Trinity Blood Fan Fiction ❯ Broken Wings ❯ Broken Wings ( Chapter 1 )

Broken Wings

By Darth Stitch

 

DISCLAIMER: Trinity Blood was created by Yoshida Sunao (R.I.P.) and is now an anime directed by Tomohiro Hirata and produced by the studio GONZO. I'm just a poor schmuck who wanted to see more romance amongst the all the high adventure, action and intrigue. Yes, the title IS taken from the anime's ending song. How to inspire Stitch - stick DVD in player, watch end credits, squee silently and start writing.

The idea of making Tatiana Romanov and Rasputin (both known historical personages) as vampires isn't new - I have been inspired by the novel I, Vampire by Michael Romkey. Keep in mind that I am not using the precise situation/universe portrayed in that novel and I'm running on my own ideas here. And hey, with Sunao-sensei's penchant for historical nods in the Trinity Blood universe, I just HAD to make my own homage to it.

AUTHOR'S WARNINGS: Trinity Blood is set in a post-apocalyptic world where the Roman Catholic Church/the Vatican is portrayed as a military power as well as a spiritual one. The series also strongly implies major and controversial changes in the Church, such as women being bishops and cardinals as well as romantic relationships and quite possibly marriage between members of the clergy. If this disturbs you, do not read any further.

DEDICATION: Again, this is dedicated with much affection to my officemates, especially to faithful readers like Star, who was actually one of those who started spreading the word around about the stories in the office (hehehe), Ces, who keeps inspiring me to write Teh Romantic Fluffeh, to Jian, who drew me wonderful fan art of Abel and Esther and to Aaron who's also joining in the artwork craze (yay!). This is also for those who've just recently joined in the fun like Mommy Cristy, Ethel, Tintin, Christian, Neren, Precy, Vinch and Peppermint Patty, who helped me out some when I was tweaking some scenes. And of course, to Mommy Jeai who gave fashion advice for Esther (whee!) because trust me, she's gonna need all the advice she can get when I post up the next part!

This is also for the friends I've made out there in the fandom like Peredhiel and Sammie-Ma who have also created gorgeous fan art for me (squee!), Arallion, Weaver, mentalmentos, Advi and all you wonderful reviewers, especially those who told me they're putting the stories on their faves list (OMG!). Please bear with me if I don't always reply to all your reviews but they are all definitely appreciated and inspire me to keep on writing!

 

 

 

 

STORYTELLER

Listen. This is the tale as I know it.

That's how I always begin the story - not just with “once upon a time” or “a long time ago.” Sit by my side and I will tell you the tales that I know. And I know many of these.

I will tell you of the brave Prince who came to the Tower of the Revenant Lord and brought him down.

I will tell you of the beautiful Princess who so charmed the Great Wolves of the Forest that they swore to serve her and her Prince forever more.

And how did the stories end? Why, they ended as they always have, with true love and evil overcome and happily ever after. And so their tales are done.

And what of the Child? Who was the Child who traveled with the Prince and Princess, who stayed by the Princess' side to comfort her when she believed her Prince was lost forever more?

Oh, but she lives and wanders the world still, though her beloved friends are gone. She lives forever, the eternal child, the sorceress, the very last of her kind. She lives so that she can tell their tale, that they did not die in a sterile laboratory, stripped away of their humanity, their dignity, their flesh and blood stolen from them by those who call themselves men of science.

The Prince and the Princess were saved and they lived happily ever after.

I am the Storyteller. Listen - for this is the tale as I know it.

CHAPTER 1

Astharoshe Asran, the Duchess of Kiev and a strong Methuselah in her prime, had seen many strange and wonderful things in the course of her long years. What she was looking at right now had to be one of the strangest things she'd ever seen in her entire life…and perhaps, one of the most beautiful.

Despite her outwardly tough exterior, she was not immune to romantic sentiment and it wasn't as if she'd never seen a courting couple before. Except that things just had to be different when it came to a certain bumbling silly bespectacled priest - who also happened to be her very dear friend

It was close to morning and while she was actually used to keeping very odd hours, she had woken up early, just like a Terran, for once. It was a good thing that the private train car Ion had rented had windows tinted against the sunlight. She had been passing by the smaller compartments and was startled to see that Sister Esther had apparently spent the night in one of them. The little redhead was comfortably ensconced on Abel Nightroad's lap, held quite securely in his arms. Her head was pillowed on his shoulder and she was fast asleep. Abel himself was sleeping as well, his cheek resting lightly against Esther's hair.

Now that in itself wasn't the odd thing and in fact, it was rather cute. The really strange part was that Abel had somehow shifted partially into his Crusnik form, dark wings folded protectively around Esther. Strange how peaceful he looked now, even with his rather aristocratic features sharpened and the barest hint of tiny white fangs peeking out from his closed mouth. Astharoshe had not known that her clumsy, well-meaning tovarishch concealed such a power and having seen him in battle for the first time, she had finally understood why he chose to hide that.

Night Lord. Astharoshe had learned that this was the true name of their Empress and her kin and looking at Abel now, she realized how truly the name fit them. He might deny it and choose to go about the world in the simple black cassock of a priest but Astharoshe knew that he was indeed a Prince among their kind.

She'd meant to leave the couple alone, really. Astharoshe was aware that Esther had been unable to sleep well since they had returned from Castle Alyardi and she well understood the horror of seeing the man one loved die before one's eyes. Astharoshe herself would bear the scars of her own memories forever, was reminded of it each time she looked in the mirror and saw the single lock of her hair that was still stark red against the white strands. Esther was only fortunate that Abel had not actually died but the horror of those two days would not be fading away from Esther's mind anytime soon.

Astharoshe was about to slip away when Abel's eyes opened. Instead of the frightening blood-red, the Crusnik's eyes were a glacial blue and they pinned Astharoshe with a lethal glare before they shifted back to normal and widened with recognition.

“Miss Astha!”

“Shhh, my lord Prince - we wouldn't want to wake your precious now, would we?” Astharoshe said, surprised that she'd somehow managed to find her wits. Abel truly did not know how terrifying and protective he looked in that moment.

Abel flushed, his features now softening, looking more recognizable as the gentle Terran priest she'd first met. “I wish you would stop calling me that - I'm not your Prince. I'm still really just a simple priest.”

No, you're not, Astharoshe wanted to say but instead, she replied pertly, “But of course you are. How many Catholic priests have I seen who sport such lovely black wings?”

Abel twitched and of course, those wings comically twitched with him as well. “Oh. Good Lord. That's never happened before… just a moment.” He closed his eyes briefly and the wings vanished immediately.

Esther chose that moment to mumble a sleepy protest as a source of warmth disappeared. Astharoshe choked in her laughter as the little nun's eyes flew open, saw the Methuselah noblewoman and turned into a lovely bright scarlet that rivaled the color of her hair.

“Lady Astha!” She tried to stand up, if only for propriety's sake but she found herself held back by Abel, who had wrapped a rather possessive arm over her waist. She opened her mouth to protest that, took a rather good look at her beloved's face and forbore to say anything more.

And yes, there was nothing mild-mannered in Abel's expression as of that moment.

“Oh, don't mind me, the two of you - I actually came to get some breakfast. You're both welcome to join me,” said Astharoshe, managing to stop her laughter but quite unable to prevent her broad smile. It was just too amusing, honestly. She stepped back out into the narrow walkway, not wanting to intrude on them anymore but she hadn't gone farther than a few steps when her rather fine hearing allowed her to inadvertently eavesdrop on the couple's conversation.

“You could let me up, you know,” Esther was apparently telling Abel.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I did, thank you, now I'd like to get up now, please?”

“No,” Abel answered pleasantly.

Astharoshe could well imagine the look on Esther's face. “What if Ion and Father Tres walked in next?”

Once again, Astharoshe's very sharp ears allowed her to decipher Abel's mumbled, “I don't care” and she almost lost it at that point.

“Silly love.” A soft sound followed that was most likely a kiss and then somebody sighed and Astharoshe began walking again, hearing Esther's light step. But then, she was startled by a loud crash and turned around to see Abel sprawled inelegantly across the walkway, right at Esther's feet.

“Abel!” Esther exclaimed.

“Eheheheh,” Abel said, with a sheepish grin from his position on the floor. “I suppose my legs have fallen asleep.”

Talk about redefining the phrase “head over heels!” Astharoshe couldn't help it anymore and burst out laughing.

CHAPTER 2

This was getting to be ridiculous.

What made matters worse was that Abel was perfectly aware that he was no longer acting like a complete featherbrain, he was now well on his way to really becoming one. It wasn't as if he'd fallen in love so many times but he was a priest and he'd seen the phenomenon in other people and he was quite sure they weren't acting as crazy as he was.

First was that very fierce protectiveness he felt over Esther and Abel was suddenly quite sure that he'd probably managed to scare poor Astharoshe half to death when she walked in on them that morning. That was saying something, considering that Astharoshe Asran, the Tigress of Odessa, was one of the most formidable women he'd ever known.

He wasn't sure how he managed to shift into his Crusnik form while asleep but apparently he did because it wasn't as if he woke up everyday to find himself sporting fangs and black wings. Thank God he didn't manage to frighten Esther at least. When he'd been startled awake then, Abel had reacted on pure, gut-level instinct - he just knew he had someone very precious that he was looking after and the unknown presence who had wandered too close to them was classified immediately as a threat which the Crusnik would deal with accordingly.

And then, there was that irrational possessiveness as well, which had Abel wanting to snarl at any male who looked at Esther with a little too much interest. Thank God he'd managed to squelch those impulses very firmly. Well, most of the time. It was stupid and he knew it and he really didn't have any good reason for that kind of atrocious behavior. Abel was still a priest and he was used to self-examination and this wasn't just the typical insecurity one felt around one's love. He knew perfectly well he didn't deserve Esther, found himself trying to figure out what on earth did she even see in him and yet, despite all those self-doubts, he could still catch his breath at the sheer wonder at the notion that yes, indeed, she loved him very much. He already knew that he would never truly be able to deny her anything, even to let her go, if she ever chose…

No, that thought was unworthy of him. He knew Esther and she would probably hit his knuckles with a ruler if she ever found out what was going on in his head sometimes. Caterina was right; his little love did know her own mind very well and was more than likely to drag him back into that shack in the middle of nowhere by the hair if only to shake him into his senses.

It was simply enough to be aware that seeing her happy was the most important thing for him.

So this wasn't quite normal jealousy but Abel was almost afraid to find out exactly where these feelings were coming from…

“Abel? If you'd be so good as to join us for the meeting?” Caterina's voice, rich with irony and exasperation, forcibly brought him back to the present, which was in their private train car's main compartment. The amusement was quite clear on her face, even as a holographic projected image.

“Sorry, Miss Caterina,” he apologized, tagging on the `Miss' as he'd always done in company, a playful, gentle acknowledgement of the fact that his dear friend was his current boss as well.

Beside him, Esther rolled her eyes, “Honestly, Father Nightroad!”

Abel firmly stomped down on the impulse to tug her into his lap so he could nuzzle her. This really wasn't the time to be entertaining such improper thoughts!

They were all gathered to debrief about the incident in Drakovia to both Caterina and Seth, in a conference call on a secure communications line. As expected, his sister Seth was especially fascinated about this new information about their past, the fact that the apparently not-so-legendary Prince of Drakovia and the “Sorceress Child” were among those who provided the genetic material to create at least the three Nightlord siblings - Cain, Abel and Seth.

“Do you have any idea where we can start looking for Isabel?” Seth asked.

Abel shook his head. “All the werewolves could tell me was that Gavril had Isabel hidden away when Samael had broken from the pack. According to them, she has not yet awakened. There were at least four werewolves sent to guard her. No one could give us even an idea of what direction they set out in. Our best clue as of the moment is that portrait of her I found in the Castle - I've asked Tres to upload that image to Sister Kate so the rest of AX and Seth's own people can keep an eye out.”

“The image has already been uploaded, Father Nightroad,” Tres stated.

“Thank you, Father Tres.”

“I'm sorry, Your Imperial Highness… but I must ask, do you believe that this Isabel could be dangerous, possibly even mad, as Samael was?” Caterina said delicately.

“Gavril did say Isabel wanted justice, not vengeance,” Ion offered. “I get the impression that she may be angry not crazy.”

“Can't say that I blame her,” Astharoshe sniffed. “It's a wonder that we didn't actually end up facing her instead of Samael.”

The Prince's memories of Isabel often showed a young girl about Seth's age, with a personality much like hers - merry, mischievous, warm-hearted and just a bit fey. There was the singing, of course - Abel could not forget the voice he heard back in Castle Alyardi, who sang with all the heartbreak and sorrow in the world.

“She was a Singer of Songs, a Teller of Tales,” Abel murmured, not quite sure if he was expressing his thoughts or the Prince's. “She spun spells with her voice and yes, she can be dangerous… but she is not as lost as Samael is. But she mourns the ones she lost - the Prince and the Princess. They were not just her friends but her family.”

He blinked as he found everyone staring at him. “Eh?!”

“While my brother comes back to planet Earth,” Seth said, changing the subject. “Cardinal Caterina, might he be excused from his duties for awhile? Take a little vacation so he can visit his dear little sister?”

