Broken Wings
by Darth Stitch
Disclaimer: As mentioned in previous post.
PART II
CHAPTER 8
As always, the Grand Duchess Tatiana Nicolaievna Romanov was haunted by memory.
Countless centuries had already passed but she only had to close her eyes and once more she could imagine hearing Papa summoning them with his clear, musical whistle, the scent of Mama's perfume, hearing Marie giggling with Olga about the handsome young officer she'd met at the last ball, Anastasia and Alexei whispering together, planning some new mischief.
And then, there would come the sound of gunfire, her father's first cry of outrage, the screams of her mother and sisters, the blood, the sickening crunch of bone as the Bolsheviks crushed her brother's skull…
Tatiana had remembered every one of those men. She had sought them out, one by one, much, much later and on those nights, she'd abandoned all thoughts of humanity, of mercy, as she took her vengeance, extracting every ounce of flesh and blood that they owed to her…
Tatiana's eyes fell on the portrait of the Tsaritsa Catherine the Great which dominated the dining room. Catherine would not have allowed herself to dwell on the past and most certainly had not been ruled by sentiment. Tatiana raised her wineglass in a silent tribute to her illustrious forbear, who, instead of her weak-willed husband, had become the true ruler of Imperial Russia.
Catherine might well indeed give her blessing to the last of the Romanovs.
"Your many times great-grandmother would approve, you know," said the black-robed starets, who hovered beside her chair.
Tatiana lifted an eyebrow. "We are already in awe of your mental abilities, Father Grigory. I do not appreciate your intrusions into my mind."
"I have done no such thing!" He protested. "I know you only too well, that look on your face and the way you glanced at the great Tsaritsa's portrait. It is merely a gift for observation, nothing more." He then picked up his own wineglass and took a sip from it. He made a face. "Faugh! There is still no substitute for blood taken hot and fresh from the vein."
"We are no longer the savage, bloodthirsty Undead rising from our coffins," Tatiana returned mildly, taking a sip from her own goblet.
The starets snorted. "Of course – we are no longer creatures from the horror novels and movies, eh? We are the new humans now – not the Undead wretches who rise from their tombs, smelling of rot and grave earth, turning into mist, a bat, a wolf…"
"You will never change, will you?"
He shrugged. "I am a peasant and I always will be, little Princess. Your father, our Batiushka-Tsar, understood that and so loved me for it."
Her eyes were chilly. "Do not speak to me of my father, Grigory Efimovich Novykh."
The starets met her stare unflinchingly. "Your father's fall from power was not entirely of my own making. He once said that he did not rule Russia; ten thousand bureaucrats did. But still, he was Tsar and Autocrat of all the Russias – in the end, he should have ruled those ten thousand bureaucrats and bent them to his will. But Nicholas was always too kind –"
"Spare me the history lesson, Father Grigory. We were all there and I was there at the bitterest end," Tatiana said wearily.
The starets – truly, he should no longer affect the persona of the rough, bearded, strong-smelling peasant holy man as he was anything but that now – simply inclined his head in an almost mocking gesture of respect. "As you command, Your Highness."
The majordomo announced the arrival of their honored guests and Tatiana rose to meet them. Here, in the relative privacy of the dining room, with no others present except for her, the starets and trusted servants, Tatiana Romanov could finally extend the courtesies due to Seth Nightlord, the true Empress of the New Human Empire.
It had been centuries since Tatiana had taken command of the shattered remains of Russia and chosen to throw in her lot with this seemingly harmless and innocent-looking young girl, who was in fact, far more powerful than the Mars Returners, these new breed of vampires. Tatiana was not unaware of certain legends about their kind, which had existed even before she had made the change from mortal to vampire. Tatiana knew about the legends of the Sorceress Child and the Revenant Prince and wondered.
In any case, Armageddon had raged and Russia was dying and for the sake of her land and her people, Tatiana accepted the friendship of Seth Nightlord. The benefits of immortality had taught her the virtue of patience and she had all the time in the world to wait, until Russia had finally emerged from the darkness brought about by those terrible days, renewed once more.
