Chapter Eleven

ELEVEN

Parisi

M idsummer

"My Sovereign, there is a—what is the matter?" Mags stopped and stared at where I was on my knees before the privy. "Are you unwell? Was it clam soup? You didn't eat any of the mushrooms that Old Grig picked, did you? I swear that man is trying to poison the Court. I tell the apprentices time and time again to never eat anything Old Grig gives them, but do they listen? No, they do not. They must needs eat the mushroom soup, and mushroom pottage, and mushrooms with eggs, and mushrooms sat gently upon a bit of salmon, over which melted butter and herbs are poured, and then they spend the next day on their knees just as you are right now. Well. You'll feel better for a bit of a purge, I reckon."

I looked up, wiping my mouth on a cloth. "I need you to take a message for me, Mags."

"I'll get you some goat's milk. ... A message?" She spun around to give me a look of dismay. "No. No, no, no. Not again. I will not go there again."

"I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important that I speak to Desi."

"Pfft," she said, waving away my statement. "You just want to end your relationship with him. Again. For the fiftieth time."

"It hasn't been fifty times," I said wearily, pulling myself up onto the bed. "Forty at the most."

"It's been five hundred and some years that you insist you're done with him, and then a quarter year later, there you are traipsing off to see him with a song on your lips and flowers in your hair." Mags's lips closed so tight they were almost invisible. "You're just tormenting yourself with that one. He will never change."

"He has already changed," I said, eyeing the privy, unsure if my stomach was done ridding itself of the bread and porridge I'd eaten in the morn. "And that's made things harder for us both. He's struggling with the princes of Abaddon since they've added even more of them. The only way Desi retains control against their combined strength is via his relic."

"He's still evil, and stands against everything we work for," Mags insisted as she tsk ed when I lurched to the privy again.

"He's not," I mumbled after retching up nothing. "He's been working hard to shift the focus of Abaddon from all the heinous acts the princes perform to something less harmful. The princes are furious, because they can't stop him, but they keep trying. Oh lord. This is horrible. How am I going to survive this for the next six months?"

"Six ..." Mags gasped in a huge quantity of air. "You're with child? His child?"

I sank onto the floor, leaning against the bed, too tired and ill to do more than say, "Yes, we will be having a child. It is a blessing, I know, but right now ..." The words trailed off. I couldn't rally the energy needed to finish the thought.

"You don't know what you have done," Mags said, shaking her head even as she helped me back onto my bed before tucking me in. "I fear you are going to regret many things in the future, my Sovereign."

"I already have," I murmured, and willed myself to sleep.

* * *

Desi

Winter Solstice

E ditor's note: the text contained in the hidebound journal kept by Parisi of Madurai is partially damaged, and some words are illegible due to water splotches. The editor has done her best in making coherent sentences in those cases.

My beloved Parisi is dying. She asked me to make note of the events of this day in her journal, and I will do so only because I have sworn to do whatever she asks of me.

In the middle of the night, Parisi's woman fetched Desi from Abaddon, telling him, "My beloved Sovereign has asked for you. I told her that to have one as you around her would only suck the good miasma away from her body, but she insists."

"She has started birthing?" he asked as he flung her up on a fresh horse, and mounted his own.

"Yes. Several hours ago." Mags's voice wobbled as they set off at a speed Desi knew they couldn't keep for long. Fortunately, Parisi had caused a little-known portal to the Court to be made within an hour's ride of the Bali entrance to Abaddon. "All is not going well. She sent me to fetch you in case ..."

Desi refused to finish her sentence, either mentally or out loud. It seemed to take both forever and no time before he followed Mags into the entrance, and was immediately hustled into a darkened room pierced by pools of flickering light.

"My love," he said, clutching at Parisi's hand where she lay propped up on a number of pillows. Her face was pale and damp, tendrils of her hair clinging to her sweaty face. "My life, my heart, my sun and moon."

"Always so dramatic," she answered, her voice rough as if she'd been screaming. She turned to look at him, a small smile curling the edges of her mouth. "But I am glad you are here to see our child born."

"Is there no water to wipe her face?" he asked when she sank back into her pillows, obviously exhausted. The thin shift she wore was glued to her body, the mound of her belly making him feel simultaneously happy and terrified. What if something happened to her or the babe? "Where is the midwife? Can nothing be done for Parisi's distress? Are there no medicines?"

Mags had been in the corner, speaking with an aged woman who looked to be as old as the rocks that made up the walls of Parisi's keep. All others had been sent from the room, no doubt to keep them from becoming aware of his presence. The old woman shuffled forward, gesturing toward him. He frowned, unsure of what she wanted before Parisi said, "That is Aurora, our wisewoman. She wishes you to kneel before her."