“Define `awhile,' ” Caterina answered, blue eyes beginning to twinkle with merriment.

“Just long enough so that my `children' get used to having an `uncle' around, as well as a `mother,' ” Seth said cheerfully. “I do have an idea that won't let him be compromised between the Empire and the Vatican.”

“Uncle?!” Ion choked.

Astharoshe was holding her head in her hands. “With all due respect, Your Imperial Majesty, that mental image is just a bit…weird.”

“You're not the only one having problems with that,” Abel said, his eyes narrowing at his sister. “Brat - you and I are going to have a very long talk about this.”

“Why, brother dearest,” Seth said, batting her big green eyes innocently. “I'm going to look forward to that. How'd you like your new name? Isn't it neat?”

“Artorius Elric Vradica?! What on God's green earth were you thinking?!”

“It is a neat name,” Esther mused.

“Esther!” Abel protested. “I thought you were on my side!”

“Ahem,” Caterina said, clearing her throat theatrically. “Yes, Father Nightroad, you are allowed to go on a `vacation leave' to visit your family and I shall also approve the same for Sister Esther and Father Tres. I trust that you will all enjoy yourselves.”

“Yes, Lady Caterina, we'll keep Father Nightroad out of trouble,” Esther answered cheerfully.

“Positive,” Tres intoned.

“Hey!” Abel yelped.

“Then it's settled,” Seth said happily. “I'll be seeing you all in the capital. Later!”

Caterina also made her farewells and signed off.

Abel groaned. “Why do I get the feeling that I'm doomed?”

Astharoshe patted him consolingly on the back. “Tovarishch, I thought you already figured that one out long ago.”

CHAPTER 3

The arrival of visitors to the New Human Empire wasn't unusual, although the presence of two priests and a nun from the Vatican most certainly was. The priests and nuns of the Roman Catholic Church were not always welcome in the Empire. But then, the Empress' subjects - both Methuselah and Terran - were aware that their Empress was now willing to extend diplomatic relations with Rome. For the most part, the common people were rather glad this meant the aversion of yet another destructive, possibly apocalyptic war between Terrans and Methuselahs. The presence of those who could vividly remember that time, even though it had been about 900 years since then, rather helped to keep the memories alive.

The sight of a young girl - one of the tea sellers in the marketplace - animatedly talking to a rather tall, blonde priest wasn't all that unusual either. What was unusual was their conversation and perhaps if the Empress' subjects could hear what they were talking about, they might have been enlightened on the latest mystery that had spread like wildfire throughout the Empire. And that was the identity of the Empress' previously unknown and unmentioned older brother.

“I picked the name Artorius out from the King Arthur in the stories and I got the name Elric from this really cool fantasy series. He had white hair just like you and the same black sword, which is way cooler than that scary scythe you insist on carrying around.”

Abel sighed and pushed his spectacles up over the bridge of his nose. “Would you believe the sword is a family heirloom?”

“Is it vampiric?” Seth rolled her eyes at Astharoshe and Ion who both winced at hearing that word. “Don't be silly, you two. Well, big brother?”

“No, the black sword is not vampiric - what are you reading, brat?!”

“My reading is perfectly educational!” Seth gave him an arch look. “Be thankful I didn't decide to name you Aragorn…”

Abel facepalmed. “Oh dear God in Heaven…”

“Are they always like this?” Ion stage-whispered to Esther.

“She's your Empress - how would I know?” Esther retorted.

“Hey, he's your boyfriend - you should know as much as I do!”

Seth stopped short. “Boyfriend?!”

Tres was the one who confirmed that, the traitor. “Positive.”

“BOYFRIEND?!”

“You know,” Astharoshe mused. “The words `boyfriend' and `Abel Nightroad' don't quite belong in the same sentence.”

“Okay, so should Father Nightroad be referred to as the love of Esther's life? The light of her existence? Her Significant Other?” Ion was apparently enjoying himself.

Seth was looking from Abel to Esther and back again, completely flabbergasted. “Boyfriend?!”

“It's not my fault,” Esther told her…er… `significant other.' “I didn't steal your ribbon this time!”

Abel was feeling mischievous now and so he just smiled at her and answered, putting a special emphasis on the endearment: “I know, love.”

Seth flailed. “Love?!”

Astharoshe shook her head. “You're a wicked man, tovarishch, teasing your poor little sister like that. And you a priest!”

“I'm still her older brother - I'm allowed to! It's in the rules!” Abel said defensively.

“I detect no such rules for sibling relationships, Father Nightroad,” Tres stated.

“I'll explain that to you later, Father Tres.”

Esther was startled when she found Seth suddenly standing in front of her, looking up at her carefully. “Um. Seth-chan?”

And then Seth suddenly beamed and threw her arms around Esther in a warm hug. She whispered something in Esther's ear that made her blush and then proceeded to walk ahead of the group, not quite dragging Esther along by the hand.

“Hey!” Abel protested, striding after them.

“Go away, big brother - this is serious girl talk. Shoo!” Seth said airily.

Abel sweatdropped.

 

STORYTELLER

Listen. Here is another story.

The last Tsar of all the Russias was a good man, a kind, gentle soul who loved his Tsaritsa, their four little Grand Duchesses and their little Tsarevich. They lived in a fairyland full of enchantment and wonder and there was much joy and love in their lives.

But their happiness was bought at the suffering of the common people of Russia and it was said that their tiny fairytale kingdom slumbered peacefully on the edge of a great abyss.

But the Tsar's son and only heir was gravely ill and all the physicians had fruitlessly labored to bring the boy back his health. In desperation, the young Tsarevich's parents turned to a holy man, who miraculously brought healing to the boy.

But the holy man was not all he seemed and his very name meant degenerate and dissolute.

But the Tsar failed to govern his vast empire as he should and wicked and unscrupulous men had his ear and all of Russia cried out for justice.

And so Imperial Russia was shattered and remade anew and those men who came to power imprisoned the Tsar and his family.

And then, one day, they were brought to a little room and they were executed - riddled with bullets and bayonet wounds - the Tsar, the Tsarina, the four Grand Duchesses and the little Tsarevich.

All of them died on that day, except one.

 

CHAPTER 4

Her name was Tatiana Nicolaievna Romanov, the Grand Duchess of Russia.

She was, in fact, the very picture of a royal princess - tall, elegant, with rich dark hair and deep gray eyes set in fine, aristocratic features. The portrait that Seth showed them was very old, showing her dressed in a long, elegant white gown with a diamond tiara on her head. In fact, the name and the title that this particular Methuselan noblewoman claimed rightfully belonged to a woman who had died in the early 20th century, the second daughter of the last Russian Tsar.

The Tsar and his family were killed by the Bolsheviks when the Russian empire fell and was taken over by the communist regime but even during those times, the legend persisted that one of the Tsar's family lived and that person was popularly believed to have been Anastasia, the youngest daughter.

Apparently, this was not the case at all.

The Grand Duchess Tatiana Romanov was one of the oldest and most powerful Methuselahs in Seth's empire. Indeed, she was not even supposed to be a Methuselah in the way Ion, Astharoshe and most of other Seth's nobles were. She was, in fact, a vampire in the classic sense - who had never been one of the Mars Returners infected by the alien Martian bacillus and had somehow made the transition from ordinary human to vampire all those centuries ago.

There were indeed Methuselahs who made that claim - most people thought them mad or deluded. But for the Grand Duchess Tatiana Romanov, no one quite dared to openly make that statement about her.

In any case, she had, for the most part, been content to rebuild and rule Russia after the Armaggedon. Her vows to Seth as Empress were simply of loyalty and friendship, rather than that of fealty and service. But she was not kindly inclined towards the Roman Catholic Church, especially in its emergence as a major military power and the stand of its more conservative leaders against vampires/Methuselahs. Indeed, she had become the leading figure for those who were not happy with Seth's decision to open diplomatic relations and make peace with Rome.

They were having this discussion in one of Seth's council chambers, rather in the grand throne room and aside from the recently arrived party from Drakovia, the only others present were Ion's grandmother - Mirka Fortuna, the Duchess of Moldova and Head of the Imperial Secret Council and Baybars, the Duke of Khartoum and chief of the Imperial Palace Guard. The Duchess of Moldova looked very much like her grandson - a blonde beauty whose regal demeanor had fooled most of the Empire into believing that she was the Empress. She had greeted the group from Rome quite warmly and had sketched a graceful curtsy for Abel's sake, blue eyes sparkling with mischief at his flustered reaction. The Duke of Khartoum had held himself a bit aloof, however, dark eyes skeptically skimming over Abel in his guise as a harmless priest.

“Do you honestly suspect the Grand Duchess of planning treason?” Astharoshe said bluntly. She truly had no patience with diplomatic folderol and intrigue and the recent assassination plot against Seth, led by a man she had highly respected, had left its own bad memories.

“I am not sure, Astharoshe,” Seth sighed, folding her hands on the table. “Tatiana is older and more powerful than most of you think. But I've believed her to be a trusted ally for all these centuries - I really hope she hasn't turned against us. She's also one of the few people who actually know what I really look like.”

“You are our Empress - we trust that you make all of your decisions in our best interests,” said Ion loyally.

Seth smiled at him and there was a touch of sadness in her usually cheerful, little-girl face. “Thank you, Ion. It would be ever so much easier to just sell tea to people in the market, hmm?”

“Just as it would be easy to be a simple priest in a small parish, little sister,” Abel told her gently and startled Seth by reaching out and tousling her short black hair, which somewhat scandalized Baybars and Ion and made Astharoshe and Mirka laugh.

Seth giggled at the unusual show of open affection and the understanding smile on her older brother's face. Abel had always been like this with her, even when everyone else had only seen the sullen, angry, quick-tempered teenager who was so unlike his charming and charismatic twin.

Cain had never been “big brother” for her - it had always been Abel.

“Well, that's why I need your help,” Seth answered him. “We're going to have to get all dressed up and go to a party.”

“Eh?!”

“Our Empress' birthday is coming up soon and the Grand Duchess has invited her to make that celebration in St. Petersburg, Russia. In fact, it's going to be a grand ball held in the Catherine Palace in the royal village of Tsarskoe Selo,” Mirka Fortuna explained. “It's also supposed to be our Prince's formal introduction to the court. We're still going to hold a presentation here in the capital first but you will be introduced and meet everyone during that ball.”

“Oh my,” Esther gasped.

“So, you're going to have to get all dressed-up and look handsome and play Prince Charming for us!” Seth said gaily, clapping her hands.

Abel sputtered. “Prince Charming?!”

“This may yet well be the most difficult mission you have ever faced, Father Nightroad,” Tres stated. An android wasn't supposed to have a dry sense of humor - apparently, Tres Iquus was the exception. Or maybe it was just because he'd been around Abel for far too long.

“That ball is also going to be a good opportunity to set up a major coup, yet another assassination plot or both,” growled Baybars.

“So you are going to help out your little sister, aren't you, big brother Abel? Please please pretty please?” Seth was looking at Abel with big, imploring green eyes.

Abel glared at her over the rims of his glasses. “That look hasn't worked for you since you were four, brat.”

“But you love me anyway and you are going to help me out, right?”

“Well, of course I am so if you could tell your poor older brother exactly what you're planning he would greatly appreciate it,” Abel said dryly. “I am still a Roman Catholic priest and I assume you're not going to be announcing that to your court anytime soon?”

Baybars, the Duke of Khartoum chuckled, finally showing signs of a sense of humor in all this. “Now THAT would set the cat amongst the pigeons!”

Ion snorted. “The mind boggles - I can just see the look on some of their faces, especially the outright conservatives…”

Seth stood up and walked over to Abel. “The plan is simple, really.” She patted Abel's shoulder. “Most people know my dear brother here as sweet, silly Father Abel Nightroad, yes?”

“The Lady Caterina would add the word `featherbrain' to that description,” Father Tres said blandly.

“Hey!” Abel yelped.

Esther giggled. “Father Tres! You really shouldn't tease poor Father Abel like that.”

“I was not teasing, I was merely stating the truth.”

“Tres, I'm going to drag you in for a systems check with the Professor as soon as we get back to Rome,” Abel threatened him.

The android merely inclined his head. “Acceptable.”

Seth rolled her eyes. “Are you two done with the comedy act here? I was about to explain The Plan…”

“I assume this plan involves me in some sort of disguise?” Abel asked.

Seth gave him a mischievous grin that sent chills running down his spine. “You know what they say - the best disguise is often the simplest one, especially when you've got a lot of acting ability…”

This time, she was the one who stole Abel's hair ribbon.

 

CHAPTER 5

The nobles of the New Human Empire were rather pleasantly surprised when His Imperial Highness, Prince Artorius Elric Vradica was formally presented to all of them in the grand auditorium by the Empress herself in an elaborate ceremony fitting to his station. Few could comment on any familial resemblance as the Empress normally went about veiled but from what they could see, he was tall and blonde, like their Empress was, only that his hair tended to silvery platinum rather than golden.