So Tatiana extended her hands to little Seth and kissed her on both cheeks and mouthed her simple courtesies, bade her guests make themselves comfortable and to stand on no ceremony and as they ate and exchanged small talk, took the time to study them in turn.
Seth was, as always, completely opaque, seemingly naïve, a lively, playful little chatterbox. Easy to underestimate, easy to overlook – but Tatiana would not make that mistake. There were the others with them – the Duchess of Moldova, Seth's regal-looking decoy who was nonetheless ferociously loyal to her mistress, dour Baybars, that amazon Astharoshe, charming little Ion and that little orphan girl that they had apparently rescued – what was her name, was it Bella or Bell? Tatiana's intelligence people had also informed her about the tiny red-haired nun and the android priest with them – both Enforcers for the Vatican's infamous AX. Sister Esther Blanchett, known as the Lady-Saint of Istvan and a leader of the rebels against the Marquis of Hungary Gyula Kadar before his death and Father Tres Iquus, Gunslinger and one of the two deadly "Killing Dolls" still known to be in existence.
The starets was evidently charmed by the little redheaded nun and had been trying to engage her in conversation all throughout the dinner. Centuries had indeed smoothed away the rough edges of the lecherous peasant but Grigory Efimovich Novykh had well and truly earned his nickname of "Rasputin" and Tatiana was grimly amused to note that his attempts at beguiling the young nun were met with cool resistance. Young though she was, Sister Esther seemed to possess extraordinary strength of mind and will.
It was the new Prince – Artorius Elric Vradica that drew most of Tatiana's attention. Their brief, first formal meeting when the Imperial party had arrived had not told her much of anything to be of use. He was, of course, as handsome as any fairy tale prince, perfectly courteous and charming but that was to be expected. Whether or not he was an imposter, a willing pawn for Seth's political machinations and intriguing or was precisely who he claimed to be – he would not dare to be anything but the model of the perfect Imperial prince, heir to the New Human Empire.
It would be no hardship to marry this man for political gain if need be, the Grand Duchess mused. Certainly he was pretty enough and there was no need to worry about the necessity of breeding heirs for a new Romanov dynasty, immortal vampires that they both were (these ridiculous Martian-bred children and their fastidiousness about using words such as "vampire" or "Methuselah" to describe themselves).
It was simple really – was Prince Artorius another weakling like the Tsar Peter, murdered by his German princess because he could not be the ruler she was? Or would he be one who deserved to rule by her side not as simply Prince Consort but Tsar in his own right?
The dinner party had since broken up into select groups, each set gathering in one part of the room. Rasputin had chosen to play storyteller tonight and was regaling Seth, Sister Esther, young Ion and little Bell with some old folk tale about the legendary witch Baba Yaga while the Duchess of Moldova and the Duke of Khartoum looked on like indulgent parents. The Vatican Gunslinger and the Duchess of Kiev were off talking in yet another corner.
And Tatiana now stood out here in the balcony with the very handsome Imperial Prince, standing underneath the moonlight.
Her lips curved in an ironic smile. Marie would have her head if she did not take advantage of this romantic setting. And there she was now, sitting at Papa's knee, giggling, blue eyes twinkling with mischief and laughter, red hair bent against Alexei's fair one…
No, Marie did not have red hair.
And sweet little Alexei's blonde curls had already darkened to auburn at that age…
A handkerchief was pressed gently against her suddenly wet cheek and she gasped, finding herself staring up into the eyes of Prince Artorius.
"Forgive me, I must not be feeling quite well – " She began to babble some acceptable polite excuse, incensed at herself for this lapse of decorum and dignity.
"Happy are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted," the Prince murmured.
"You sound like Father Grigory – a priest always ready with some Biblical platitude," she returned tartly, on slightly surer footing now. "Did you spend all these centuries away from your sister locked up in a Catholic seminary somewhere?"