Instantly, Desi felt irritated that some old woman thought he would so debase himself before her—he was Desislav the Destroyer, prince of Abaddon, and lord of seven hundred legions. He did not kneel before anyone.

The old lady stopped before him. He knelt, forcing himself to be passive when she took his chin in her hand and studied him with eyes that were clouded white. For a moment, he felt something akin to panic as she saw through to his soul ... and the tally of sins he had committed in his long life.

"You have much darkness in you, but it is countered by the light that shines from your soul," the old woman said, releasing his chin to shuffle over to Parisi.

"Him?" Mags asked, sounding as surprised as he was. "Light? He has light in his soul? Are you sure it is not merely a reflection from our beloved Sovereign?"

Parisi moaned then, and clutched the bedclothes beneath her.

"Get behind her and help her push," the old lady told him. He complied, whispering into Parisi's ears just how much he loved her, and how she was his everything. That started what he mentally called the period of screaming, when Parisi was trying to push from her body their child.

It was afternoon before the babe was born. He barely glanced when the midwife Aurora showed him a blotchy face almost obliterated by the soft linen wrap that wound around him.

"My love? We have a son," he told Parisi. She lay back on the pillows, her body drenched and heaving as she panted, tears mingling with sweat on her face.

She smiled despite her obvious exhaustion, a smile unlike any he had ever seen, filling him with piercing joy as she said, "A son. We have a son. Show him to me."

Aurora, who had been attending to the cord, laid the babe gently in her arms. Parisi made noises that Desi had never heard, odd little coos that seemed to bind him to her and the babe in a way he could never imagine.

He spent the next day there, hidden in her chamber so the Court would not know their most hated foe was present.

She has not stopped bleeding since the birth. It has been a day, and still, she bleeds, and with each passing hour, she grows more pale and weaker. I despair. I begged the midwife to do whatever she needed to stop the bleeding.

After a day, Mags took me aside and said Parisi was dying.

Desi railed and begged and promised the healers and midwife untold riches if they would stop the bleeding, but they could do little.

"She has to go into the Beyond," Mags told Desi in a whisper on the second night after the birth. "She is failing, Lord Desi. You can see that as well as I can."

"She'll get better," he said, ignoring the desperation in his voice. "She can't die, not of this. She's the Sovereign."

"Even immortal beings can die if they have no blood left in their bodies," Mags said, her own eyes swimming.

He felt her grief, but could do no more than acknowledge it with a squeeze to her shoulder before turning to look at Parisi.

Mags was right. She was dying. She had to go into the Beyond. But that would leave him with the babe—

"Effrijim? Where is Effrijim?" Parisi struggled to sit up, her eyes glazed as she looked wildly around the room.

"He is with a wet nurse," Desi told her, taking a damp cloth to wipe her face before gently easing an arm behind her. "My love ... the bleeding ..." His throat closed around the words.

"I know," she answered, her voice scarcely more than a whisper. "Mags said I should diminish into the Beyond, and I will do so, but not before seeing our son again."

He gestured toward the woman, who nodded and hurried out of the chamber. He continued to hold Parisi, mindless of the tears that rolled down his cheeks as he buried his face in her hair, his soul screaming out in anguish.

"You will visit me?" she asked, turning slightly in his arms so she could face him. "Where I settle in the Beyond? You will bring Effrijim so that I may see him grow?"

"Yes," he lied, not wanting her to hear how the L'au-dela, the newly formed organization that ran the Beyond—amongst other things—recently wove protections into the Beyond against those who bore dark power, like him. He knew that once she diminished, he'd never see her again. "Yes, we will see you often. As often as you like."

"Good," she said, sagging back, her eyes closing. "So long as we aren't separated."

Tears splashed onto his hand as it held hers, his throat being choked with sorrow.

Mags brought in the babe, and Parisi held him for a long time, talking to the babe and telling him how much she loved him, and that he would be fine with Desi.

It almost killed him, but Desi pushed the sorrow and grief and pain down deep so he could give Parisi a serene countenance when she reached for him.

Four litter bearers had arrived to carry her to the entrance of the Beyond. He knew with every morsel of his being that the only way he could provide happiness for her was a sacrifice, and he committed to it without a second's hesitation.

As the men lifted the litter, he leaned over Parisi to adjust a blanket, knowing full well that when she diminished into the Beyond, she would be bound by grief and sorrow. He placed one hand on her cheek as he brushed his lips against hers. In his other hand, he held the blood moon, and drawing on its power, he whispered into her mouth, "You are the love of my life, and I cannot let you suffer heartbreak, not for a moment, and not for the rest of your life. Fare you well, my beloved. Forget this world, and thrive and find joy in your new life."