He did speak for a few moments, his voice soft and yet commanding and his words were carefully chosen, concise and gratifyingly to the point. The story was put about that he had been lost during the last great war - the Armageddon, in fact and had gone into a centuries-long healing sleep because of the wounds and damage that he suffered. This alone spoke of his great age and the power he wielded, as the Methuselahs were well aware that their Empress was older and far more powerful than the rest of them were. She was eternal and it seemed so was their new Prince.

The ladies of the court took note of those fine, aristocratic features, the icy blue eyes, the innate grace of his movements and were all in agreement on how very dashing he was. Beautiful, even and the mystery surrounding him made them all the more interested. The game of marrying for political and economic gain was an old one and every single aristocratic woman readied their lures for the Empire's most eligible bachelor.

As they walked back to the Throne Room, Mirka Fortuna, Duchess of Moldova, in her disguise as Empress, could not help but wonder about her Lady's brother. Acting ability was a skill she had honed to perfection as the Head of the Imperial Secret Council and occasional decoy for Seth. She could not help but respect that talent in a man who was in a similar position as she was.

There was little trace of the gentle, scatterbrained Terran priest in the man who walked beside her now. Out of that cassock, dressed in the fine robes expected from an Imperial prince, standing straight and tall instead of his usual slouch, with his hair loose and without those ridiculous round-rimmed glasses hiding his eyes, Abel Nightroad - or perhaps it would be more fitting to call him Abel Nightlord at this moment - cut a far more regal figure, radiating power and quiet confidence.

He was indeed very much like his sister.

“Why is it that you do not choose to rule by her side?” Mirka found herself asking.

Abel gave her a faint, ironic smile. “The Founder teaches us that whoever wishes to lead is the one who must be the servant of all.”

“And so you serve in an institution that is not exactly known for its love of Methuselahs?” Mirka challenged.

Abel laughed briefly but there were undercurrents of irony in that sound. “No one ever said the Church was perfect. It's a human institution - human and fallible as we all are.”

“We?”

Again, that little wry smile curved his lips. “Terrans, Methuselahs… even Crusniks, we're all just human. It wasn't an easy lesson for me to learn - I was a very stubborn student. But then, I had a good teacher.” The icy blue eyes clouded over just for a few moments and Mirka could tell that Abel was briefly lost in some memory.

But then, he spoke again: “People fear what's different from them, what they don't understand. The Church has never been immune to that. But not everyone there thinks that way, just as not all Methuselahs are bloodthirsty monsters, hmm?”

He looked directly at her then and Mirka Fortuna, who was a Methuselah with many centuries of power and experience behind her, found it hard to meet those remarkable eyes - haunted, ancient and filled with sorrow.

So very much like and unlike his sister.

Mirka dropped her gaze. “I am glad that you have returned to us then, my lord Prince.”

The denial was automatic. “I am a simple priest, Mirka Fortuna. I am not your Prince.”

Mirka found herself smiling. “Do not deny who you are, Abel Nightlord. Priest or no, you are indeed our Prince and I am proud to serve you.”

And with that, she gracefully sank into her best throne room curtsy, giving him the honor and respect she felt he richly deserved.

 

Despite her cares and the weight of running an Empire on her slender shoulders, Seth Nightlord - Empress Augusta Vradica, was definitely enjoying herself.

She had missed Abel terribly during all those long centuries they had been separated but he had been inconsolable, almost mad with grief when Cain had murdered Lilith. Perhaps they were all a little mad at that point, especially in light of what they had done to Cain.

For her part, she felt not the slightest twinge of regret for Cain's fate - the bastard deserved worse than being dropped from space to burn in the Earth's atmosphere. He had betrayed them all when he had turned on one of their own.

Seth had never liked Cain.

She had taken to Abel from the very beginning, even when everyone else had gone in fear of him and his hair-trigger temper. He was too tall for his age, too fast, too agile, too strong even for the other boys in the Martian colony. They named him monster and freak just as they'd done for the other “experimental test subjects” because Lilith Sahl and the three Nightlord siblings, Cain, Abel & Seth, all had no parents. They were born and bred in a sterile laboratory for beauty, intelligence, strength, stamina and longevity, in short, to be the ultimate humans.

It was Abel who had dried her tears when Seth herself was bullied by other children, patiently answered her questions, tousled her hair, hugged her, carried her on his shoulders and sung her lullabies in that gloriously beautiful voice of his that so few people ever heard. In those days, Abel, who seemed to wear a perpetual scowl on his face, would only ever smile and laugh when he was with Seth or Lilith. Sometimes, Seth found herself wishing that the rest could see this side of her brother, who everyone else branded as a troublemaker, unlike Perfect Precious Cain.

She could never figure out why it was that everyone else, except for Lilith perhaps, had never seen the falseness in Cain's smile or the emptiness in his eyes.

According to Mirka Fortuna, Abel had been perfect during that elaborate presentation ceremony. The court was now even more abuzz about their new Prince. Pity that Abel wasn't the least bit interested in ruling the Empire; if he only knew how well he could charm and beguile and finally lead that entire jaded and ambitious lot...

Right now, Abel was only too happy to shed “regal” trappings and return to his simple priest's cassock. Seth had been watching when Abel had entered her private gardens with Esther, putting on his glasses and trying to get his hair ribbon back from the little redheaded nun. Esther had laughed and danced nimbly away from his reach, teasing him.

Seth smiled as she remembered what she had whispered to Esther.

I liked you already before. But now, you've made my brother very happy, so I like you even more now. Thank you, Esther.

It was true - there were no traces of that old sadness in Abel's eyes as he playfully chased Esther around the gardens. Seth would forever be indebted to the little nun for that alone. Abel had lived with his regret and self-loathing for far too long…

It was then that Seth saw Ion step into the gardens, only to stop short when he saw the couple. The young Methuselah could not quite hide the sadness and wistfulness in his eyes.

Oh dear. Seth had forgotten about Ion's feelings for Esther. He looked so forlorn and unlike his usual bratty, arrogant self that Seth had to firmly squelch the impulse to bounce over and mess with that lovely blonde hair or hug him or tease him or something equally as silly.

To their credit, Abel and Esther had both stopped as soon as they saw Ion. Esther had simply handed Abel's ribbon back and ran over to greet her friend. While Abel busied himself by tying his hair back up in its usual ponytail, Seth decided it was time to join in the fun and sidled up to her brother.

“You do realize that you'll have to dance at this ball, right?” Seth told Abel sweetly.

Blue eyes blinked owlishly at her from behind spectacles that he didn't really need. “Dance?”

Oh it was ever so much fun to fluster him like this. Seth knew perfectly well that Abel had never learned how to dance - not that there was much call for that sort of thing with the life they had led way back when - but despite his show of clumsiness, she knew perfectly well her brother could manage.

So she gave him her best darling little girl look. “Yes, big brother - dance. You know, moving your body in a pleasing manner to the rhythm of music? That kind of thing?”

Abel flailed. “Eh?! I can't dance! I don't even know how!”

Time to go in for the kill. “That's why Ion is going to teach you.”

“ME?!” Ion sputtered. Oh, that appalled look on his face was just absolutely precious.

“Consider it an Imperial command, Ion, dear,” Seth said airily.

Ion sweatdropped. “Can I just pick being thrown into the dungeons for disobedience instead? He's a hopeless klutz!”

“I resemble that remark!” Abel said in mock-outrage.

“As if!” Seth snorted. “You just like playing the clumsy goof too much.”

“It's fun!” Abel said defensively. “You like playing the sweet little girl too much as well!”

“It runs in the family?”

“Absolutely.” And then, Abel swooped down, picked her up and tickled her as he hadn't done since they were children. And he knew all her weak spots all too well.

“EEP!”

“I should be making some sort of protest about protecting the dignity of my Empress, right?” Ion wryly observed to Esther.

“You should but it's really not a good idea to get involved in a family squabble,” Esther pointed out.

“Right.”

“Traitor!” Seth squealed. Abel put her down with a smirk and she stuck out her tongue at him.

Revenge would come later, Seth swore.

“Well, I don't know how to dance either,” Esther now put in, dark blue eyes wide and sweetly appealing. “Will you teach me too, Ion?”

Ion fell like a ton of bricks.

Seth had to take her hat off to Esther's near-diabolical cleverness. That sweet little innocent redheaded nun could probably look into an alternate career in politics…

Abel was muttering, “And ye shall be as wise as a serpent, yet prudent as a dove.” He promptly yelped when Esther tugged at his long ponytail.

“Silly love,” she purred, ominous sparks in those deep blue eyes. “Behave yourself.”

“Yes, dear.”

 

STORYTELLER

Listen. This is another story.

Four Great Wolves left the land of Dragons' Lair and in their care was a sleeping child. They were told to take her to a place somewhere that was safe and far away. Their alpha had a vision - a true dream and told them to find a dark angel and a bright star and that they should give the child into the keeping of these two. Then, the Great Wolves would know their quest was done.

But the way was long and perilous and danger dogged their heels. These Wolves were great warriors but even they would fall to those who were of evil intent, if they were strong and powerful enough.

One by one, the Wolves fell, defending the Child, whose tranquil sleep, brought about by great grief and sorrow, was disturbed by dreams of darkness and danger.

She awoke, only to find herself surrounded by death once more and her sorrow and rage knew no bounds.

She awoke and found there was at least one life that she could yet save, one that she would not fail.

It was a brief awakening but in the end, that one Wolf remained.

To find the dark angel, to find the bright star, to give the Child into their keeping.

And then, his quest would be done.

 

CHAPTER 6

“On the occasion of her birthday, Her Imperial Majesty Augusta Vradica will be making a royal progress by train from her capital of Byzantium to St. Petersburg, Russia, where she will be the honored guest of her dear friend and ally the Grand Duchess Tatiana Nicolaievna Romanov.

With the Empress shall go her beloved brother, His Imperial Highness Prince Artorius Elric Vradica, where he shall also be introduced to the royal court at the Duchess' Grand Ball.”

At least, that was how the newsfeeds had so pompously put it as it was proclaimed all over the Empire. Video clips of Abel at the initial presentation ceremony were being shown as well and it was probably a testament to Abel's acting ability that nobody recognized the tall blonde priest who was seen boarding the Imperial train with yet another priest and a redheaded nun. Everyone of course thought that the Vatican had sent their own representatives to the event, a sure sign of the good relations continuing between Byzantium and Rome.

There were perfectly good reasons for Seth to have chosen to travel to St. Petersburg by airship but the incorrigible younger Crusnik had never been afraid of adventure. Plus, it was a way for her to keep her tiny fingers on the living pulse of her vast Empire and how her people felt about the recent events. It was as easy to do that by train, with its frequent stopovers for supplies and such, as it was to run around the marketplaces of Byzantium disguised as a little tea seller.

It was most unconventional, but it was a good way to get things done and Esther couldn't help but applaud the little Empress' style.

The Imperial train had made a stopover in Esther's old home city of Istvan, one of the many it would take during this journey. The train would be there for the next three hours so she had taken the opportunity to buy some necessities and then, perhaps indulging an either morbid impulse or nostalgia, she found herself retracing her steps to what was her childhood home.

Not that Esther actually expected to find anything there; the Marquis' men had done too good a job at destroying the place. But it was here that her old life had ended and her new one began and who knew it would lead to her falling in love with a Certain Silly Featherbrain?

Poor Abel was certainly having a difficult time with this whole prince-in-disguise business although it was giving her revealing glimpses into facets of his personality that he normally kept hidden away or never had an opportunity to show. Abel's occasional fits of brooding, she now learned, was no accident. He did tend to be moody and it was made even worse by the fact that whenever he appeared as the Prince, he had to be this aloof, even forbidding figure at times. It was strange how simply seeing him in this other guise, more than the rare times she'd seen him shift into Crusnik form, that Esther was reminded that Abel Nightroad was not an ordinary man. As the Prince, Esther could now clearly see his kinship to the other Methuselahs, that he was both like and unlike them, in his grace (God forbid that the Prince act like a clumsy fool and trip over his own feet), his unusual height - more evident now that he wasn't slouched in his normal fashion, his unnatural speed and the quickness of his reflexes, his near-inhuman strength and the sharpness of his physical senses.

Esther sometimes found herself wondering guiltily exactly what it was did Abel see in her? It wasn't as if she had some hidden power, was some sort of an intellectual or scientific genius, inhumanly strong or was heartbreakingly beautiful or regal like the Grand Duchess Tatiana, or was anything special other than just being Sister Esther Blanchett of the Roman Catholic Church, a junior member of the AX's Enforcers.

And then, the possibility of Abel pretending to consider a dynastic marriage with the Grand Duchess had been raised while they were on their journey, if only as a tactical measure. For once, Abel had not been flustered but had been all business about the matter as he and Seth and the others discussed it, even as his hand had quietly crept under the table to find hers and squeeze it briefly in reassurance.

Esther knew that Abel believed himself unworthy of her but she knew that the opposite was true - what could she offer him, really, in return?

You made my brother so happy… Seth's voice whispered in her mind.

Esther had been so lost in thought that she had not at first consciously registered those panicked screams. Then, her combat-trained instincts had kicked in and Esther hiked up her skirts and took off towards the sound, readying her gun as she did so. The shrill quality of those screams told her that this was most likely a very young child and what on earth could such a one be doing in a now-forsaken place such as this burned-down church?