Those remarkable blue eyes widened just the tiniest bit and there was a faint and becoming blush on his cheeks. "I said something like that the first time that particular Beatitude was quoted to me as well," the Prince said wryly. "I did not appreciate it at the time, either."
"Did you have reason to mourn?" Tatiana suddenly found herself asking, not knowing why.
"Yes," the Prince answered softly. "I too have had reason to mourn."
Tatiana, who had presided over court intrigues and had perfected the art of dissembling for countless centuries, suddenly found herself quite utterly disarmed by the stark honesty of that single statement.
Those eyes now were dark with memory and sorrow and a thousand other emotions. Tatiana knew that look, she had lived with seeing it in her own eyes every single day for more than a thousand years.
"And were you ever given comfort, in the end?" she challenged him.
His expression softened. "Yes." And then once again, with that wry humor, "It took me a long time to recognize it for what it was, though. But then again, I do know that I am rather stubborn. Perhaps you will not be as foolish as I was, Tatiana Nicolaievna."
And then, he smiled at her, a genuine, open sort of smile and for the first time, in so very very long, Tatiana found herself smiling back, in the exact same way.
CHAPTER 9
Esther Blanchett was NOT jealous.
She was not going to think about that dinner just a few nights ago – Abel and the Grand Duchess, out on the balcony, under the moonlight, in the perfect romantic moment. She couldn't hear their conversation – Father Grigory, despite the fact that he made her vastly uncomfortable with his leering, almost flirtatious (she shuddered) comments at the dinner table, was a good storyteller. However, she did see the two of them smiling at each other and she could only imagine whatever it was that Abel said or did that would make the coldly dignified Russian Grand Duchess smile like that.
Abel definitely had a knack for doing that to people – he always seemed to know precisely what to say, even when he didn't.
Oh God, she was not making sense even in her own head.
Stop it, she sternly told herself. Here she was in Tsarskoe Selo, the enchanted fairyland that was the royal village of the Romanov Tsars, in the beautiful Catherine Palace and she should really stop wallowing in jealousy and self-pity, which were most unbecoming behavior for a Catholic nun. She knew perfectly well that Abel loved her and she trusted him completely. Their moments together right now were few and far between because of their hectic schedule and she found herself missing him, no matter how ridiculous it sounded, because he had to keep a carefully formal distance around her in public.
However, the poor man would often flee to her rooms whenever possible and hide from the unwanted attentions of the other ladies of Tatiana's court, all of whom made it perfectly clear that they were very interested in facilitating a more… intimate relationship with the Prince of the New Human Empire. Poor Abel couldn't even hide behind a priest's cassock and claim he took the now-optional vows of celibacy, not with all of the nobles of Imperial Russia watching his every move.
Esther, Seth, Astharoshe, Ion and even little Bell had managed to save Abel from more than one awkward situation in the past few days they'd been in Russia, from that first night in the Winter Palace to their being brought to the Catherine Palace at Tsarskoe Selo. Esther had to giggle at that last – little Bell had actually thrown Abelcrombie at Abel's head at one point, just as that harpy Countess from Romania had tried to throw herself at Abel in one of the many secluded gardens around the Palace. Esther and Bell had actually been taking in some fresh air and while Esther had frozen in shock and jealousy, the quick-thinking little girl had gone and thrown her stuffed toy turtle at the poor befuddled priest-in-disguise.
"Eh?!" Abel's eyes glazed over, although Bell hadn't thrown the toy that hard.
The Countess could only gape at the tiny girl who toddled over to them.
"Ooops. Sorry, Your Highnessness. I was tryin' to teach Abelcrombie how to fly," Bell said with perfect innocence.
Needless to say, Abel grabbed the opportunity to escape and pretended serious injury, while Esther recovered enough to run over, fuss over him and scold Bell and Bell went teary-eyed in contrition.
Seth just about died laughing when she heard about it.
