I couldn’t tell if J.B. was playing it up so that I could get my audience with the queen or playing it up for his own sake, but as he’d pointed out, I’d no right to be jealous. Even if I was. A really tiny bit.
I wasn’t sure what my plan of action was, but a few moments later Violet returned and indicated with a curt nod of her head that I was to enter.
“The gargoyle, however, must stay.”
“Beezle comes with me everywhere,” I said, surprised. Amarantha had never seen Beezle as a threat before.
“The gargoyle must stay,” Violet repeated. “Or you may forfeit your audience with the queen.”
Digging my heels in about Beezle didn’t seem the smartest way to begin, so I reluctantly let him fly off my shoulder to land on the fireplace mantel. He didn’t say anything, but his face had a scrunched-up, worried look.
I entered the inner chamber.
Amarantha had obviously arranged a little display for my discomfort. She was wearing nothing but a diaphanous negligee that left zero to the imagination and she had draped her centerfold body over a red velvet chaise. Her left hand picked at a small plate of fruit while her right held a black satin leash attached to Gabriel’s neck.
She had arranged him on the floor like a dog at her feet. He had been washed, and oiled, and the black feathers of his wings shone with gloss. She had even put him in a loincloth. He looked up at me when I entered but then looked away, like he was embarrassed to have me see him that way.
The overall effect was so cheesy, so obvious, that I would have laughed had it not been Gabriel attached to the leash. As it was, I had a hard time keeping my legs steady. Until I saw the smug look of satisfaction on Amarantha’s face. Then I was overwhelmed by a burning need to smack her six ways from Sunday.
“Yes, Ambassador Black?” she purred, and popped a grape in her mouth. I saw her pull the leash a little tighter, as if assuring herself that Gabriel was still hers.
I considered and discarded several plans of action, and then decided it was best to act like myself. I never did well when I tried to play the formality game.
“You know why I’m here,” I said. “Gabriel is not yours to own, and I want him returned to the court of Azazel.”
“I do not think you are in a position to make demands, Ambassador Black. You have insulted me by threatening a guest in my court with bodily harm.”
She stroked her painted nails through Gabriel’s hair. I was mesmerized by the sight, and a little nauseated. When I looked up again, I saw that she had been watching my face, and that made me angry.
“Look, your skin show might impress other people, but mostly I think it just shows how little class you have. It’s very difficult to take you seriously as royalty when you’re dressed like a stripper.”
Her eyes flashed and she stood up from the chaise. Christ, she was even wearing teeter-totter strappy heels. All she needed was a pole and a few dollar bills.
“Now you insult me to my face,” she said, and as she stalked toward me she pulled on Gabriel’s leash. He crawled forward at her heels, his head down. “I will be happy to inform Lord Lucifer that his granddaughter is obviously not interested in reestablishing relations between our courts.”
“Don’t try to threaten me with Lucifer,” I said. “Especially since you’re the one who wants your relationship to be a lot closer than it is now.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, and I wondered if it was prudent to mention that I was informed of her baby plan. Then again, it was a lever, and I didn’t have too many of those.
“What are you speaking of?” she hissed.
I smiled. “I am the Morningstar’s granddaughter. I know more than you think.”
I could see the neurons firing behind her eyes as she rapidly calculated how much I could possibly know. She tried for bravado.
“I do not know to what you are referring,” she said haughtily.
“Yep, you want to be a lot closer with Lucifer.” I tapped her on the tummy, just to make sure she knew that I knew.
Her teeth ground together as she realized I was onto her. I was sure she didn’t want word of this getting back to Lucifer before the bun was in the oven. The whole point of a secret plan is to surprise your enemies.
“I cannot give up the thrall,” she said, trying a different tack. “He was a gift from Lord Focalor and it would be an insult to him to return such a gift.”
“You could regift,” I suggested. “And by the way, don’t think you’re not playing with fire with Focalor. Lucifer is definitely not going to be happy with you for negotiating with one of his underlings.”
“Then Lord Lucifer should keep better tabs on his own kingdom,” Amarantha shot back. “What I do in my own court is my business.”
“Unless you’re rather stupidly being maneuvered into getting between Focalor and Lucifer. In which case your kingdom will probably burn to the ground while they work out their differences,” I said.
From the look on her face I would say that this hadn’t occurred to her.
“Look,” I said urgently, trying to take advantage while she seemed unsure. “Give me Gabriel and we’ll go—me, Nathaniel, everyone. Tell Focalor that you need to consider carefully before you cross Lucifer, but leave the door open for future relations. Then he’ll take his toys and go home, too, and you’ll be out of it. In the meantime, I’ll get Lucifer on the problem and hopefully this little rebellion will be squashed before it goes anywhere.”