And then, it was finally proved to Esther the fact that Father Abel Nightroad was right - God did have a very wicked sense of humor.

Consider the predicament that she now found herself in - in the ruins of the church that was once her home, surrounded by rogue Methuselahs, trying to protect one tiny child and her dying or dead father.

Esther found the little girl kneeling in the area where the altar had used to be. The bloodied and broken body of a man was sprawled in front of her and the child's hands were fisted in his shirt. The child was already crying in short, harsh gasps now, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably - a pitiful sight indeed.

Not that it moved the hearts of the half-dozen or so Methuselahs surrounding the two of them. The rogues were clad in leather and spikes, hair ratted up or standing up in stiff points in impossible colors, teeth filed to razor sharpness and claws extended, obviously reveling in the whole “punk vampire” image.

Fabulous.

Esther knew she was outnumbered and she spoke softly into her own communicator to get help - hopefully Abel or Tres could get to her as backup and soon. In the meantime, what she had to do was hold the fort somehow until the proverbial cavalry got there.

Esther took aim with her gun and spoke clearly: “In the name of His Holiness, the Pope, you are all under arrest on the charges of murder and attempted murder. Surrender now.”

Naturally, they took one look at her tiny, fragile, ordinary Terran self and laughed. Never mind, she was used to that. In any case, the first one to charge her fell with a gaping hold in his chest.

So did the next one.

And the third.

The fourth got it first in the head and then the chest.

These fellows were just a tad slow on the uptake, weren't they?

And then, more of them appeared and a fellow with a single red spike of hair snarled and opened his mouth to speak incomprehensible gibberish.

Bright, red-violet lightning streaked across the ground, racing towards her. Esther dove out of the way, praying to God and all his angels and saints that she could still hold on just long enough…

There was the rustling of black wings.

A blaze of blue lightning.

Red Spike dissolved in a pile of ash.

Abel had such impeccably perfect timing.

Her Crusnik was most unhappy with the rogue Methuselahs and came down on them like the wrath of God. Esther didn't have time to just gawk there - she ran for the child - the father was clearly beyond help now and she sent a quick mental prayer heavenwards for his soul. All she could do was to scoop up the tiny trembling body in her arms and get to safety.

“Don't look,” she whispered to the little girl, pressing the small dark head into the crook of her neck, not wanting her to see the carnage. It was bad enough that the poor thing would probably have nightmares about this for a long time to come without having to add seeing Abel in his Crusnik form shredding vampires into pieces into the mix.

But the child had miraculously stopped crying and had not hidden away. Instead, she was watching the scene before her with wide, wondering light blue eyes. She was so tiny; she couldn't have been more than four years old or perhaps even younger.

“Don't look, sweetheart,” Esther crooned. “It's all right, you're safe now.”

The child turned her gaze to Esther. “Mikhail gone.”

“Mikhail” was probably the dead man. “Yes, I'm sorry. He's gone up to Heaven now. Was he your father?”

The child did not answer. Instead, she considered Esther carefully and then, gently patted her cheek and said, “Star.”

How strange. That was, in fact, the meaning of her name. Esther - Hebrew for “star” and for the brave Jewish queen in the Old Testament. And of course, there was that odd star-shaped birthmark on her body, the one that made the Reverend Mother call Esther special…

With a last flash from that enormous blood-red scythe, Abel had finished off the rogues. It seemed that Esther had only blinked for the briefest moment and Abel had shifted back to normal now, running up to them. How he managed to find his glasses and have the time to tie his hair back up was a mystery even to Esther.

“Are you two all right?”

The child's eyes welled up with tears again. “Mikhail gone.”

Abel's eyes were gentle, even as he briefly stroked her hair. “I'm sorry, little one.”

Esther shook her head meaningfully at him as he knelt to see to the man. Abel's lips moved in a silent recitation for the prayers for the dead and his hands sketched a graceful sign of the cross as a final blessing.

“I've asked Sister Kate to call in the police,” Abel told her afterwards. The child had cried again and they had stepped back out into the street, not wanting to upset the little girl any more. She'd finally tucked her head into the crook of Esther's neck and Abel was rubbing the child's back soothingly. “We had better get you two seen to.”

“I'm fine,” Esther told him. “She doesn't seem to be hurt but we'll have her checked out anyway. How did you get here so quickly?”

Abel looked bemused. “I was actually on my way to find you; the train is leaving soon. But something was already leading me to the church when you called. Divine Providence, I suppose - thank you, O Lord.”

“Amen to that,” Esther answered fervently. She turned her gaze on her young charge, who had finally calmed down and was peeking up at Abel.

And then, she pointed at him and said questioningly, “Angel?”

Predictably, Abel stopped short and his eyes went comically round. “Eh?!”

Esther repressed a giggle. Instead, she smiled and said, “He's Father Abel Nightroad; I'm Sister Esther Blanchett. What's your name?”

“Bell,” the child answered. She raised her head and looked in Abel's direction again and giggled. “Father Angel!”

Abel sweatdropped and Esther finally had to laugh softly at the look on his face. “It looks like she's made up her mind about you.”

“It's just a miracle she's not frightened of me at all - she did see everything, didn't she?”

“Funny Father Angel,” Bell crowed.

“He is, isn't he?” Esther told the child.

“Oh, haha, very amusing, love,” Abel said wryly, even as he raised his hand to gently stroke Esther's cheek. “I pity those poor sods who tried to get between you and this little one - they didn't stand a chance.”

The praise was genuine and the pride in his voice for her was unmistakable and had no hint of condescension in it. Esther found herself blushing.

“You still have the best sense of timing ever,” she parried. “My hero - no, our hero. Right, Bell?”

The little girl nodded emphatically. “Father Angel. Ours.”

The look on Abel's face was priceless.

Well, that settled that.

 

CHAPTER 7

The cloak-and-dagger business they were currently engaged in was no place for a child.

In the end, they didn't have any other choice.

They had no idea why those rogue Methuselahs, known to be a pack of hired thugs, would be after the little girl and the man identified only as “Mikhail.” There were no records found anywhere on the man as well as the child. That in itself was not much of a surprise as the Armageddon had destroyed many archival records and there were just as many people, if not more, who wandered all over Europe without proper paperwork, not belonging to any one country. The rogue Methuselahs were also known for thievery and extortion so perhaps Mikhail and Bell had simply been unfortunate enough to cross their paths.

In any case, Esther had been the one to put her foot down when the authorities tried to take the child with them to an orphanage. The little girl had formed an unusually strong and immediate attachment to Esther and Abel, perhaps because they had been the ones to rescue her and she was truly too young to understand what was going on. She'd cried and screamed when the well-meaning officials - strangers in the child's eyes - had tried to take her away. Esther had been the one to soothe the child and the officials were immediately sent away by Astharoshe and Tres.

“Don't wanna go `way,” Bell had sobbed into Esther's shoulder. “Wanna stay with you.”

Honestly, Esther had tried. “They will take you to a good place - the people there will be kind to you and there will be children there who you can play with.”

“Not safe,” Bell had answered. “Monsters will come and get me. M'safe with you and Father Angel!”

“The monsters are all gone, you know,” Abel had told her, sitting down next to Esther and Bell, who was being held on her lap. “We sent them away - they won't be coming back.”

“No,” Bell insisted. “They always come back. There's always more of them.”

Abel blinked. This didn't sound like a simple childish fear - it seemed that the little girl was speaking from experience. Surely she couldn't be - she was much too young! And there was nothing in those light blue eyes but plain simple fear and terror…

“Did the monsters keep coming for you and Mikhail?” Abel asked her carefully, trying to search for signs, anything to confirm his suspicions.

The child nodded emphatically, utterly without guile. “They were scary! You'll keep them away, won't you, Father Angel?”

“He most definitely will,” Esther assured her. She cuddled the child close and shook her head at Abel. “I think we'd better take her with us.”

“Yes,” Abel answered, knowing somehow that whether or not Bell was possibly who he thought she was didn't matter right now - the important thing was that it felt right that she come with them. “In any case, she's now a ward of the Church.”

“I'll take care of her,” Esther promised. She managed to form an impish grin. “Just keep us safe from the bad scary monsters, okay, Father Angel?”

Abel snorted but nodded in affirmation and gently tousled Bell's hair when she turned her teary gaze to him. He was rewarded by an exuberant hug from the child.

“If it helps any, she can also be made an Imperial ward,” Seth said, coming up to them. She was holding something behind her back. “I asked Ion to get our new little guest a present so she can feel welcome here.”

Naturally, that got Bell interested, like any sensible four year old would. “Present?”

“Yep,” Seth beamed. She held out a stuffed toy turtle - an adorable little fellow with a soft cream-colored plush body, an affable grin and a tuft of white-blonde hairs on his head. Bell received the toy with a squeal of delight, tears all gone.

“So what are you going to name him, kitten?” Astharoshe asked Bell.

Bell looked at her new friend thoughtfully. And then, she looked up at Abel. She smiled. “Abelcrombie!”

Abel sweatdropped. “Eh?!”

“Looks like Father Angel, with the hair, see? Smiles the same too,” Bell explained. “And his hair sticks up just like Father Angel's when he gets mad at the monsters!” She demonstrated, with a comically intent look of concentration on her elfin features, pulling at the soft hairs on her new friend's head.

Seth, Astharoshe and Esther burst out laughing at the nonplussed look on Abel's face.

Even Tres managed to look amused. “Perhaps we should consider Abelcrombie a Crusnik turtle then?”

“A Crusnik turtle?!” Astharoshe howled. “Good going, tovarishch!”

Seth was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “It's Crusnik 02 and a half!” Oh, revenge was sweet indeed - Abel owed her for that tickling incident.

Abel was clearly boggled out of his mind. “Crusnik 02…and a half?!”

“He shall smite his enemies with cuteness!” Esther giggled.

“Smite! Smite!” Bell crowed and squealed with glee when Abel took the turtle from her and made suitable “smiting” movements with it.

“I'm not going to live this down any time soon, aren't I?” He remarked ruefully.

“Are you serious? You won't be living this down for years to come! Centuries, even!” Seth chortled.

“I was afraid of that.”

 

Esther's first sighting of St. Petersburg made her think of a city of ice, glittering, diamond-hard and coldly beautiful.

The city which had been intended by the Tsar known as Peter the Great to be the “Vienna of the North” had been almost completely destroyed during the Armaggedon. But when Grand Duchess Tatiana Nicolaievna Romanov had reclaimed her birthright, she had the city rebuilt brick by brick, stone by stone and bridge by bridge, intending that it would be even more magnificent that it had originally been. And so each building was an architectural masterpiece, every tower and spire glittered in the winter sunlight and the soft dusting of snow that now lay across everything in the city only served to enhance its beauty.

Once again, St. Petersburg became the capital of Romanov rule, the center of everything that was advanced and new, modern, rich and luxurious in all of Russia.

The Imperial party was brought to the great Winter Palace, greeted by rows of Chevaliers Gardes in their white uniforms and eagle-crested helmets and Cossack Life Guards in their scarlet tunics standing at attention. Ahead of them walked the Duchess of Moldova in her guise as Empress, followed by Abel as Prince and beside him walked Seth, who appeared simply as a maid of honor. Astharoshe as the Duchess of Kiev in her own right and Ion as the Count of Moldova had their own places in the procession while Father Tres and Esther, carrying Bell, simply followed at a distance as they were “honored Imperial guests.”

Astharoshe had already briefed them that the Russians were rather fond of ceremony, which had made Seth roll her eyes heavenwards and Abel sigh because he was in effect, going to be part of all that “fuss,” as he put it.

In her arms, Bell shivered. “It's cold. Abelcrombie's cold too.”

Esther wrapped the child's scarf more securely around her neck and tucked the trailing ends over the toy turtle that the child was cuddling. “There, now you're both warm.”

“Father Angel looks different now,” Bell remarked.

“Shhh. You're not supposed to call him that right now, remember? I told you on the train,” Esther whispered.

“He's being a Prince now,” Bell answered just as softly. “He doesn't like it though.”

Esther smiled. “No, he doesn't.”

Thankfully, the welcoming ceremonies didn't take too long, on account of the weather. Esther's first glimpse of the Grand Duchess made her think of the Snow Queen, a tall, elegant, regal figure all in white and icy blue. Seeing her and Abel together made Esther sigh - both of them looked as if they belonged together. And what was it that the wolves had called Kyrys Alyardi, the Prince of Drakovia and Abel's “father” so to speak? Oh yes - the Winter Prince and the Snow Queen, both stepping straight out of a fairy tale and out of reach for a mere mortal like her.

For this occasion, she and Father Tres were dressed in their official, slightly more elaborate dress uniforms, rather than their simpler habits but Esther felt oddly self-conscious amidst all the fine silks and jewelry she was seeing the other guests, nobles all, were wearing. Not that nuns and priests were actually supposed to wear rich clothing and jewelry and it wasn't as if Esther was the most fashion-conscious person around but she still felt just a tad out of place here…

Okay, she was jealous and she knew quite well she was being ridiculous. She had a brief mental image of herself stalking over and dragging Abel away by the hair and found that she could smile at least, although it was probably a scary sort of smile, judging by the puzzled way Bell was looking at her.