Today, Tsarskoe Selo was more festive than usual as the Birthday Ball for the Empress was to be held that very night. Carriages and wagons bearing all sorts of things from the guests to the ballgowns and elegant suits, the decorations, the food and wines had been coming in and out of the royal village. Esther now knew that she truly was living in a fairy tale – the ladies would come in their finery and jewels and the gentlemen would be dashing and elegant and she…
Well, she thought ruefully, she'd be Cinderella, in her simple nun's formal uniform, mind her manners and remember that she, like Father Tres, were the only ones who would be representing the Vatican at that Ball. She would NOT be childish and vain and wistfully wish she could go to the Ball all "dressed-up" too.
She looked at her watch and realized that it was getting a bit late and she might as well use the few hours she had before she needed to get ready for the ball (not that it would take that long) to rest. She also needed to see to Bell, who at least could keep her company while Abel needed to play at being a prince. Bell was probably with Seth, as usual – the little girl and the little Empress were getting along quite well.
Esther reached her room, which were just as spacious as the one she had in the Winter Palace, opened the door and then stopped short at the sight before her.
Just for a few moments, it was as if she was looking at a stranger – Abel out of cassock, wearing the fine garments that would be expected from an Imperial prince. He had still chosen to dress all in black, except for his white, high-collared dress shirt. The edges of his black evening jacket, sleeves and the lace cuffs were finely laid with gold tracery. His long silvery hair hung loosely from his back, free of the usual ponytail and he looked uncharacteristically grave and quiet.
But then, she saw he was still wearing his glasses and then he saw her and smiled – that rare gentle smile that he seemed to reserve just for her, quite unlike his usual goofy grin – and he was her Abel again.
"I look ridiculous," he declared, looking adorably self-conscious.
"You do not," Esther answered, walking up to him. "You forgot to take off your glasses though. You're not supposed to remind people of goofy 'Father Abel Nightroad,' remember?"
He sighed and took them off, putting them in their case, which he tucked into a pocket.
"Besides, it's not as if you actually need those things – why on earth do you wear them anyway?" Esther blurted out and then caught herself. "Eep! I can't believe I said that!"
"Er…" Abel scratched the back of his head in a typical sheepish gesture. "My eyes gave out from all that studying I did in my seminary days?"
Well, she did say it out loud already – might as well see this thing through. "Right. Abel, I've seen you read things in the dark – you've probably got even better eyesight than Father Tres does!"
"Well. Um. How do I say this…" Abel was twiddling his thumbs, somehow managing to peek up at her from beneath his eyelashes, even though he was much taller than she was. "I don't know why… people-have-trouble-looking-directly-at-me-even-when-I-try-not-to-glare-because-I-used-to-do-that-all-the-time-not-very-nice-but-there-
you-have-it-so-I-wear-glasses-now-and-it's-fine."
Somehow, she managed to figure out the mumbled words. And it was in that moment when Esther made the mistake of looking directly at Abel, trying to understand what he meant.
Bad idea. The perils of having an impossibly gorgeous Significant Other – Esther suddenly felt dangerously close to swooning or doing something equally as silly when she gazed upon those icy blue eyes unshielded by those round-rimmed spectacles. Oh dear. No, it wasn't because Abel could glare and she knew that he could do that quite well.
"Esther, love, are you all right?"
And he just had to call her 'love' in that tone of voice, right?
"See, you're doing it too!" Abel groaned.
Mentally, Esther twhapped herself upside the head. ARGH! Abel's general silliness was contagious!
With an effort, she managed – somehow! – to hold on to her wits. "I'm fine. Oh, Lord, I pity the women in this court. None of them stood a chance at all."
"Eh?!"
Esther's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my, did I say that out loud?!"
Abel was still giving her that comical look of sheer disbelief. As if he wasn't being stalked by every last female harpy for the past few days! Did the man ever look at himself in the mirror – no, of course not, silly question and oh right, Abel thought that the harpies were after him because of the title he claimed. So Esther gave up in exasperation and then went on her tiptoes and lightly held the lapels on his coat so that she could reach up and kiss her silly love in that spot just beneath his mouth – he was so tall that she could not quite reach his cheek.
Abel laughed softly and obligingly bent down so he could kiss her back.
