Archangel's Light Page 8

  Aodhan’s gaze went to the doors through which the blue-winged angel had vanished. Face your ghosts, Bluebell, he thought. Conquer the phantom that haunts you. Even as he thought that, he knew there was a very high chance that Illium would choose the very opposite path.

  And if he does?

  Aodhan swallowed at the question that bloomed bitter acid in his blood. Kai wasn’t Kaia. Perhaps she would be the healing balm Illium needed, a mortal lover to vanquish the one who’d caused the open wound in his psyche. Perhaps Kai would finally effect what Aodhan had never been able to achieve.

  His hand spasmed to lock around his tumbler.

  Illium’s Flaw caused Illium’s Fall.

  —Angelic aphorism

  13

  The kitchen appeared empty and for a second, sheared in two by a sense of keening loss, Illium thought he’d imagined her. But no, there she was in one corner, having just refilled her jug.

  “Oh.” She pressed a hand to her heart, her fingers long and slender.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He felt desperate, almost feral, but he forced himself to keep his distance, keep a smile on his face. “I finished my mead already.” He held out the tumbler he’d somehow had the presence of mind to pick up. “I don’t suppose you’d give me more?”

  Her cheeks went pink. “Of course, Angel.”

  “Illium,” he corrected again, keeping his voice gentle.

  One sleek wing of hair sliding across the softness of her cheek as she poured his drink, she whispered, “Illium,” and he fell back in time, to a laughing season of life when his heart had been unbruised and wide open and Kaia’s wicked smile had owned him.

  Her descendant’s smile was softer and appeared more shy at first glance, but the subtle sensuality to it tugged on his memories. “Thank you,” he said after his tumbler was full, but didn’t leave. “Did you travel far to come here?”

  She nodded. “We heard the archangel had settled here, and so we came.” Quiet, musical, her voice was pleasing to the ear.

  Kaia had sung like a bird, her voice a clear mountain song.

  This isn’t her, he reminded himself, but couldn’t help from asking, “Are you leaving with Archangel Suyin tomorrow?” If she was, he’d dream of her until he saw her again.

  “No. I’m staying behind to help close up the stronghold, do the final cleanup.”

  His entire being exhaled. “Then I’ll see you again soon,” he murmured, forcing himself to step back.

  She sucked in a breath, but her lips curved. And there it was—that hint of passionate confidence, the wildness of spirit that had so drawn him to Kaia.

  He carried Kai’s smile with him as he returned to the meeting table. Even as he replied to a comment from Yindi, he rubbed a thin metal disk between his thumb and forefinger, having retrieved the keepsake from his pocket on his walk back to his seat. Old and smooth, it was no longer a memorial to all he’d lost, but a talisman to the future.

  He’d be able to concentrate now that he knew Kai wouldn’t disappear if he turned around. When Aodhan glanced at him, Illium found himself smiling, in charity with the world. Maybe his tour of duty here wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  A whisper of power as Suyin entered the room. It shouldn’t have been a whisper, should’ve been a wall. But Illium had said his piece—there was a point beyond which you couldn’t push any archangel.

  Only consorts and seconds had that right.

  When he turned his attention toward Aodhan, it was to see him looking at Suyin without any strong emotion on his face—but Illium knew he was speaking to his archangel mind-to-mind. Putting his neck on the line because it was a second’s job to check their archangel if necessary.

  Suyin gave a slight incline of her head before she took her seat.

  Silence fell.

  “You know that tomorrow,” she began in her quiet, composed way, “we move from this stronghold, and toward the coast.” She took a sip of the wine Aodhan had poured her. “During the break, I had a chance to assess our readiness, and I’m pleased to say the vast majority of the work has already been done.”

  “The mortals?” Jae asked, and as she leaned forward, Illium spotted the outline of a gun under her shoulder. “They’ve nested the deepest.”

  “I thought so, too,” Suyin said, “but when I spoke to Rii—”

  The one the mortals have chosen to represent them, Aodhan’s voice filled in for Illium even as Suyin continued to speak.