Esther sweatdropped. “Eh?!” Was Abel's normal silliness contagious?

“Are you okay, Sister Esther?” Bell asked.

“Ahahahaha! I'm just fine, really.” Oh Lord, Abel's silliness was definitely rubbing off on her!

Servants showed them all to their rooms so they could all rest for a while and freshen up before joining the Grand Duchess for supper. Seth, still playing the role of little maid of honor to the hilt, had stolen Bell away, claiming that her own room was so large that she would probably get lost and would Bell please come to make sure that didn't happen? So off the two of them went, giggling and running about, even if one of them was actually the Empress of the New Human Empire.

Looking around in her assigned room, Esther had to agree that Seth was right. The place was huge and would probably be considered a more than adequate studio apartment for ordinary people. And if she didn't get lost in the room, she would get lost in the huge bed, which was draped in rich linens of red and royal blue.

Esther then turned to the windows - well, at least she had a wonderful view of the city, glittering in the fading sunlight.

She heard someone come in without knocking, turned around to see who on earth could be so rude and let out a startled “EEP!” when she found Abel sprawled on the couch in her bedroom. Abel was still in his “prince” disguise although he was giving her his atypical goofy grin.

“What are you doing here?” Esther exclaimed.

“Oh, is this your room? I thought this was mine - there I was, trying to find my way out - it's such an easy place to get lost in - and then I end up in here! Isn't it amazing?” Abel answered cheerfully.

She raised a brow. “Shouldn't you be off trying to charm the Grand Duchess right now?”

“Eh?!” Abel gave her his best innocent look. “We Roman Catholic priests aren't exactly taught `charm' in the seminary.”

She rolled her eyes. “A lot you know about that, of course.”

Abel sat up a little straighter on the couch, looking appropriately solemn. “You're not being `silly' again, are you, my little love?”

Esther growled. “Little?!” Oh, how she hated it when he teased her about her height (and the Grand Duchess was so tall and statuesque), not to mention that other thing he was implying…

Abel ticked it off on his fingers. “Tiny, teeny, short, small, petite, cute… hmmm, that would definitely describe you.”

Oh, she was SO going to get him for this. “ABEL!”

Too late, she missed the wicked spark in those normally guileless china blue eyes and when she'd stomped over to him, he pounced. Esther only had time for one breathless squeak before she found herself on the couch, partially pinned by her overgrown, playful Significant Other.

Oh dear.

They were nose to nose and Abel was grinning mischievously.

“You are also precious, adorable and very much loved,” he told her then, in the most matter of fact way possible, dropping a kiss on her nose.

Esther felt her eyes prickling with unexpected tears. “Why?” It was all she could manage at the moment, quite unable to finish the rest of that question.

“I might as well ask you that, you know,” Abel murmured, understanding what she meant anyway. “I really don't deserve you.”

“You're an idiot, Abel Nightroad,” she declared.

“We make a right pair then, don't we?”

Then, he kissed her, a kiss which turned rather passionate very quickly and her hands found themselves tangling into his hair, pressing him close when he lifted his head to nuzzle her, pressing soft little kisses along the column of her throat, lingering briefly on the pulse point beneath her ear.

“You're making it very difficult for a man to conquer temptation,” Abel whispered.

“And who, may I ask, started this?” Esther managed, proud that she could put that touch of asperity in her voice, even if Abel had done an excellent job of scattering her wits just a scant few seconds ago.

He laughed softly and eased away from her, although that was only so that he could sit up and then pull her onto his lap. “I've been wanting to do this all day.”

“You were too busy playing Prince Charming,” Esther reminded him. “Prince Charming and the Snow Queen, what sort of fairy tale have I gotten myself into this time?”

There was a faraway expression on Abel's face. “I do believe she really is who she says she is, you know. There's a lot of pain there - you can see it in her eyes. To see your entire family killed and be unable to save even just one of them…”

Now she felt guilty. “The Reverend Mother…”

“Yes,” he told her gently. “We've both been there as well.”

Esther sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I'm sorry. I know I'm being silly and selfish.”

He laid a finger on her lips. “Hush. You've got a perfect right to be `silly' but you are the most generous person I know.” He had the audacity to give her yet another goofy grin. “In fact, I rather like it when you're being `silly.'”

Esther's cheeks were burning. There had to be some sort of payback for this!

“Oh really?” she began, her voice a dangerous purr. “So the next time you see me talking to Ion…”

Abel growled and then turned quite red. “Er…”

She poked him in the chest. “You behave yourself, do you hear me?”

Abel protested. “I am behaving myself!”

“No growling!”

“It's an involuntary reaction!”

Esther poked him in the ribs.

Abel yelped and fell over. “That tickles!”

It was Esther's turn to grin mischievously. “That's the point, my sweet silly love.”

And then, it was her turn to pounce.

 

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-bec ause-I-used-to-do-that-all-the-time-not-very-nice-but-there-
you-have-i t-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.

 

CHAPTER 10

It was almost as if she was looking at two different men.

The first picture showed him in the white and blue uniform of the now-defunct United Nations Air & Space Force, icy blue eyes almost glaring at the camera, those fine aristocratic features set in a stern, forbidding expression. Her fingers brushed the rather thick file of information - a gift secured from certain allies - on him. She had already committed most of the information to memory, much of it filling gaps in her own knowledge of certain events.

There he was, the second of the four experimental “new humans” - bred for beauty, intelligence, strength and longevity - all valuable traits necessary to become leaders of the Red Mars project, which was to be the beginning of humanity's expansion into space and beyond. The space colony on Mars was meant to be the pinnacle of human achievement and the discovery of those Martian artifacts - Kudluk and Krusnik - had promised all the things that men and women had sought for throughout the ages. A long life free of disease and illness, great strength, eternal youth…

Instead, the Martian colonists who returned with the Kudluk nanomachines inside their bodies experienced a mutation when they came to Earth, exhibiting vampiric tendencies. Instead of their knowledge being shared freely amongst the peoples of the earth, war, greed and self-interest set in and it led to that last dreaded final war - the Armageddon, blasting humanity back almost to its dark ages, with only a few precious remnants of its former technological glory.

More than nine hundred years had passed after the Armageddon raged, with so much of the actual events blurred with legend and myth in the minds of the short-lived Terrans. There was the Naia Sancta, the benevolent Black Saint, who with other “saints” such as the Carthaginian Queen Elissa and Istvan of Hungaria, had gained the trust of the Catholic Pope and had turned the tide for the Terrans in that war between them and the vampires.

And there were the Twins, known as Contra Mundi, the Angels of Death and Destruction, so feared and terrible that their disappearance had actually ended the war.

Oh yes, in this photograph, it was so easy to see how he could bear so much hatred and darkness, so much anger and rage. What must it have been like for him, to be brought forth from a sterile laboratory as an image of perfection, devoid of what so many humans take for granted such as family and friendship…

And then, there was the other photograph.

The icy blue eyes were slightly obscured by those round old-fashioned spectacles but they were twinkling with mischief. The long silver hair was held back in a ponytail with a black ribbon. He was smiling now, clowning almost for the camera, dressed in the black robes of a Roman Catholic priest.

Abel Nightroad, once Abel Nightlord, Commander of the UN Space Force to Mars.

Abel Nightroad, who was once Contra Mundi along with his brother Cain.

Abel Nightroad, Crusnik 02, an AX Enforcer for the Vatican, a gunslinging priest who could slay vampires ever so much more effectively than the ones who carried hammer and stake and garlic, the bane of vampires in so many novels and films.

Abel Nightroad, who had smiled and charmed and danced with her tonight, as the Prince of the New Human Empire, Artorius Elric Vradica.

Did you have reason to mourn?

Yes, I too have had reason to mourn.

Tatiana Nicolaievna Romanov laughed but there was no mirth in that cold, terrible sound.

STORYTELLER'S REQUIEM

They lived happily ever after for the rest of their days.

Oh, that was the way our story was meant to end. We weren't hoping for eternal bliss, of course - every life was filled with its own joys and sorrows. But we looked forward to days when we no longer needed to watch for signs and portents signaling the return of our most ancient foes, to nights when we no longer needed to sleep with a weapon near at hand.

Kyrys and Elora wanted children.

We were so tired of fighting.

The images of the past keep flashing in my mind, each of them forming a long, terrible, sorrowful tale. I see the children they fashioned from our unwilling flesh and blood - oh God have mercy on us, what travesty this is - from Kyrys and I. I see their deeds, their joys, their griefs, the seemingly endless war that they are now caught up in.

I see the one first-born, the golden one, with his summer-bright hair and those dark blue eyes. They who created him lavish upon him all their attention and love, for in their sight he is utterly perfect, never sensing the emptiness there, the utter blackness of his soul, stark contrast to his outer appearance. What irony is this that he so resembles that first Revenant Lord that Kyrys struck down millennia ago?

I see the youngest one, the eternal little girl in my own image, black hair and Kyrys' jade green eyes in that elfin face. Those eyes see clearly and keenly, like I did, long ago. I see her at the heart of an empire of vampires and humans, benevolent mother to them all. She has learned these lessons well from the woman she had always known and loved as a mother and in her memories the woman lingers still, beautiful with red hair and eyes that seemed to hold all the sadness of the world…

I see this same woman in the sorrowful memories of the one second-born, the first-born's twin, silver to his gold. But in this one, I see Kyrys more, truly the son of Winter's Prince, hair closer to silver-white rather than gold, icy blue eyes so like my own. They thought him imperfect and flawed, a pale shadow of his twin. But his soul is bright and intense, filled with all the human emotions and passions his twin could never feel. He is all what his twin should have been and could never be.

Ah… you know this, don't you, Cain Knightlord? That is why you killed her, the red-haired, beautiful one, Lilith, your brother's beloved. You thought that her death would bring him back to you, for he is your twin and he must not belong to anyone but you.

My broken wings,
How far should I go drifting in the wind...?

The song has been sung, the shadows have been banished from my mind. Kyrys and Elora are gone, their story ended at last.

But I am still here.

I stand alone and my hands close upon Kyrys' sword, its black blade catching the moon's reflection. So many stories this blade could tell, so many battles fought and won.

I am still here.

My tale is not yet done.

 

CHAPTER 11

Bell was missing.

It could not have come at a worse time. When the “Empress” would finally announce that she was retiring for the night, the Ball would be officially over. Naturally, once the guests were gone and most of the Palace staff exhausted after the festivities, there would be no better time for their enemies to strike.

Ion would have given anything right now to have the imposing presence of Lord Baybars and his yeniceri with them at this moment. Instead, he, Ion Fortuna, Count of Memphis from the ancient and noble House of Moldova, was the sole protection of Seth Nightlord, the true Empress of the Tzara Methuselute.

“Oh this is SO not good,” Seth was now groaning as she wandered down the hallways of the Catherine Palace. “Where on earth could she possibly be?”

Not that Her Majesty was incapable of taking care of herself. Ion had never seen Seth in her Crusnik form but he knew he would never forget how her brother looked as one. Silly, clumsy, featherbrained Father Abel Nightroad had transformed into a veritable god of slaughter back in Drakovia and had made short work of those rogue werewolves and those other demons that sorcerer Isaac and Samael had conjured.

Mostly, Ion would never forget how Father Nightroad had flown right in the path of that blast of power that Samael had hurled at him and Esther. The priest had never hesitated, not for a second, in trying to save them.

Ion and Astharoshe had both realized immediately that Abel could be no other than their Empress' long-lost brother.

“You are our Prince and might even be our Emperor, should misfortune, gods forbid, ever befall our Empress,” Ion had once said during one of those infamous “dancing lessons” that the Empress had ordered him to give Abel before they came to Russia. “I wish you would stop denying who and what you are, for all our sakes.”

“Ion,” Something in Abel's voice made Ion instinctively look up and then, he beheld the stern and authoritative features of his Lord and Prince for the very first time. The young boyar wanted to look away but he was caught by those wintry blue eyes.

“I made a promise, once, to someone very dear to me, that I would always protect humans. Terrans… Methuselahs… Crusniks… those words are meaningless to me now. We are all human.”

Abel laid a gentle hand on Ion's shoulder. “I will always protect humans. That is my oath, Ion Fortuna.”

“Ion? Wanna get off Memory Lane and give me a hand here?”

Ion started as he found himself very, very close to his Empress, who was definitely giving him The Look. Blushing furiously, he stammered, “My apologies, Your Majesty. Bell can't have gotten too far. She's just a kid - how hard could it possibly be to find her?”

Seth snorted. “And I was an unholy terror around my brothers at that age. Trust me, this is karma coming back to bite me in the ass.”

“Eh?!” Oooo-kay, that was a pretty good impression of Abel Nightroad right there.

Seth facepalmed. “Ion Fortuna, I can't believe you just did that.”

“I am only following the good example set by my Prince,” Ion answered, recovering quickly. “Besides, I would imagine that Her Imperial Majesty was a complete angel when she was four.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Seth singsonged. “And c'mon, it's not that hard to say my name. Just one syllable, easy to spell, easy to remember. I am Seth! Seth I am!”