Oh my. It seemed that their kisses were now tending to become very heated and really, they were supposed to be chaste
(I don't care)
and she whimpered when Abel broke their kiss and pressed his forehead against hers, hands tenderly cupping her face. Both of them were just a tad breathless.
"This is becoming very difficult," he managed.
"Masterpiece of understatement, that," she retorted.
"Well, this is all your fault, really," he complained, drawing back just a little away from her.
Her eyes widened. "My fault?!"
"If you weren't so temptingly kissable…"
She squeaked in mock-outrage. And at that, he kissed her again, although it was a rather brief kiss and then, he murmured against her lips, "And you keep making all these delightful noises…"
Two could play at that game.
"Silly love," she purred, kissing him back and had the satisfaction of making him meep in turn.
"AHEM."
Both of them broke away at that point, blushing furiously and found Seth and little Bell watching them from the door.
The four year old looked up at Seth and said quite clearly, "Are they gonna get married?"
Seth snickered. "Looks like it." She paid no attention to the outraged noises Abel and Esther were making. "I would so love getting a bunch of nephews and nieces to spoil…"
"She's turning red! Like her hair!" Bell said gleefully.
"So's my brother. Aren't they both cute with all the lovey-doveying they're doing?"
"Lovey-doves! Lovey-doves!" Bell chanted.
Abel cleared his throat and Esther made a startled noise when he suddenly drew her protectively close against his side.
"Brat. If you could kindly stop being a bad influence on the child…" he growled.
"I SO am not!" Seth protested, green eyes dancing merrily. "I'm teaching her all sorts of neat stuff, including how to annoy and tease big brothers and future big sisters-in-law which is very useful, right, Bell?"
"Right!" chirped the little girl.
Abel's eyes narrowed and there was a wicked and mischievous gleam in them that Esther knew all too well now, in the days they had been spending in the Empire.
She put her hand on his chest and said solemnly, "If you tickle her, you'll muss your clothes."
"Aww!" Oh Lord, he suddenly sounded like he was all of ten years old and Esther was hard put not to laugh.
"However," Esther continued, shooting Seth her own evil look, "we can continue this discussion with our 'little' sisters later, after the ball…"
"Would big sister Esther forgive us if we drag her off so she can get prettied up for the ball?" Seth asked in a tiny voice.
"Prettied up?" And that, naturally, reminded Esther of her more formal nun's habit, yet again.
"Of course!" Seth answered. "You are SO not going to wear a dress uniform at my party, even if I'm going to attend it incognito. We're all going to dress and look all pretty – consider it an Imperial command, okay?"
Abel smiled at Esther encouragingly. "Go on. If I have to get all dressed up, so do you and I'm sure you're going to look beautiful."
Well, it was an Imperial command from both the Prince and the Empress of the New Human Empire and it would be rude to refuse…
CHAPTER 10
Astharoshe knew it was rude to stare but her jaw dropped open anyway when the ball was officially begun by the formal introduction of "Prince Artorius Elric Vradica" to the Imperial court by "Empress Augusta Vradica" herself. Ostensibly, the tall blonde Duchess of Moldova in her Empress guise did look like a sibling to Astharoshe's tovarishch who was actually rather swoon-worthy in his princely alter ego.
Of course, the Russian Grand Duchess had her own role in the initial ceremonies, being the hostess and looking as perfect a picture of Methuselah nobility as she could possibly be. Nothing in her carefully prepared short speech implied anything but her loyalty and friendship to the New Human Empire, Her Imperial Majesty Empress Augusta and now, of course, His Imperial Highness Prince Artorius. Naturally, the Grand Duchess and Abel opened the festivities with the first dance, looking very much the perfect royal couple.
Astharoshe definitely didn't miss the disappointed murmurs of the noblewomen who obviously had designs on the Prince and the marriage speculations between Tatiana and Abel. She stifled a satisfied smirk – things were definitely going the way they wanted it to. Although she highly doubted she'd see her tovarishch standing in church at the side of any bride other than a certain little redheaded nun…
"He looks that bad, eh?" Ion said wryly.