Her eyes opened at his words, but as the spell took hold of her, her gaze softened, and became confused.

She was borne off to join a formal procession with all the denizens of the Court leading her to her new domain. Desi stood in the now-empty room, feeling as if he were made of glass and the slightest breeze would shatter him into a million pieces.

"She will not suffer," Mags told him from the doorway.

"No, she will not," he answered, his voice choked. "Nor will our son. I will see to that."

Mags shot him a glance and seemed to understand. "You wish for him to be raised here in the Court?"

"Yes." He tried not to think of the sleeping child in the next room. He loved that small, blotchy bundle almost as much as he loved Parisi, but knew what had to be done. "If you will do so, I would be grateful."

"My Sovereign would want it that way, if the babe could not be with you." Mags continued to watch him, evidently seeing through to the darkness that he began pulling on to keep the pain at bay long enough for him to do what he must.

He said nothing more, leaving the Court to return back to his own home.

Night was falling when he faced the other princes.

"You have long sought to get hold of the blood moon," he said, striding into the hall to the head of a long table, around which sat Hath, Wat, Bael, Amaymon, and Ariton, the last two of whom were the newest additions to Abaddon. He pulled off the chain upon which the stone was hung, and slammed it onto the table, making sure he met the gaze of each man there before continuing. "I am willing to trade it and control of Abaddon."

"Trade? For what?" Hath asked, scowling.

"I will leave. Relinquish my legions. Accept banishment from Abaddon. And in exchange, you will commit an oath upon the blood moon that no harm will befall my child, named Effrijim."

Pandemonium followed as all the princes spoke at once, demanding explanations, arguing amongst themselves, and peppering Desi with a dozen questions.

He held up his hand and was about to repeat his offer when Bael rose from the table and strolled over to the massive fireplace against the north wall. "Your terms are acceptable to us, with one exception."

"No harm must befall my child, no matter what the circumstances, for the duration of his life and afterlife. Without that oath, the blood moon remains with me," Desi said in a tone that bristled with warning.

"A child," Bael said, waving away the idea of Desi's sweet—if blotchy—child. "A child is of no matter to us. But you ... you are a matter."

"I said that I would accept banishment from Abaddon," he pointed out, pushing hard on the emotions that once again threatened to overwhelm him. He'd spent several hours with his son earlier, trying to commit to his memory everything about him before it was time to make the sacrifice. Mags had been unusually kind to him, helping him feed the babe with goat's milk before he had to leave. He took what solace he could when Mags swore to him that Effrijim would be cherished and loved by the entire Court. "That must suffice. Without the blood moon, I have no power here."

"Not here, but elsewhere. No, I believe that Abaddon cannot continue to thrive if its founder—relicless as you would be—can simply return to take over anytime he desires."

"I couldn't even if I wanted," Desi replied, anger driving out some of the pain.

"Thus," Bael continued, examining a few silver pieces upon the mantel, "speaking as I do for the other princes, I will accept your terms with the exception that, instead of being banished from Abaddon, you be banished to the Akasha. The Thirteenth Hour, to be exact. It is ruled over by the Court of Divine Blood, a fitting captor, do you not think?"

Desi ignored the sly dig, well aware that at least two of the princes knew about his dalliance with Parisi. Idly, he wondered when Bael had taken up the mantle of leader. He'd been so caught up with Parisi and the babe ever since she told him he was to become a father that he hadn't been paying attention to the politics of the other princes. "It matters little where I go."

In the end, though, he mused as he strolled over to where Bael was examining a gold goblet, he would suffer untold misery for the rest of his life being separated from the two people who held his heart, so he didn't care if he was miserable out in the mortal world or locked away in the Akasha.

He plucked the goblet from Bael's hands and replaced it on the mantel.

"So be it," he said, and gestured to his steward, who promptly pulled out two large pieces of vellum upon which had been written the contract. Alongside them, a small but sharp dagger was set before the steward bowed his way out of the room.

"The blood moon?" Bael said, holding out his hand.

"Sign first; then I will relinquish it." Desi met Bael's gaze, and recognized the power that crackled around him. Somehow, the former dragon had managed to gain a significant amount of dark power. The thought flitted through Desi's head that if Bael kept the relic for himself, he might well become impossible to overthrow. "Not my problem now," he murmured as he watched the five princes sign both contracts in their own blood, binding them to its terms with an unbreakable blood oath.

Desi picked up the chain holding the blood moon and, after tracing his thumb over it one last time, set it on one of the contracts, nicked his finger, and signed.

Then, with a look at all five princes, he collected one of the vellum copies and left Abaddon, immediately falling into a deep, dark abyss.