“Um…Seth,” There, he'd said it. “Maybe it would be a good idea to get back to the ballroom. Grandmoth--, I mean, our `Empress' must retire for the night soon. We all know what could happen next.”

“We can't leave Bell,” Seth said firmly. The bright green eyes were dark with determination. “She is under my protection; I won't let anything happen to her.”

I will always protect humans. That is my oath, Ion Fortuna.

“I am your spatar - your sword-bearer, my Lady,” Ion said quietly, realizing now that he would be more than willing to lay down his life for both his Empress and his Prince. “I know we must watch over the innocent and weak. But I can't let anything happen to you either.”

Seth's expression softened and then, to his surprise, she tenderly stroked his cheek. “I know. I love all of my children, Ion… I won't stand back and let the least of them be hurt. Not again. Not after Radu. Not after Suleyman.”

Tears pricked Ion's eyes at the mention of his late tovarishch, lost to the machinations of the Rosen Kreuz Orden.

“That was the promise I made to the one I loved like a mother,” Seth said softly. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed and then, flashed blood red. Fangs appeared in her rosebud mouth, energy arced all around her body, making her short black hair rise up like the fur of an angry cat. In her hands appeared strange, trident-shaped weapons, lightning arcing at its sharp edges.

Ion drew his sword and jumped in front of his enraged Empress.

“Hello, Crusnik 03,” said Isaak von Kampfer, surrounded by his demons and Auto-Jager. He made a mock bow. “ Or perhaps, I should say, `Your Imperial Majesty Augusta Vradica.' ”

 

CHAPTER 12

Father Tres Iquus was programmed to analyze any given battle situation and to act upon it accordingly. The last of the “Killing Dolls,” he had been an effective and deadly weapon of war, despite his deceptively human appearance.

“What is the meaning of this, Father Grigory?” The Empress demanded of the starets, as they were surrounded by the Grand Duchess' Chevaliers Gardes and Cossacks.

“It is for your protection, Your Imperial Majesty,” said Rasputin smoothly.

“We are amply protected by Lord Baybars and our faithful yeniceri. There is no need for this.”

Location: The informal council chamber of the Grand Duchess Tatiana Nicolaievna, where the “Empress Augusta Vradica” and her honor guard were led into for a special, private presentation by the Grand Duchess after the Empress had publicly announced that she would now be retiring for the night, signaling the end of the Grand Ball.

“With all due respect, Your Imperial Majesty, we have been advised that you will be assassinated this very night, by one of your Vatican allies, no less. Treacherous dogs - it will be the sign that shall call all Methuselah to war against Rome.”

“You speak nonsense, starets,” Astharoshe Asran snarled. “The Vatican personnel who are with us are trusted and loyal friends of Her Imperial Majesty's!”

 

Enemies: 100 Chevaliers Gardes. 200 Cossacks.

Allies: 50 Yeniceri. Baybars, Duke of Khartoum. Astharoshe Asran, Duchess of Kiev. Mirka Fortuna, Duchess of Moldova.

 

“Oh yes? A priest who pretends to be Her Imperial Majesty's brother? The murderer of the Marquis of Hungaria? Such fine friends you have!” Rasputin laughed.

“And of course, we will send the poor, wretched bodies of the innocents Sister Esther Blanchett and the child Bell back to the Vatican as a warning to our Terran enemies that they must bow down and accept vampire rule,” Rasputin continued, baring his fangs in an obscene grin.

“You would not dare!” The Empress' voice rang out.

“On the contrary, Duchess of Moldova,” Rasputin said smugly, finally calling her by her true identity. “All you need to do is die.”

Lord Baybars had drawn his famous seven-bladed sword and all his yeniceri braced themselves for battle.

Astharoshe Asran had also drawn her Spear of Gae Bolg, energy blazing at its tip.

“The reign of Seth Nightlord is over! Mother Russia will be the heart of the New Methuselah Empire! Tatiana Romanov shall rule!” Rasputin raised his hands and flames blazed from them, spreading all over the room, cutting off the exits and effectively trapping all of them inside.

“I will rip out your living heart and feast on it, Rasputin! I swear it!” Astharoshe snarled.

Rasputin gave her an ironic bow. “I look forward to the pleasure, Duchess of Kiev. Igne Natura Renovatur Integra - and so we renew the world in fire…”

And then, he disappeared.

Mission: Protect and defend present Vatican allies.

 

Tres Iquus drew his guns. One brown eye gleamed red as his targeting systems locked in.

“Open Combat. Mode: Genocide.”

CHAPTER 13

Abel had a bad feeling about this.

The Grand Duchess had approached him and Esther after their dance. It had been difficult to assume the cool façade of Imperial Prince, not when all he wanted was to slip away with Esther. It had taken every last ounce of self-control he'd had not to stride over to that lecherous monk and rip his throat out with his claws when he saw how Rasputin “danced” with her.

The song and the feel of Esther in his arms as they waltzed had helped to calm him down.

He had led her off to the side, praying that the two of them had not somehow just given away how they felt for each other to the entire Russian court when Tatiana approached them. She was looking very troubled and somehow very vulnerable. She had asked to speak to the two of them specifically and led them to her private study.

Once inside, she had gone to her desk, retrieved something from a rather thick folder and then presented it to Abel.

It was a picture.

Of Abel Nightroad in his priest's cassock.

And that was when he saw the soft look in Tatiana's eyes fade away to cold calculation.

She spoke a word. It was not in any language they had ever heard before.

And the Crusnik nanomachines in Abel's body somehow came to life without his deliberate command.

“What have you done?” Esther demanded in horror. She gasped when Tatiana suddenly grabbed her from behind, one strong arm trapping her own limbs, keeping them pressed painfully against her sides. The other hand rested on Esther's neck and the fingernails slowly lengthened into claws, pricking delicate skin.

“Let her go!” Abel growled, his voice already distorted and thick with the change, black wings bursting painfully from his back, sending him to his knees.

Esther gasped as Tatiana's claws sank just a little bit deeper into her skin, drawing blood.

Abel's eyes blazed. Not with rage, Esther realized with a sinking heart, recognizing that look all too well.

It was hunger.

Dietrich using Radu Barvon's body, laughing cruelly at her and Ion… Ion drained near to death of his own blood and his Thirst demanding that he slake it using her own blood…

“The old magic has been lost to you young vampires,” Tatiana said conversationally, her thumb gently caressing the curve of Esther's cheek. “It is a surprisingly effective spell. Do you smell the blood of your beloved, Abel Nightlord? Can you almost taste the sweetness of it on your tongue?”

“Do not do this, Tatiana Nicolaievna,” Abel gasped out, still on his knees, clawed hands digging deep furrows through the carpet and floor. “What do you hope to accomplish by it? She is innocent!”

“My brother and sisters were innocent! My father was willing to do all that they asked! And my mother would have given her life for any of us, especially Alexis! They showed us no mercy - I have learned that lesson well. There is no room for mercy in the heart of a prince!”

“Abel…” Esther whispered, hating that she was so helpless, struggling feebly in the Grand Duchess' grasp, blood running down her throat and staining the front of her dress.

Abel roared, evidently trying to fight whatever it was that Tatiana Romanov had done to him.

“Don't bother struggling,” Tatiana crooned. “I know your kind would prefer vampire blood….but your desire for her now feeds your thirst. Give in to it, Abel Nightlord. Take her. And then… I shall have a fitting consort - a Tsar to rule by my side…”

“Never.” Crimson eyes blazed with defiance.

Even Esther could feel the energy rising now as Tatiana chanted out more strange words. She screamed in pain as the bones in her right leg snapped. She could only whimper as Tatiana cruelly dropped her directly in front of Abel, like one would drop a bone before a dog.

Tatiana then went to Abel and bent to speak softly in his ear.

“Your brother sends you his fondest regards.”

And then, she left them alone.

Esther's leg was broken, she could not run, even if she wanted to. This was not one of Dietrich's cruel manipulations - there wasn't even a weapon she could use, not that there was anything there that could possibly stop a Crusnik. Tatiana Romanov clearly intended her to die here and somehow, with her death, manage to control Abel.

The first time Esther had ever seen Abel in his Crusnik form, she had been so badly frightened that she could not believe that this was her gentle Father Nightroad. Now, she could only look at those familiar, beloved features, now wild and feral.

But his eyes…

In those crimson depths, she could still see her Abel. There was rage, that cruel hunger, desire, desperation, sorrow, guilt…but most of all, she could see the love there.

“Promised you,” Abel rasped. “Always be on your side.”

Esther had drawn Ion close, knowing that she was consigning herself to death by offering her throat to a thirst-maddened vampire. But he was her friend now and it was not his fault… not his fault that they were all caught up in this cruel, twisted game…

And Abel was not just her friend.

Somehow, she managed to crawl even closer to him and sit up. Gently, she touched his cheek and he shuddered.

“Please, Esther,” Abel begged, one clawed hand closing on her own.

Her other hand threaded through his silver hair, bringing his head down and it was her turn to shudder with a strange, eager desire as she felt his lips touch her throat.

“I love you,” she whispered and closed her eyes.

 

CHAPTER 14

Stand my ground, I won't give in
No more denying, I got to face it…
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside
If I don't make it, someone else will
Stand my ground …

- “Stand My Ground,” Within Temptation

 

Seth felt it almost at once, the strange, dark energy surrounding the Panzer Magier. Pure instinct caused her to assume Crusnik form immediately. Everything in her called out to destroy her eldest brother's creature now.

Before it was too late.

Isaak von Kampfer smiled and it was not pleasant. “So you can feel it too, the old magic. It was a souvenir from our little adventure in Drakovia. That old library was most informative.”

“Ion, get behind me,” Seth bit out, not wanting the young boyar to be caught by friendly fire.

“If he wants you, he'll have to go through me first!” Ion snarled.

The Panzer Magier clapped his hands in delight. “So very brave! Ultimately, very foolish. Crusnik 03 will reduce you to salt particles, my young Count. You are only in her way.”

Ion flushed angrily and would have rushed at him had not Seth stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Stand down, Ion Fortuna,” Seth commanded him. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I can take him. But you are Bell's only chance. And I need someone to watch my back.”

“My Lady!” Ion wanted to protest more, Seth could see that but ultimately, he knew where his duty lay. He bowed his head and stepped behind her, sword at the ready. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

Seth faced Kampfer. “If you want to play, play with me.”

“Oh but I will, Crusnik 03,” Kampfer purred. “Keep your Count with you - he shall be our new little toy.”

He spoke a word.

Seth knew nothing of that word's meaning, much less the language it came from. But it filled her with dread and fear for Ion.

Shield your mind! Do it now!

The command rang so clearly it her mind, it was as if someone had actually spoken aloud. Somehow, also hidden in those words, Seth found how to do what she was being told.

She closed her eyes.

Kampfer laughed triumphantly. “There were so many interesting things to play with in that library. How to bind and control a Revenant… or should I say, a Crusnik, was one of them.”

Kampfer's spell slammed right into the defenses she managed to build up for herself and she could literally feel the power trying to break through. Seth was able to discern its intent and she was horrified at the single mental image it conjured.

Ion, with his throat ripped out and Seth holding him, covered in his blood.

“Dispense with your tricks, magician,” Ion roared. “Fight fairly!”

“Your brother should also be enjoying the effects of this spell at this very moment,” Kampfer said with relish. “And he has that little nun to play with.”

God have mercy. Abel. Esther! Seth almost faltered.

Hold firm. That voice came again, gentle yet reassuring. A voice like a child's, light and clear as a bell's. Stand your ground, Seth Nightlord.

For my will is stronger than yours… and my kingdom great… The snatches of a well-loved fairy tale came to Seth's mind and that was when she heard the music, somehow giving her the additional strength.

Stand your ground, Seth Nightlord. Do not give in.

The Panzer Magier frowned as he finally realized that something had gone completely wrong with his spell. He hissed out another command and the shadows behind Ion and Seth began to take the form of Kampfer's familiar demons. Faced with the Auto-Jager and Kampfer in front of them and the demons behind, they were completely hemmed in.

The demons rushed at them and Ion held them back with his sword, wasting no motion, making every strike of his count. No harm would come to his Empress while he, Ion Fortuna, drew breath!

Seth finally opened her eyes. And then, she smiled sweetly up at Cain's magician.

“I don't like this game. I don't want to play anymore,” she said with deliberate childishness. And then:

“Nanomachine Crusnik 03. The Fire of Sound!”

Isaak von Kampfer had just barely put up his Shield of Asmoday to block against the attack. His ears rang with the deadly sound of Seth's assault as his Auto-Jager dissolved into salt and ash.

Just before he decided to fade into the shadows and retreat, Kampfer was almost sure that he heard the sound of a child laughing.

CHAPTER 15

This was hell.

The tiny part of Abel's mind that was still rational could only manage a desperate prayer.

Punish me for my sins, O Lord, but spare her. Help me!

Oh, but this was torment.

The sight and sound and smell of her.

The softness of her skin.

The taste of her blood, the sweetness of it on his tongue.

He'd fed on Methuselah before, but there was never such dark, terrible pleasure as this. Primal instinct drove him, making stake his claim, to make her his, to drink deeply of her and her life…

I love you.