Astharoshe sighed. "It's a pity the idiot is well and truly taken with Sister Esther."
At that, Ion gave his own heartfelt sigh and Astharoshe patted the younger Methuselah comfortingly. "That sort of pain will fade in time and she does care for you as a friend."
"It only makes it worse," Ion said morosely.
"I know," Astharoshe said kindly. "But being her friend, you want her happiness, no?"
"Of course!" Ion said indignantly. "I would die for her, you know that. Pity is, Father Nightroad would too."
"He is a good man," Astharoshe mused. "But he bears many burdens. And many secrets. I believe that Esther is up to that sort of challenge though."
"Positive."
She found herself squeaking in a most undignified manner when she found Father Tres Iquus beside her. "Oi! Father Tin Man, you could give a person some warning!"
"I apologize, Lady Astharoshe," the android priest answered. "I am not made of tin, however. My components are – "
Astharoshe slung a companionable arm over Tres' shoulders. "Ah, I am only joking, Father. In fact, you are very well made, whatever your components are, hmmm?"
Ion sputtered. "Lady Astharoshe!"
If it were possible for androids to sweatdrop, Tres would have been doing so at this point. "I do not understand your statements."
Astharoshe shook her head theatrically. "Why is it that you Vatican priests are all so good-looking? Perhaps I'd better turn Catholic and attend Mass every day!"
"Your specs are also very appealing to those of the male gender, Lady Astharoshe."
Astharoshe blinked.
Ion facepalmed. "I am not hearing this…"
"Why, Father Tres," Astharoshe purred. "Is flirtation part of your programming?"
"I am programmed to respond appropriately in any sort of human social interaction." There shouldn't be an unholy gleam of mischief in those brown eyes but perhaps a certain silver-haired priest was to blame – Abel did have the most uncanny knack for influencing the people and androids around him.
From Ion: "I am so not hearing this…"
"I think you had better ask me to dance, Father Tres," Astharoshe said with a wicked smile.
"Positive."
Ion Fortuna, the Count of Memphis and a most respected member of the Imperial boyare, could not believe his eyes. He did not just see his fellow boyar dancing in the arms of a Vatican priest and an AX enforcer at that! Although he was sure that the real Empress, who was probably hiding somewhere in the crowd, was probably laughing herself silly at the joke. Who knew Her Imperial Majesty had such a sense of humor?
And then, he turned around and was rendered speechless for the second time that night.
It took him several moments before he recognized that the lovely red-haired young woman who was standing in front of him was in fact Sister Esther Blanchett. Well, she didn't look exactly like a nun at that moment in her white ball gown, which was edged with jewels artfully arranged in the shape of tiny flowers.
"You're beautiful," he managed, feeling more like the schoolboy that he resembled than the young man he actually was.
Esther's cheeks went pink. "Seth-chan insisted. I'm not truly supposed to be out of uniform, so to speak…"
"But you dare not refuse an Imperial command," Ion teased, feeling slightly more in control of himself now.
Esther giggled. "Well, I really don't want to go back into the Imperial dungeons!"
Ion snorted. "As if the good Father Nightroad wouldn't pull the palace down upon all our heads in that unlikely event!" Even before Ion had learned about Abel's hidden nature, he had already sensed that there was something more to the tall, gentle-seeming Vatican priest and for all Abel's occasional goofing about, he somehow managed to command Ion's respect almost from the very beginning, even when Ion had half-convinced himself of the treacherous nature of the Terrans and their Church.
Plus, the man had the good sense to fall in love with Esther Blanchett. Enough said.
And at that point, Abel and the Grand Duchess glided past. Ion had to hand it to the man – only the barest flicker of Abel's eyes in Esther's direction gave away the fact that he had noticed her there but otherwise he was a perfectly attentive dance partner for Tatiana Romanov.
As for Esther herself, she could not quite hide the brief expression of dismay and jealousy that crossed her features at the sight of her beloved with another woman in his arms, even if it was all playacting on Abel's part.
Ion placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Esther?"