  “—he told me that most of them never unpacked. All were certain I wouldn’t be content with a home borrowed from Lijuan.” A faint, ironic smile. “It does terrible things to the archangelic ego when mortals see more clearly.”

  No laughter, because despite her light words, sorrow soaked her tone. “The mortals sensed what we all now know—that Lijuan stained this place with her evil.” Sighing, she leaned back in her chair—one designed for wings, with a central spine and no sides. “I’m certain that some of the mortals continue to worship her as a goddess, but the rest see her for the monster she became.”

  “They are foolish,” bit out Maximus, his fisted hand a mallet on the table. “Small minds, no sense of understanding.”

  Illium bristled. He’d always been far more connected to mortals than most immortals. Not only because of Kaia; he’d had mortal friends throughout his lifetime, and he remembered the name of each and every one.

  Even as he went to open his mouth, Aodhan said, “Peace, Maximus. You may as well say the same for those angels who remain loyal to her. You know they exist—any number of the survivors of the war are only in China and part of Archangel Suyin’s forces because no one else will have them.”

  The rebuke was quietly delivered, its impact unmistakable.

  Maximus sagged, then raised those big, square-fingered hands to rub at his face. “You’re right,” he said afterward. “At least the mortals have the excuse of a short lifetime—for anyone who wasn’t born outside the territory, all of it will have been spent under Lijuan’s reign. Our kind have no such excuse. They know everything of what she did, were right in the thick of her madness and evil.”

  He slapped one hand palm-down on the table. “Why do they continue to revere her?” His voice held confusion, his eyes oddly lost for a man so solid and certain of himself.

  Suyin shook her head.

  “Mortals have a theory,” Illium said, and all at once, was the center of attention.

  “What can mortals know about Lijuan?” Maximus demanded, his eyebrows lowered over eyes of faded blue.

  Illium wasn’t in the least cowed; he’d dealt with rough and rowdy warriors far more belligerent than Maximus. “It’s not about Lijuan. About why people remain in bad situations. The theory is one based on the fallacy of time sunk and resources invested.

  “At a certain point, say mortal healers of the mind, walking away no longer seems an option—even when a person knows that it’s the only right choice. It’s not logical, but is rather an emotional reaction. It’s why cattle remain with vampires who bleed them dry, and vampires serve cruel masters even after their Contract comes to an end.”

  A pause around the table, as the others chewed over his words.

  “I think the mortals are right,” Suyin murmured. “All these warriors made a choice, and they know the choice will sully their honor for an eon. So they cling to the falsehoods she peddled in order to justify their choice, and to continue to believe themselves righteous.”

  A sudden shake of her head. “Enough. Let us have no more talk about my aunt. Her time is done. Let’s cleanse our palate by talking of my new citadel.” She turned to Aodhan. “I’ve asked my second for his thoughts on the design.”

  Pride speared Illium’s veins. Suyin was an architect of great renown, had designed buildings that were revered to this day, yet she respected Aodhan enough to ask his opinion. She val
ued him. Truly valued him. As much as Raphael valued him. Aodhan would lose nothing by staying with her, while gaining incredible prestige.

  The realization was a boulder in Illium’s gut.

  “What you propose is lovely and graceful and true to you,” Aodhan said, the light playing over the faultless line of his profile and picking out the sparkle in his hair, in his skin, in the feathers visible where his wings arched above his shoulders.

  Suyin raised an eyebrow. “But?”

  “You should remember Naasir’s advice.”

  A buzz of conversation around the room, as one and all wondered what Naasir might’ve said. Illium’s fellow member of the Seven was well-known in angelkind—though not many truly knew him. Strangers and acquaintances might be excused for believing him contained and tight-lipped, a deadly predator who could be an assassin or a courtier.