He could still hear the sweet music of her beating heart as he drank her in. Its rhythm began to slow, began to fade, as her life was starting to slip away…

Please…

With her blood, he could taste the salt of her tears…

Abel raised his head from Esther's throat and howled. He knew he had to fight this spell, this power… whatever it was that had made him lose all control of himself.

She was so still, so deathly pale and fragile in his arms, one small hand still fisted around a lock of his hair.

Do you love her?

A question in a child's sweet, gentle voice chimed softly in his mind. The Crusnik would have snarled back at it but something told him that what he would say next was of dire importance…

I would give my life for her!

He heard the smile in that voice as it replied. Then that, Abel Nightlord, is your answer.

“Abel,” Esther's lips moved, her eyes trying to flutter open.

Your life for hers. Heart to heart. Blood calling to blood. Two made one.

Abel abruptly remembered the Prince Alyardi, saw him lift a finger to his throat, draw it down, the blood beginning to flow. And he knew what he had to do.

Break the spell, Abel Nightlord. Do it now!

Gently, tenderly, he lifted Esther up, guided her mouth to the newly opened wound at his throat. His wings lifted up and then curved around her, protectively, possessively. This time, he welcomed the pleasure that coursed through him at the gentle press of her lips against his skin, the sweep of her tongue against his wound.

One beat. Two. He could hear it again, the steady beat of her heart, this time answering in time to his own.

Mine.

“Yours,” Esther whispered against his throat.

 

CHAPTER 16

It was done.

Grand Duchess Tatiana Nicolaievna Romanov stood in her empty throne room, again gazing at the picture of her many times great-grandmother, the Tsaritsa Catherine the Great. It was fitting that Catherine be here now, to witness her great-granddaughter's victory.

There was no light in the room other than from the moon and its twisted twin. Tatiana's throne was cast in shadow.

She had held on to the memory of her lost family for far too long. Now was the time to let them go, to shed the weakness from her soul, the cloying, sickening emotions of grief and guilt that had kept her shackled for far too long. She would be as a goddess, untouchable, remote,

(safe)

beyond pain, beyond sorrow, beyond fear and suffering, free from all human emotion and feeling.

She was Romanov and she would rule, the way her weakling father should have done in the first place.

Tonight, if the Rosen Kreuz Orden's Panzer Magier had done his job well, Seth Nightlord was finally dead, together with her trusted courtiers. Tonight, Seth's brother would come meekly to Tatiana's side, firmly under her control. She was not so foolish as to completely trust the Orden and Abel would be her protection against his brother Cain. The Tzara Methuselute would be hers and Russia would become its new center.

Tomorrow, the citizens of Russia and the Empire would wake up to see a new Empress crowned.

Tatiana was at the moment of her greatest triumph and she was all alone.

Except for a tiny, stuffed toy turtle, with wispy white-blonde hair and an affable grin.

 

Sparkling angel, I believe
You were my savior in my time of need.

 

The song rang sweet and true, playful, mocking accompaniment to the little turtle who somehow managed to walk right up to the vampire and sketch a graceful little bow.

Blinded by faith I couldn't hear
All the whispers, the warnings so clear…

The situation was so ridiculously absurd that Tatiana couldn't help but cry out:

“Who are you? What is the meaning of this?”

I see the angels, I'll lead them to your door.
There's no escape now, no mercy no more.

The turtle flew - there was really no other word for it - back into the arms of its owner.

A tiny little girl stood casually in front of her, smiling cheerfully, her dark hair twisted into two little braids. One arm was curved around the toy, which gave Tatiana an impertinent wave with a cream-colored paw. The other hand was holding onto a sheathed broadsword that was much bigger than she was.

No remorse `cause I still remember,
The smile when you tore me apart…

And then, the last few notes of her song still lingering in the air, she began to change…

She grew taller, older before Tatiana's very eyes. She turned into a young girl, perhaps Seth Nightlord's apparent age, curves just barely beginning to form on her lithe body. Her toy turtle flew out of her arms and was settled back on Tatiana's throne, seeming to survey everything with amusement. Her body now able to handle the sword, she drew it out of its sheath, black blade somehow managing to gleam in the darkness.

Tatiana knew all the old tales, especially those that concerned their kind. Storyteller. Spellsinger. Sorceress.

But she had also known this young girl by another name.

“Mother,” Tatiana gave her the name that she had known her by, when she had been lost and alone, bleeding slowly to death from gunshots and bayonet wounds.

“When I gave you my blood, I did not expect that you would use it like this, Tatiana Nicolaievna,” said the girl softly, losing her sweet smile, her eyes turning a cool frosty gray.

“Are you here to kill me then?” Tatiana asked her coldly. “Your own Child?”

“No,” The answer came back to her and the eyes lost their coolness, turned back to a paler blue, filled with sorrow. “I am here for all my children. To see justice done.”

“Hello, Isabel.”

And Tatiana turned around to see who had called the girl who had once been Bell her truest name.

Seth Nightlord stood behind them, accompanied by Ion Fortuna. Her smile was Isabel's smile.

CHAPTER 17

The resemblance was uncanny.

Except for the color of her eyes and the different hair style, Seth Nightlord could easily have been Isabel's mirror image. Ion Fortuna kept looking at Isabel and back at his Empress, obviously comparing them both.

“Two of them!” he kept muttering. “How on earth am I going to manage with two of them when I couldn't even keep up with one?”

Seth was trying to formulate a smart answer to that one when she was suddenly startled to see Isabel right beside her. The other girl's eyes were sparkling with mischief.

“Is he always this adorable?” Isabel whispered.

Seth rolled her eyes. “Sometimes he's just plain cute.”

Ion sweatdropped.

The comedic byplay sailed completely over Tatiana Romanov's head.

“I suppose I should've known better than to trust in the Orden. Your brother's men are rather unreliable,” Tatiana remarked acidly.

“You should have known better than to make a deal with the devil,” Seth answered her in turn.

“They were simply a means to an end. If I didn't bend my knee to you, what makes you think I would do that for your mad brother?”

To an ordinary human, Tatiana would have seemed to disappear and then suddenly reappear in front of Seth, a sword aiming straight for her heart.

Instead Tatiana's weapon met hard black steel with a loud, oddly musical clang.

“I will not have my children murder each other right in front of me!” Isabel bit out. With surprising strength, she pushed Tatiana back.

Tatiana expected her to press the advantage, to attack, knowing how good Isabel was with that sword but instead, the one who brought her over as a vampire simply stood in front of Seth Nightlord.

For some reason, it was becoming very difficult to look at her Sire in the eye.

“Do you think that you can finally forget about your family when the Empress' crown finally sits upon your head?” Isabel asked softly. She rushed forward, sword raised high. Tatiana saw that move coming easily enough and blocked it without a second thought. Isabel was obviously holding back.

“Do you think that power will keep the nightmares away?”

“Enough!” Tatiana snarled.

Isabel lowered her sword and Tatiana could finally see that she was weeping.

Ion had sprung up, his own sword at the ready, when Seth raised her arm to block him. He chanced to look at his Empress and saw her eyes were filled with the same sorrow.

“I wake up in the morning and I think of something I want to tell Kyrys and Elora. But then, I realize that they're no longer there. And it hurts so much that sometimes I wish I'd never known them at all, that I could forget it completely.

“I try and try to purge the memories from myself and I sleep the centuries away, feeling nothing, knowing nothing. And I am nothing.

“That's all that waits for you, Tatiana Romanov. Nothing.”

Tatiana found herself lowering her own weapon. In her mind's eye, she could see that precious memory of the last day they were together as a family.

Mama's gentle touch, her eyes worried and fearful for all of them. Papa's soft voice, trying to be reassuring, comforting them. Alexis trying to be brave and be strong for his sisters, like the Tsars of old in his fairy tales. Her sisters, all taking turns in caring for Mama and watching over frail Alexis.

Even in those last moments, just as the bullets exploded, she could remember Papa throwing himself over Alexis to shield him.

Always, she could remember the love that had always been there.

Then, the world burst into flame.

 

CHAPTER 18

Isabel was thrown back against the wall, covered in wounds. The Count of Memphis had thrown himself over his Empress and the two of them were slightly better off.

Tatiana had recognized this spell, the feel of that power. The room was surrounded by that magical fire.

“Rasputin,” she said hoarsely. “Stop this. It is over.”

“I knew that you would be too weak to make that final step for glory,” Rasputin sneered at her. “Just like your father. Weak and useless!”

Tatiana snarled and rushed at him, only to be thrown painfully back by his flames. It had taken her precious strength to put the fires out, keep them from burning through flesh and bone, turning her to ash.

Seth had assumed Crusnik form immediately, summoning forth her tridents.

“Nanomachine Crusnik 03. The Fire of Sound!”

The younger Crusnik and Ion Fortuna gasped when Rasputin coolly shielded himself against the onslaught of power. He walked over to Isabel's crumpled form and kicked away the black sword that had lain just within reach of her fingertips.

“Did you know how one must become Revenant, my dears?” he said conversationally, his hand shaping itself into a sharp bloody blade. “One must reach into the Revenant's chest and take out her heart.”

A gale suddenly burst into the room, blowing the windows inwards and shattering what remaining glass there was. The gale brought in ice and frost, dousing out Rasputin's flames.

“Kyrys…?” Isabel whispered wonderingly.

Rasputin looked down to see the end of a blood-red scythe appearing from his chest.

Abel was behind him, dark wings spread wide, crimson eyes blazing.

It had only taken a quick flick of Abel's wrist and the vampire monk was shredded to pieces. The blood from his corpse flowed easily to both Abel and Seth. Even now, Rasputin was frantically trying to find some spell, work some magic to save himself.

Isabel had managed to reach her sword and stumble to her feet. She knelt at Rasputin's side, icy blue eyes feral bright.

“There will be no dark resurrection for you, Rasputin,” she said softly. She reached into his chest and took out his heart.

And then, she drank the life's blood from it.

Seth rushed to her brother, seeing that look on his face, the rage and loathing and fearing the very worst.

“Abel…?” To Seth's horror, she saw Esther's still body on the floor.

Ion had already rushed to the nun, trying to wake her up.

Abel had simply sidestepped away from his sister, still holding on to his scythe, going directly to Tatiana.

Tatiana had realized immediately that her spell had failed. But she stood her ground, accepting her death.

“You live, because shedoes,” Abel growled. "And because I too know your pain."

It was those last words, the remnant of humanity and pain in the Crusnik's eyes, rather than his anger that made Tatiana Romanov sink to her knees.

Just after that, Ion exclaimed, “Esther's alive. She's breathing!”

Abel went back to her, scythe disappearing into thin air. Carefully, he took Esther back into his arms again. His eyes were now somewhere between crimson and blue, still filled with sorrow.

Father Tres and the others finally burst into the room and stopped short at the sight of Abel and Seth in Crusnik form.

“Grandmother,” Ion was the first to speak. “You're all right!”

“Thanks to this young priest here,” the Duchess of Moldova answered him. “He was able to blast a way out for us. Father Tres worked very well with Lady Astharoshe and Lord Baybars.”

“Father Tin Man's a good man to have behind your back,” Astharoshe affirmed.

“Mission: Accomplished,” Father Tres said. “And, Lady Astharoshe, I've already stated that I am not made of tin…“

“Yes, yes and if I could steal you away from the good Lady Cardinal Sforza, I'd do it in a second….”

There were other exclamations of concern made by the others but they were all overridden by Seth's decision.

“We are leaving,” Seth stated with no room for argument in her tone. It was her turn to face the Grand Duchess. “The ties of friendship and fealty between our countries are broken, Tatiana Romanov.”

“Is it to be war between us, Seth Nightlord?” Tatiana asked, only with the barest hint of a quaver in her voice.

“Only if you strike the first blow. If you truly wish to ally yourself with the Orden, then that is your decision. But come after me or mine again and there will be no mercy shown to you.”

“And I swear to you, Tatiana, that this time it will be my hand to strike you down,” said a much higher, childish voice. Seth started as she saw Isabel in four-year-old form, holding tightly onto Abelcrombie the turtle, her sword nowhere in sight.

Isabel leaned her head tiredly against Seth's leg, as if she had not just taken out a vampire's heart and feasted on its blood. “Don't squander this last chance, please. I've lost enough family already.”

Tatiana covered her face with her hands.

They left Tsarskoe Selo that very night, making it back to the Imperial train before the sun rose in the sky. No one stopped them.

 

CHAPTER 19

Abel could not or would not revert back to his normal self while Esther slept.

He'd barely left her side. They'd cleaned her up, changed her clothes, laid her out on a soft, comfortable bed. Miraculously, her wounds and injuries had all healed, possibly because of the infusion of his blood in her. He wasn't sure how else would she be affected because of that. The nanomachines in his blood had killed other humans when they were infused with them. Why was Esther different?

He could still hear her heart, beating in time to his own. The sound of it soothed him, probably kept him from going mad.

It had been two days since Russia and Esther still hadn't awakened. The one person who might be able to answer their questions - Isabel - had also fallen into an exhausted sleep and was also not waking up. Still a little girl, she slept in a bed next to Esther's.

Seth barely left them either. Her green eyes were often searching his but she was saying nothing. She'd seen him go crazed with grief before. He'd been so selfish - he should not have left her alone back then, when Lilith was killed. He knew she had mourned for Lilith too, had loved her just as much as he did.

He was aware that Ion, Tres and Astha and all the others were probably waiting just outside for them as well.

“She won't wake up,” Abel whispered. “I can hear her heart beating, feel her breathe but she won't open her eyes.”

“It's only natural,” came a much-missed, little voice from the other bed. The siblings were startled to see Isabel sitting up, icy blue eyes still oddly adult in that child face. “The change takes a little time but she'll wake up very soon.”

“What change?” Seth exclaimed. “The nanomachines had never worked for anybody other than us. She should - “ At that last, she bit her lip and glanced at Abel.

“You are of our blood,” Isabel answered. “That's why the nanomachines worked for you. And also why things are different for you than other vampires. Tatiana's spell worked on your desire for her but it didn't count on your love.” She smiled a little wistfully. “Kyrys did it before, with Elora. Before other things happened and she became one of us anyway.”

Slowly, Seth could see that Isabel's words were having an effect. Abel was changing again, his features less feral, his eyes less wild, the fangs growing a little smaller.

“A bond,” Abel stated. “You're saying I've somehow managed to bind her to me and it worked instead of killing her.”

It was something they'd all known long before, which was why marriages between Terrans and Methuselahs were so rare. Not all the Terrans were able to accept even the Kudluk bacilli that the Methuselahs carried in their blood. Seth herself had forbidden it in her own Empire, not because she had thought that one race was less than the other but because a marriage between Terran and Methuselah often cost the Terran his or her life. Sometimes, it did work but those occasions were rare indeed. And even the Terrans who somehow made the transition in the more familiar fashion - the master vampire simply creating a brood of childer - were not always stable. Few of them reached their first century without any trouble.

Isabel slipped out of bed and toddled over to Abel. Automatically, he picked her up and settled her on his lap. She was so tiny at four and they weren't sure why she was staying that way for now when they knew she was so much older. Small hands gently patted his face.

“You look so much like Kyrys,” Isabel said, still with that wistful smile. “And like him, even in the darkest parts of yourself, you know who and what Esther is to you. No dark magic can ever take that away.”

He blushed.

“Pay attention, Seth - you're gonna be going through this sooner or later,” Isabel quipped, turning her gaze to the younger Crusnik.

Seth turned red too and tossed her hair. “I just hope we can be spared all the trauma! But, Isabel, are you saying Esther will become a --”

Isabel sighed. “She won't become Crusnik; she won't be a Revenant. She's not going to be a vampire, not quite, anyway. The change for her will be very slow and it's always going to be tied to you, Abel and the strength of your bond. Heart to heart, blood to blood, two becoming one, remember?”

Isabel slipped down from Abel's lap and tugged on Seth's hand. “I'm hungry. Feed me? I could use some nice regular food right about now!” The words were plaintive and so very Abel that Seth giggled.

“I think we'd better get something for big brother to eat here too. Preferably something that's NOT milk tea and thirteen sugars.”

“Ew!” Isabel's nose wrinkled.

“Hey!” Abel's protest was half-hearted. But the two girls were delighted to see him looking normal again.

Isabel rolled her eyes. “Abel, you doofus, you're bonded to Esther - as in, married to her now, like any sensible vampire would be! Don't you get it? She'll be fine, trust me!”

“Eh?!”

Before Abel could manage anything more, Isabel dragged Seth out of the train's hospital compartment, Seth's startled exclamation of: “Married?! Abel and Esther?!” still echoing in the air, only to be followed by more cries of shock and surprise from the others outside.

Abel was alone with Esther.

He felt the sudden change, rather than saw it. And when he looked down at Esther, hardly daring to believe, he found himself looking into those familiar and well-loved dark blue eyes.

Esther smiled sleepily up at him, finally wide awake.

“Hello, Abel.”

 

CHAPTER 20

 

Surprisingly the real events that took place during that Grand Ball in the Empress' honor were hushed up by the Russians. The attack had taken place when the guests had all gone home and for a ruler to be accused of treachery and deceit towards an honored guest and a recognized ally would only undermine the power of the Grand Duchess.

Seth wasn't too eager to kiss and make up again just yet. Realistically, she would rather have Tatiana Romanov in Russia, fully aware of what it meant to deal with the Rosen Kreuz Orden, instead of dealing with someone new and whose ambitions were not known.

Isabel had still chosen to stay as a little four year old girl. There was much to learn about this new world she had awoken to. She would always grieve for her lost ones, even Tatiana, but her immediate affection for Abel, Seth, Esther and all the rest, even as a child with no memory of what she'd been, still remained. Often, they could hear her singing in the Imperial gardens. And there was one memorable night when she and Abel sung together.

Seth was touched that Isabel chose to stay with her in the Empire.

“Is it too late to enter the priesthood, Father Nightroad?” Ion said plaintively when presented with the news. Abel and Esther had burst out laughing.

Astharoshe Asran had grown very fond of Father Tres Iquus, never mind if he was actually an android. Seth could only shake her head. Abel was boggled out of his mind when he heard about it and showed it openly, in typical goofy fashion.

But there was that little matter of Abel and Esther being “married.”

It was as blunt as Isabel could be on the subject and after that, even she ended up blushing. “There's only so much I want to know about people's love lives, okay?!”

Well, Seth knew her brother was pretty popular among the ladies (even if the idiot was utterly oblivious to female attention) and that was as far as she wanted to know about the matter.

Predictably, Abel came down with a bad case of guilt and remorse after the whole debacle in Russia. Seth knew her brother's mind very well and had a fairly good idea of what happened between him and Esther, even if she didn't want to picture it in too much detail, thank you very much. Of course, Abel thought that he was a horrible monster and that it had been much too close and that he would rather keep his distance from Esther now that she was completely recovered and that if he'd ever hurt her again, he'd ask Tres to shoot him first or some such. Abel was definitely in full-blown angst mode.

Esther, bless her soul, was having none of that.

Seth hadn't really meant to eavesdrop on Abel and Esther's conversation in her private gardens, oh no. But they were loud enough that Seth couldn't help but hear everything.

Isabel knew it was rude to eavesdrop too but she was with Seth and they were in the middle of a good game of Scrabble.

Ion had just come in to bring his Empress a message from his grandmother.

Father Tres, naturally, was in the vicinity of the gardens, being a “chaperone” for Abel and Esther.

Astharoshe Asran had also just come in to bring the latest news from Russia.

“I knew perfectly well what I was doing, Abel Nightroad! If I was able to do that for Ion, I certainly wouldn't hesitate to bare my neck for you!”

Abel growled, which pretty much made the hairs on the back of Ion's neck stand up. “If you were ever foolish enough to try that with another Methuselah, even if he was a friend, so help me, I'll -“

Abel was cut off in the middle of his tirade and how Esther managed that was something Seth really tried not to imagine.

“Girl's got spunk, I'd give you that,” Astharoshe remarked.

And then Esther's voice again. “…married, Abel?”

“Isabel's word, not mine,” Abel said quickly.

“You dork,” Isabel muttered.

Astharoshe cracked her knuckles. “If I could only knock some sense into that featherbrain…”

“I'm sorry,” Esther's voice was heartbreaking. “I didn't mean to do that to you… I…”

“Esther, love, you didn't do anything, it's not your fault. Oh Lord…I'm saying this all wrong!” Abel said in frustration. “You deserve much better than to be loved by a monster, much less being bound to one.”

“I did say yes,” Esther said in a tiny voice, that only the enhanced hearing of a bunch of Methuselah (one Crusnik and one Revenant) could catch.

“What?”

The peanut gallery was thinking the same exact thing.

“Well… when you… you know… the blood and everything. There was a question. All I could say was yes or no. And if I said no, I would have gone… but I couldn't leave you, Abel. I just couldn't.”

“Oh, love,” Abel whispered raggedly.

“You'll always be on my side; you promised me that, remember?” Esther said, her voice sounding muffled. Abel would be an idiot if he hadn't taken her into his arms at that point. Given the way Esther sounded, Seth would bet her entire Empire that he was already holding her.

“I love you, Esther Blanchett.”

“Finally!” Seth hissed in triumph. “He'd better have kissed her after that.”

“It's the first sensible thing he's said since this started,” Ion muttered, cheeks red.

“So…married?” Esther asked him again in that tiny voice.

“I rather like the idea,” Abel's voice took on its more familiar teasing tone and then: “That is, if you like it too.”

Oh, there were 900 years of loneliness and yearning in that one single sentence and Seth's heart ached for her brother, who always deserved so much more.

“A proposal is said to be traditional and also very nice and much appreciated,” Esther said in an arch tone.

Abel laughed. “As you wish.” And then, he asked that most important question, with so much love behind those simple words.

“Oh, that's beautiful,” Isabel whispered, brushing away a tear.

Astharoshe was sniffling too.

Ion sighed but looked resigned and oddly at peace.

Father Tres was recording everything for the rest of AX to hear later.

And then, Esther gave Abel her answer.

 

EPILOGUE

Esther sleeps and in her sleep, her dreams are sweet - she is where she is safest, in Abel's arms.

Abel smiles ruefully as almost of their own volition, his wings unfurl to fold around her, to keep her warm. He is only thankful that once again, they are riding in a private train car, yet another gift from Seth. He doesn't dare imagine what other people might see - a terrifying black-winged demon with a young helpless woman in his arms.

Esther will laugh at his fears and tell him he is being silly. He is aware that she finds him beautiful in any of his forms and he supposes that is what it means when they say love is blind.

Or perhaps, love allows Esther to truly see...

Their future is uncertain; there are so many things that can go wrong and chief among them is what his brother will do if he ever found out about this. The "happily-ever-after" fairytale ending is not promised to them but then it's not truly promised to anyone else either.

But somehow, he has faith that things will turn out for the best and there is more hope in him now than there has been for so many years.

So here they are, ending where they had first begun or perhaps they are embarking on a new beginning. He briefly closes his eyes and sends out a fervent prayer, putting in it all his hope, a humble supplication, the childlike trust that his faith demands and is so difficult to give as a skeptical adult.

There.

And then, he allows himself to drift into sleep, resting his cheek against his beloved's hair. Their hands are twined together, her small fingers are interlaced with his and the moonlight shines briefly on the silver wedding bands on their fingers.

 

The Morning After…

 

Abel was fast asleep and Esther just didn't have the heart to wake him.

She had stolen his hair ribbon yet again so his hair lay loosely on his shoulders but he hadn't taken off his glasses so they were dangling comically almost off the edge of his nose. Carefully, she removed them for him - it wouldn't do if they fell off and got crushed or lost somehow.

He had also partially shifted into his Crusnik form yet again so she was cocooned quite warmly in the shelter of his wings. Carefully, she stroked one soft, smooth black feather and knew that the things could also be diamond-hard and razor-sharp on occasion - a Crusnik thing that she would probably never understand.

Good thing they were in a private train compartment - it would be quite a scene if people saw her beautiful dark angel like this.

And then, she made a soft, startled sound when Abel suddenly shifted and nuzzled her neck.

“Mornin' love,” he mumbled drowsily, pressing a kiss in the hollow of her throat.

She caressed his cheek and kissed him there as well. “Good morning, sleepy. I'm sorry - did I wake you?”

“Mmmph.” The first new thing that Esther had learned about her husband was that Abel was very affectionate upon being awakened. That was plainly evidenced by the nuzzles and kisses she was getting now, not that she minded those at all because she was giving back as good she got.

“You're purring!” She exclaimed in delight, as her hands threaded through his hair, combing through the soft strands.

“Mrrr?”

Also, Abel was mostly incoherent in the mornings. Not that she had any trouble deciphering what he meant.

“I love you too,” she answered. “You're so cute when you're like this.” And then, she meeped when he nipped her lightly at the base of her throat and then licked that very same spot.

Oh dear. As much as he was currently melting every bone in her body, they had to stop…

Somehow, Abel had managed to draw down the window screen.

And then, his mouth was traveling lower and his hands were rather busy undoing the fastenings of her collar.

Oh my.

The door was locked after all.

It was Abel's turn to render her mostly incoherent after that.

- the end -

 

AUTHOR's END NOTES

Yes, there IS a Labyrinth reference in here. Points to those reviewers who spot it.

 

Song lyrics appearing in the last few chapters are from the band “Within Temptation.” No copyright infringement is intended. I enjoy both this band and Nightwish and they incidentally have a lot of songs that could double as a soundtrack for Trinity Blood, especially for my favorite featherbrained priest. Heh.

I'm flying by the seat of my pants on the whole Kudluk bacilli thing and the issue of Methuselahs mating with ordinary humans. There's a lot of deliberate influence coming from White Wolf and Vampire the Masquerade in there but that's the fun part of working with vampire stories, I've realized. You can pick and choose what works for you. As long as you write it well, you'll get away with it.

I'd also like to thank the nice authors who keep citing my stories as influence. OMG. You guys definitely inspired me too. Keep writing - we need all the good stories we can get in this fandom!