Archangel's Light Page 12

  A big hand closing over her one, the touch gentle despite the power that burned off him. “You need not have any concern on that score, Lady Sharine. I will ensure Illium has all that he needs.”

  A stirring in the back of her head, an echo of a time she couldn’t quite see now. “Did I hold you once?” she asked, staring down at their linked hands. “Did I stroke your broken wings and tell you it would be all right?” It seemed impossible that she could’ve done so for this archangel strong and so much taller than her.

  Raphael’s voice was solemn. “Yes. More than that, you loved me at a time when I was a beast with a razored spine, unwilling to allow anyone close. You will always have my loyalty.”

  She looked up at him, smiled. “Raphael. My oldest boy.” Raising her hand, she waited for him to lower his head, then stroked his cheek. “Caliane will be so proud to see who you’ve become. As Aegaeon will be of his boy.”

  An alteration in Raphael’s expression that she couldn’t read, but all he said was, “Your pride is the most important to him. He looks to you even now to see if you witnessed his latest achievement.”

  Sharine laughed and waved at her son.

  Illium’s responding smile lit up her world, until the fragmented edges of her mind almost came together, almost became as they’d once been, almost . . . “My pride in Illium will never be in question. My son is a light in this world.”

  21

  Today

  Illium landed sometime around five a.m., after ensuring the other nightwatch sentries were all happy for him to take a break. He needed to eat; his body required extra fuel as a result of his long flight to China. It wouldn’t harm him to go without, but it would slow him down a fraction and he wanted to be at full speed in this land.

  When he saw that Kai was one of the two staff members in charge of the late-night meal station for those still awake and/or working, he smiled at her. The person with her, a vampire of a certain age, sniffed. “Don’t trust this pretty one, Kai. He breaks hearts all over the world, I hear.”

  Kai’s eyes went huge at the plain speaking, but Illium grinned. “Such lies you tell about me, Li Wei.”

  The small and pretty woman who looked around twenty-seven, but was actually nine hundred years old with the tendencies of a strict school matron, huffed. But he caught the smile in her dark eyes. He and Li Wei had met for the first time some three hundred and fifty years past, when she’d held a position in Neha’s high-court kitchen.

  On an errand for Raphael, he’d landed late into the night and had snuck into the closed kitchen desperate for a snack. Two minutes after he entered, Li Wei had busted him poking through her cupboards, delivered a sharp reprimand, then made him the best sandwich of his life—with a side of a cold potato-spice soup for which she’d refused to share the recipe no matter how much he begged.

  The woman was so good a cook that she could pick and choose her employment.

  It surprised him that she’d chosen to come to this place so unstable when he’d always seen her as efficient and warmhearted, but also stodgy in terms of her preferences.

  “Hungry, are you?” she said now, and passed across a roll she’d filled with layers of delicately flavored meat, caramelized onions, and more deliciousness. “Eat, skinny boy.”

  Illium liked her a whole lot. She’d lived long enough that she had no time for anyone’s bullshit. Next to her, Kai—despite her innate confidence—was a fragile bloom barely budded, to be treated with care. He spoke to her as he ate, learned that her entire family had survived the fog.

  “Our village was in a valley where the fog didn’t seem to be able to reach,” she said. “It hovered above us like a horrible cloud, but it never dropped.”

  “Hell, that must’ve been terrifying.” Illium couldn’t imagine the kind of fear her family and the others with them must’ve experienced.

  But Kai shook her head. “We didn’t know, you see. What the fog was doing. We thought it was a bad storm—so bad that it had cut off all communication with the outside world. It was only after that we . . .”

  She took a shuddering breath. “Later, when the archangel flew away with her army, she didn’t call us up. We think perhaps she didn’t know us because the fog didn’t touch us.”

  It was an excellent theory, the fog an extension of Lijuan’s power.

  “More?” Li Wei asked after he was done, and had chased it all down with a tall glass of water.

  “No.” He grinned and bowed over her hand. “I thank you for the sustenance, my beauteous Li Wei.”

  “Ha! Off you go, you scamp.”

  He left with a light salute for her, and a soft smile aimed Kai’s way. While he was assisting with the sentries so they could take more breaks, he had no official assigned area. He decided to use that freedom to check on Aodhan, having not seen his friend for the past hour.

  This place . . .

  He shivered, just not liking the feel of it. Especially now that they had a survivor who’d come out of nowhere and who spoke about Lijuan walking the earth.

  * * *

  * * *

  Aodhan stood underneath a sky smudged a charcoal gray that said night hadn’t yet released its grasp on the world. Having flown to the highest point in the area—the forested tip of one of Zhangjiajie’s unearthly pillars—Aodhan waited for the light, his intent to search for any signs of unusual movement or activity.

  Lijuan’s monstrous creatures weren’t the smartest when they were hungry or injured.

  “Why are you lurking in the dark like a bloodborn vampire out of one of your horror movies?”

  Aodhan didn’t startle; he’d heard the snap of Illium’s wings as he landed behind him, felt the wind it generated. “Since when do you know anything about horror movies?” he said, light bursting inside him in tiny bubbles at the fact Illium had hunted him down.

  “I know many things, young grasshopper.” The other man came to stand beside him. “Oh, I see. This is the best vantage point in the area. You’re waiting for the dawn?”

  Aodhan nodded, his throat dry without warning and his face hot. It happened like this sometimes, a sudden flashback to the endless darkness that had been his world once upon a time.

  He’d learned to live in the night again, learned to accept that the sun and the moon couldn’t always be his companions—but right then, he came to understand that part of why he so loved New York was that Raphael’s city was never truly dark.

  A brush of a wing across his own.

  His heart twisted, clenched, clung. He said nothing. Nothing needed to be said. Illium knew his nightmares, had seen him at his most broken, when his wings had been nothing but tendons held together by rotted webbing, and his spirit a thing splintered. Illium understood the horrors the dark held for Aodhan, understood that as long as the night existed, Aodhan could never truly forget.

  He didn’t know how long they stood there in a silence that wasn’t comfortable or uncomfortable. It was . . . It had no words. No description. It was a thing formed out of time and friendship and loyalty.

  Only when a sliver of light lit the horizon on fire did Aodhan take his first real breath in what felt like hours. Air stabbed into his lungs, filled his nostrils, made his skin ignite with life.

  When he felt Illium begin to slide away his wing, he reached out and grabbed the other man’s wrist. Solid bone and warmth, the contact made his world shift the right way up for the first time in more than a year.

  Then Illium’s muscles went rigid under his touch, his arm unmoving.

  “Let go.” Illium’s voice was a harsh thing full of ground-up rocks as he gave an order he’d never before used on Aodhan. Not for this.

  Aodhan never disregarded such requests. Never. But he had to force himself to lift his fingers from around Illium’s wrist one by one. And the words that should’ve come, they stuck in his chest, the silence between them a sp
iked mine that stabbed and cut.

  The image was enough to smash an anvil into his chest, release his words. “What is wrong between us?” It came out almost angry.

  Illium’s eyes were aglow when he looked at Aodhan, a sign of the violent power that shadowed him, and haunted all those who loved him. He was far too young for it, needed time yet to be part of Raphael’s Seven, to be a senior squadron commander, to be everyone’s playful Bluebell.

  “There’s nothing wrong,” Illium said, his shoulders set as hard as his jaw, and his voice that of the senior squadron commander. Mature. Remote. Professional. It was a face that he’d never before turned toward Aodhan.

  “Blue.” The old nickname was torn out of him.

  Illium didn’t budge. “We’re just different people now,” he said.

  It was a truth, but only a truth. They’d grown as people throughout their lives, yet always remained bonded in blood, their friendship so deep that nothing and no one could shake it. “You’re avoiding the question.”

  “You told me you needed freedom.” Illium’s words were rough shards that sliced into them both, the distance exploding in a million deadly pieces. “That night during and after the dinner at Elena and Raphael’s Enclave home, you told me you wanted freedom. As if I was a cage.” He thumped a fisted hand against his chest. “So go, be free, Aodhan. This cage will never again hold you.”

  Spreading wings of wild blue and silver in a violent snap, he rose up into the air before Aodhan could respond. He could’ve flown up after him, but no one could catch Illium when he didn’t want to be caught. Aodhan would wait, be patient. They’d be alone soon enough, and then they’d have this out.

  Because he hadn’t ever implied that Illium was a cage, much less used the words Illium was trying to put into his mouth.

  He remembered exactly what he’d said: I’m no longer a broken doll who needs to be protected from those who might play roughly with me.

  Then later, when he’d tracked Illium down as he sat alone on one of the powerful columns that arched over Brooklyn Bridge: I don’t need to be tied to your apron strings any longer. I don’t need to be babied and kept safe from myself.

  He’d been frustrated but no longer furious as he’d been at dinner. He’d needed his best friend to understand what he was trying to tell him, to see Aodhan as he was then and not as he’d once been.

  But Illium, hurt by his earlier words, had been in no mood to listen.

  If he could go back in time to that night, would he say the same? No. The apron strings comment had been out of line and Aodhan owned that. As for the rest . . . He wouldn’t use the term “broken doll” for that brought up a memory so ugly it should be forever forgotten. But the rest? The meaning behind it? Yes, he’d speak of that again. It had needed to be said.

  22

  Yesterday

  Illium had just finished his sword training with Raphael—the archangel made him use a stubby wooden sword even though Illium had told him that he wouldn’t accidentally stab him or himself, but it was still the best fun. He hardly ever got to train with Raphael; he was an archangel, had lots of important business, and was often in his territory far, far away.

  Mostly, Illium trained under people Raphael had chosen for the task.

  But Raphael was the one who’d taught him his first skills—he’d spent an entire month with Illium for that, had even asked permission from Teacher Jessamy to take him out of school for it!

  It had been amazing.

  And even though he couldn’t spend so many days with Illium often, he always made time for a session or sometimes even two whenever he was in the Refuge. Today, he’d been waiting at the house when Illium flew home from school; he’d been seated at Illium’s mother’s table while she sketched him. In front of him had been a plate of cookies, and a glass of milk.

  Illium’s eyes had gotten round. He knew that was little angel food. He still liked it, but Raphael was an archangel. But Raphael was never mean to Illium’s mother. Not ever. Not even when she did things that weren’t quite right. Today, he’d drunk the milk, and eaten the cookies before he took Illium out for the training session.

  Once, when Illium had said thank you to Raphael for being so nice to Illium’s mother, Raphael had stopped walking and crouched down so they were eye to eye. It stopped Illium’s breath to be that close to Raphael—his eyes were like blue fire and Illium could feel a pressure against his skin, like he could in the air right before a storm.

  That day, Raphael had said, “You need never say such to me, Illium.” He’d cupped one side of Illium’s head, his fingers brushing Illium’s hair. “Lady Sharine has every claim on my loyalty, love, and care. She was a mother to me when I needed one most. Whenever she calls, I will come.”

  Illium hadn’t understood all of the emotion in Raphael’s voice or face, but he’d understood that his mother had a history with the archangel. Maybe one day, he’d be old enough that they’d tell him about it. It was annoying being a little angel—but at least he wasn’t any longer considered a baby.

  “Ugh,” he said as he struggled up the steep climb. He could’ve flown home, but Raphael always said that he couldn’t only be strong in the air—to be a truly well-rounded warrior, he had to be strong on the ground, too. Because otherwise, what would he do if his wings got wounded in battle and he fell to the earth?

  Illium had no plans of being useless if he ended up groundbound. So he made it a point to walk as much as he flew. Sometimes, when the ground wasn’t this uneven, with craggy edges and sharp rocks, he even ran. But today, Raphael had made him do a hard training, and the ground was all broken up, so he was huffed by the time he made it to the top of the incline.

  When a burst of light landed beside him, he bent down with his hands on his knees, his sword strapped safely to his back, and gasped. “Sorry. Training.”

  Aodhan didn’t say anything, standing in quiet next to Illium until Illium could breathe properly again. He could see half of Aodhan’s legs and part of Aodhan’s wings from his bent-over position. His friend was wearing brown sandals, and his favorite old pants that had started out white but were now kind of a dull light brown, with small rips in them. His wings glittered like the stones in Lady Ariha’s necklace.

  Light shattered off Aodhan, was drawn to him.

  Though Illium was used to it, it was still kind of difficult to look at him in the bright sunshine. Playfully pushing his friend into the shade of a nearby tree when he could stand straight again, he said, “I think I see stars.”

  It was an old joke between them, from a time when Illium had fallen and hit his head and thought he was seeing stars when really, it was just Aodhan leaning over him with the sun sparking off his hair.

  The two of them found it hilarious.

  But today, Aodhan didn’t laugh. His face was still and tight. Illium immediately stopped joking around. “What happened?”

  Aodhan kicked at a piece of rock. “Can we go flying?”

  Illium had intended to walk all the way home, but he said, “Where do you want to go?”

  When Aodhan just shrugged, Illium said, “I know where we can fly.” There was a place his mother had shown him—a mountain field with lots of flowers and butterflies. Aodhan loved butterflies, even though he liked to pretend he didn’t. Illium didn’t tease him about it; teasing was for stuff that wasn’t important. Butterflies were important to Aodhan in some way.

  They took off soon after. Illium couldn’t do vertical takeoffs yet, but they were at a high point near the gorge. So he walked to the edge of the massive split in the earth, and took off from there, sweeping down on the air currents, then rising up into the clear blue of the sky. The two of them still didn’t have permission to gorge dive, but this—using the lift created by the air cradled in the gorge—was allowed.

  Illium didn’t complain when Aodhan flew much higher. Aodhan liked doing that b
ecause he attracted too much attention when he flew closer to the ground. Littles their age weren’t usually allowed at such high elevations, but Aodhan had been given special permission after Illium’s mother went and talked to the other adults.

  Now, Aodhan was a spark in the sky.

  “He is a little sun,” Mama had said one day, her voice dreamy as she looked up at the sky where Aodhan flew. “So bright and open and full of an inner light that I worry will be bruised by the world.”

  Her fingers in Illium’s hair. “I worry about both of you, my two bright sparks.”

  Today, Aodhan followed Illium until they reached the field of flowers and butterflies. Then he came straight down to land on his feet. He wasn’t anywhere near as fast as Illium, but he was much faster than other children around their age.

  A huge butterfly of jewel green settled immediately on his shoulder. It fluttered up when Aodhan slumped into a seated position on the field, then settled again. Other, smaller butterflies found spots on Aodhan’s wings, his hair, even his legs. Each time he moved, the air shimmered with color.

  Illium’s mother had painted Aodhan covered with butterflies and even though Aodhan had gone a funny color at seeing it, he kept the painting in his bedroom. He wouldn’t even give it to his own mama, even though she’d pressed both hands to her cheeks and asked with shining eyes.

  Sitting down beside his best friend, Illium pulled off his practice sword. It might be stubby and made of wood, but he loved it because Raphael had given it to him once he decided Illium was old enough for sword training. When it broke—because all practice swords broke after a while—Illium was going to save a piece and see if his mother’s friend who carved things could carve him a tiny sword out of it, for Illium to put in his box of keep-things.

  He put down the sword with care, then fell back in the grass so he was looking up at the sky, with the flowers waving alongside him, and Aodhan’s bright presence to the left. Then he waited. Trying to make Aodhan talk when he didn’t want to talk was stupid. All it got anyone was a tired voice.