.”  The angel blushed.  Ishitar felt his brow furrow at that response.  “May I offer you something to drink?”

            “I’d like a glass of wine.”  Ishitar replied. 

            “I shall bring it to you after I show you your room.”

            “That would be fine.”  Ishitar replied. 

            He followed Samyael through the sitting room, taking note of the extraordinarily masculine furniture, and to a room down the hall.  Samyael opened the door for him and waited in the hall as he stepped within.  He looked around himself and smiled.  It was comfortably decorated with a small sitting area, an overly large bed and plenty of drawers for Ishitar’s things. 

            “This is very nice.”

            Samyael smiled.  “Loki will be pleased that you like it.”

            Ishitar nodded as his gaze fell upon a painting on the wall.  It was an incredible portrait of a much more masculine version of Gabriel.  As Ishitar looked upon it, he knew at once that this was a portrait of his mother.  Still, he asked, “Lord Lucias?”

            “Aye.”  Samyael replied.  “Sappharon was unable to retrieve it before his exile.  I believe by the mark in the corner that he painted it.”

            Ishitar stepped toward it and looked at the strange symbol that Samyael was referring to.  He found his lips stretch into a smile as he returned his gaze to the angel.  “He’s a fair hand with the paint.”

            “He is.”  Samyael nodded.  “Many of his paintings litter these rooms.”

            Ishitar nodded at that and gave him a tired smile.

            Samyael, seeming to understand his mood, bowed.  “Forgive me, my Lord.”  He said.   “I’ll see to your wine.”

            Ishitar, grateful for a moment of privacy, smiled at him as he left the room.