"I know he's just playing a role," she said, her voice low. "I…I'm sorry, Ion, I know you must think me very foolish…"
"Actually," Ion said, giving her his most charming smile. "I was wondering if my lady would honor me with a dance."
Astharoshe was so very right, as usual. Esther was still his dear friend, even if she would never love him in return and she would always be the first Terran who taught him that not all Terrans from outside the Empire were fanatic barbarians. The look on her face was absolutely worth it.
And then, as he whisked her away to the dance floor, Esther exclaimed: "Is that Father Tres dancing with Lady Astharoshe?!"
"Houston, we have a problem," Seth muttered.
"Uh-huh," Bell agreed, as if she actually understood the old NASA in-joke.
The two little girls (well, one wasn't really a little girl but that wasn't important anyway) were watching all the events from a rather convenient vantage point high up on the unused second level of the Grand Ballroom. While Bell wasn't quite tall enough to peek over the railing like Seth could, she did have a good view in between the banisters.
The Duchess of Moldova, in her guise as the Empress, would occasionally glance briefly at them from where she was sitting on the raised dais, having already danced once with her "brother." No problems there, at least not yet. And Baybars was right there with her, with the Imperial Guard, obviously on high alert.
There was, however, the potential for drama on the dance floor. Esther had been claimed for a dance by Father Grigory a.k.a. Rasputin himself and there just wasn't any chance for her to turn him down. The so-called "holy man" had been busy all night, somehow able to beguile all his other dance partners. None of the young women he'd chosen to dance with had been able to resist his hypnotic, almost intense stare, preventing them from protesting the way he openly leered at them or how his hands would wander away from their proper place on their waists to just touching them beneath the curve of their breasts. Or maybe none of them wanted to ascribe such scandalous behavior to the "pious Father."
Disgusting. Seth wanted to gag.
Somehow, Esther was able to resist him and his wandering hands, seeming to float away from him just in time to avoid his less-than-innocent touches. Father Tres was the one who rescued her when it was time to change partners again but it was obvious that Rasputin was angling for yet another go. Ion, bless him, was trying to get back to Esther and provide her an excuse to get away from there. Abel was now partnered with Astharoshe but he had noticed what was going on and he was definitely not happy with it.
"Father Angel's gonna get mad," Bell whispered. "And it's not a good idea to get him mad."
"Got it in one," Seth answered, wondering if it was time to intervene and what precisely was she going to do if she did. Abel might have learned to control that temper of his in his years as a Catholic priest but something told Seth not to trust in that right now if it concerned anything that could possibly threaten Esther.
"Father Grigory tells nice stories but he's not really nice like Father Angel is," Bell mused. "Maybe we should let Father Angel eat him?"
Seth bit her lip to keep from laughing. Bless four year olds and their logic. "I don't think the Grand Duchess would like that."
"I don't think she likes him very much either," Bell pointed out.
"Trust me, it's still not a good idea," Seth told her. "Let's just concentrate on figuring out how we're going to have to save the day – yet again – without having to…um…eat anybody, all right?"
"It's okay, I'm going to fix it," Bell said decidedly. The four year old's elfin face took on a very determined, almost adult expression and she nimbly ran down the steps, with Abelcrombie the Crusnik turtle dangling from one chubby hand.
"Bell! Where are you going? Wait up!" Seth exclaimed, dashing after her. The child had already disappeared into the crowd and Seth wanted to stamp her little foot in frustration. Where was Bell? Not everyone here was aware that this particular Terran child was under Methuselah protection and Seth just didn't want to imagine the kind of trouble a little girl like that could get into…
And naturally, the first person Seth bumped into was young Ion. The young boyar was clearly both startled and embarrassed in her presence, only just barely preventing himself from giving her an obeisance that would've clearly given the game away.
"My Lady!"
"Never mind that," Seth told him impatiently. "Have you seen Bell?"
Ion shook his head. "I was actually about to rescue Esther from that disgusting monk but it looks like Father Nightroad got to her in time."
Sure enough, Abel had somehow made his way to Esther's side as the first strains of music for the next dance began. And then:
I know this will not remain forever
However it's beautiful,
Seth blinked. Was she hearing things?
Your eyes, hands and your warm smile
They're my treasure
It's hard to forget…
A quick glance at an equally stunned Ion confirmed that she wasn't the only one. The child's voice rang with sweet clarity, every note pure and true.
I wish there was a solution
Don't spend your time in confusion
I'll turn back now and spread…
The musicians in the orchestra played their instruments with slyly amused smiles as some of the guests tried to look for the mysterious singer. Seth could not see Bell among them but she could definitely hear the little girl.
My broken wings,
Still strong enough to cross the ocean with,
My broken wings,
How far should I go drifting in the wind?
Higher and higher in the light…
It was as if the song spun its own sort of magic spell on the ballroom floor, drawing out every courting couple to dance. Seth's eyes were on the sight of Abel and Esther dancing together. Abel had quite forgotten his role as of that moment, looking down on Esther with that unmistakably tender look on his face.
Seth could not even remember seeing her older brother look so utterly content, not in all the long centuries they'd lived.
And then, she chanced to look at young Ion and her eyes softened. Poor boy, it was still so hard for him.
Seth sighed melodramatically. "He's a terrible dancer – didn't learn a thing from you at all. I'm sooo disappointed."
That did it. Ion's eyes grew wide and he sputtered. "I did do my best! It's not my fault if he's a complete klutz!" And then he blushed as he realized exactly what he just said, about his Prince, to his Empress.
But Seth merely grinned sunnily up at him. "Let's show them how it's done, okay, Ion?"
There was still the faintest trace of red on Ion's pale cheeks but he held his head high as he led his Empress to the ballroom floor.
My broken wings,
Still strong enough to cross the ocean with
My broken wings,
How far should I go drifting in the wind?
Across the sky, just keep on flying…
And somewhere, Bell continued to sing her song.
-tbc-
Author's Notes
AAAAAARGH!!! Real Life is HELL!!! I apologize for the long wait and I'm still furiously finding the time to write the rest of this. I'm sorry – I really wanted to make this the last post and have the end all laid out so I just ask your forgiveness, yet again. Hopefully, it won't take me long to put up the next part. But we're 3/4th's of the way through and hopefully, the next update will be the last one.
I am comforted by the fact that I now have my paws on the English translations of the Trinity Blood manga – volumes 1-5. WHEEEEE!!!!! Oh, the additional canon knowledge! Oh, the angst during the Carthage arc, with stuff I never saw in the anime! And, Abel is adorable as always. I'm amused to find that my fanon Esther is actually pretty close to the manga Esther – manga Esther is pretty competent, if a bit headstrong and incredibly perceptive, learning her lesson after the fiasco with Dietrich.
Again, my thanks to Peredhiel and Sammie-Ma, who sent me wonderful pics of Abel-as-Prince. I take off my hat to you guys for your wonderful talent.
I threw in some Russian loan-words in there and hopefully, they're understandable in context. Yes, I had to brush up my historical knowledge and Russian history, especially the fading days of Imperial Russia, has always fascinated me. But, just in case, here's a quick vocabulary:
starets – holy man
Batiushka-Tsar – a reference to Nicholas II as both Father and King (or Emperor, if you will) of Russia
Boyar / boyare – noble / nobility
Tsaritsa - Queen or more correctly, Empress (thanks for pointing out the oversight, Hekateras) - I was actually using the English loanword that I've seen in several novels but then, I figured since I was taking the trouble to put in the more correct words for the others, might as well be consistent, right? Hee.
Tsarevich - more or less means Crown Prince
Kudos points go to reviewer callsign21 who correctly guessed that Seth enjoys reading Michael Moorcock's Elric of Melnibone and used that for Abel's "Imperial name!" Now that I think about it, Elric shares so much stuff in common with Abel, it's scary!
And thanks to all you wonderful reviewers out there! You guys keep me sane in the midst of the wasteland that is my worklife.