  His friends knew a far different Naasir: a man who was wild at heart, capable of endless affection and gifts that made sense only to him. Women tumbled headlong into love with him, but he loved only one woman. His treasured Andromeda. His Andi.

  Soft laughter from Suyin as she raised her glass to Aodhan. “I take your point.” Then she turned to the table to put them out of their misery. “Naasir has advised me to be more scary.”

  A pause before every single person at the table nodded in firm agreement.

  Even as Suyin groaned, Yindi was saying, “We love you, sire, and we think you the greatest of archangels with your compassion and your courage—but that isn’t the fuel on which the Cadre runs.”

  “Yindi is, alas, correct,” Maximus intoned with unexpected glumness.

  “Enough, enough.” Suyin laughed, and in that moment, Illium saw the archangel she was under the weight of sorrow and the pain of the past. A woman of great power and great beauty and even greater heart. “I will be certain to add several spiky turrets and perhaps a gun wall or three. Aodhan can surely fashion skulls out of bone-appearing material for me to mount on the walls.”

  Raucous laughter vibrated through the room at the idea of Suyin sullying her elegant design with such abominations. Xan snorted, he was laughing so hard, which had Yindi spraying mead out of her nose and Maximus guffawing. Even Aodhan’s lips flirted with a smile, the light of his amusement reaching his eyes.

  Illium sat back, his breath lost under the inadvertent body blow.

  He’d convinced himself that Aodhan wasn’t happy here in China, that he couldn’t be happy anywhere outside the Seven and Raphael and Elena. But Aodhan was happy. He’d found a place for himself in this court, and by this archangel’s side.

  She held him in high esteem, and the others in the court—from wild Xan to cool-eyed Jae—looked to him with respect. Aodhan had become a true second to Suyin.

  Perhaps, Illium forced himself to admit, this was where he was meant to be.

  14

  Yesterday

  Aodhan sat next to Illium on the roof of Aodhan’s home. It was nearer the side of the Refuge from which Illium’s father would come, so they’d decided it would make a good lookout. “How do you know he’s coming?”

  “My papa’s friend Meri said,” Illium answered with an excited smile. “He saw Papa at Neha’s court, where they were having a meeting. Papa told him to tell me that he was coming this way today or maybe tomorrow.”

  He took a breath, finished. “Meri said dates, but I can’t tell dates, but Mama told me not to worry, that she’d tell me the day when it came—and she told me today!”

  “Will we stay here all night?” He would if Illium wanted; he knew his friend missed his father.

  Aodhan’s father lived in the Refuge, so he was always close by except for the times he had to go be a scholar in a court. He and Aodhan didn’t do things together a lot, not like Illium did with his father when Aegaeon came, but Aodhan knew Father was there if he needed him for anything important. Mostly, he didn’t. Mostly he tried to find the answer by himself, or with Illium’s help.

  “No.” Illium’s lower lip jutted out. “Mama said I have to come in before dark. Papa will come to me if he flies in late.”

  “You should listen to Eh-ma.” She was Aodhan’s favorite grown-up, even more favorite than his own mother. He never said that anywhere except inside his head, though. He knew it would hurt his mother’s feelings. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did.

  Illium kicked his feet, but not enough to unbalance himself from his perch. “I will.” But he still looked grumpy. “I told her I’m big now, and she said I’m her baby boy. Ugh.”

  “But we are babies,” Aodhan pointed out. “We don’t even go to proper school yet!” Only the special one for little angels.

  Illium scowled at him. “Papa says I’m a little man. He says I’m going to be in his army when I’m bigger.”

  Aodhan wished Aegaeon wouldn’t come at all, even though he knew that was a mean thing to wish. Aegaeon played with Illium lots, and even sometimes invited Aodhan, but Aodhan didn’t like how Eh-ma was when Aegaeon was in the Refuge. It knotted him up on the inside.

  It was like she . . . faded.

  He fisted his hands, frustrated because he didn’t have the words to explain even to himself what he meant. All he knew was that Eh-ma was different when Aegaeon was here. