Finding Heathcliff

Fifty-Nine

Even though he was right behind Astrid, rendered as light, pellucid and imperceptible as air by archangel magic, but perfectly capable to shield her from harm should the need arise, Azrael's heart beat in a hectic rhythm as he and Michael followed her and the two guards into the castle's courtyard.

What if Arcturus knew about this trick, what if he was expecting it, what if the scores of fallen angels waiting for Michael's call in the field at the foot of the hill couldn't reach them fast enough should they need their help...

Astrid's sharp intake of breath scattered his despairing thoughts and it took all his will not to gasp too as he followed her look into a distant corner of the courtyard-- a tall pyre stood there, ready and waiting for its victim.

Azrael approached the small crowd of guards, valets and maids who, even as they recovered from their surprise at the princess's unexpected return, surrounded the group of travellers, replying to Astrid's questions, whispering to her the latest news, news in which the planned witch trial seemed to have the most prominent place.

"Deimos, my lady, was accused of witchcraft," a maid whispered.

The young woman fussed around Astrid, her hands flying over her dress, straightening its folds the moment she jumped off the horse, even as Michael tapped Azrael's shoulder lightly, nodding towards the entrance that had been closed silently behind Astrid's back, without neither her nor her two companions noticing. They were engrossed in the news of the regent's sorceress being accused of witchcraft just like the two angels, and now it was Azrael's turn to put a restrictive hand on the archangel's shoulder and shake his head. A deep frown hinting at his anger and worry told Azrael how Michael felt without having to read his thoughts, but he didn't let go of him.

Don't, he thought. We mustn't interfere now, Arcturus might be expecting you, you said that yourself. Let this play out, whatever it is he had planned for us, Polaris is safe for the moment, as safe as she has been until now. Wait.

"Call Arabella, please," Astrid told one of the maids, and Azrael could see how difficult it was for her to hide her feelings. "And let us go in, I'm tired, and I must speak to my uncle."

She looked at Izar and Rigel, her eyes pleading them to remain with her, then walked towards the door leading inside but Arcturus, accompanied by an entourage of courtiers stepped out of the deep penumbra spilling from the doorway before she could reach it.

"Your lady-in-waiting won't be coming to greet you, child, you'll have to do with myself," he said jovially, inclining his head to her in a suggestion of a bow, even as he looked around the courtyard.

Astrid, coming up from a curtsy, stiffened at hearing his question.

"Did our Orion get delayed in Starling? Let us wait for him so you can tell us about your adventures together. I've just spoken to Lord Altair about you two, we should celebrate the wedding right after the witch trial."

Something in his tone told Astrid that he knew what her reply would be, but Orion's father, standing at the back of the group of people which Arcturus brought to the courtyard with him couldn't know... But there was no better way to tell him.

"Orion won't be coming back," Astrid said, forcing her voice not to shake, her eyes boring into Lord Altair's, hoping that he would see how sorry she was for his son's demise. "He died in a fight he caused, after nearly killing me, Rigel and another... person." She stopped talking; it wasn't possible to share more details without getting everyone suspicious. She kept looking into Lord Altair's eyes for a little longer, searching for accusations, anger, or a will of revenge, but all that she could see there was grief... and a flicker of knowledge. Unlike the other people gathered around her uncle, he already knew. And he didn't blame her.

"Right," Arcturus said, looking at his people. "Somehow, I feel that this isn't the only horrible thing you are about to announce. What about the new treaty?"

The short hair at the back of Astrid's neck rose. This wasn't the kind of behaviour she was expecting from Arcturus. He was treating her like a criminal instead of the soon-to-be queen she was, and he had no reason for that... unless he knew that she had as much right at the throne of Eurovea as the maid standing at her side. He knew that she was a changling. Was he about to say that out loud in front of everyone?

Her thoughts reached Azrael and Michael's minds at the same time. They wouldn't allow that; they decided simultaneously, this country needed Astrid as its queen, whether she was a rightful heir of the demon monarchy or not.

They exchanged a few thoughts even as Astrid, trying to distract Arcturus, asked, "Where's Arabella?"

"Your Arabella was accused of treason, just like Deimos. They were found receiving messages from the enemy," Arcturus said, shaking his head and Astrid saw a glimpse of Azrael's doves flash through his mind in the brief, unguarded moment, before he continued, "She'll burn with the witch whom she served for years. And now that you are back, there's no point postponing the inevitable. Everything is ready; they will burn tonight!"

"No, please, you can't do that... they are... innocent..." Astrid said, her voice breaking in the most unqueenly fashion, repeating, "No..." at seeing Izar and Rigel, who had stood at her sides until then, following the example of the maids and valets who had surrounded her when she arrived, now abandoning her, and moving towards Arcturus.

She couldn't really blame them, all seemed lost at the moment when Arcturus scrutinised her, his cold gaze observing her dress imbued in the fallen angel magic, and her knees trembled as he opened his mouth, the words she was dreading to hear spilling from his lips.

"Who have you been with until now? Why did you not return when your fiancé was killed by the monsters, the monsters whose clothes you are wearing? And who are y..."

Too many things happened at the same moment for Astrid to register them all before he could finish his sentence. Suddenly, she was in Arcturus' grasp, his arm wrapped around her neck, her vision blurred with the lack of oxygen barely permitting her to see Azrael and Michael, their spotless wings glowing in the shadows flooding the high-walled yard, even as her attention was distracted by a sharp pain followed by a trickle of warm blood from her side, just above he waist, where a long knife Arcturus produced from somewhere pierced through her dress and skin, finding its way deep inside her body.

"Let her go!" Azrael called, but Arcturus ignored him completely and turned to Michael. "Finally. Revenge really tastes best when served cold..."

"You can't win this, demon," Michael said, and Astrid, on the cusp of unconsciousness, noticed the courtyard filling with fallen angels, more of them standing on the tall walls, and beyond them, hovering in the air in a threatening semi circle, angels, the bright sunlight reflecting off their snow-white wings making her close her eyes, and she didn't find the strength to open them again, not even to seek Azrael's seafoam irises for one last time, as her remaining strength quickly trickled from her body with the blood, and the oxygen.

"It was always us against the fallen angels, since when do archangels get involved?" Arcturus muttered, and she felt his arm loosen its grasp slightly, allowing her to refill her lungs before he collected himself. "Never mind," his voice rang in her ears. "I've never expected to survive our encounter but you'll pay for what you've done to my family, I'm taking your daughter and your woman with me, why, the witch might already be dead, the jailor was instructed to kill her should something like this happen," he said, pushing the knife deeper into Astrid's body, making her groan with pain against her will, she didn't want Azrael to worry...

Then, suddenly, even as she felt herself slipping into unconsciousness, she felt Arcturus being removed from her. She could breathe again, but it was too late, she didn't care... The last thing she perceived of the world she lived in for sixteen years was her body slipping to the ground, the cobblestones approaching her half opened eyes with an alarming speed.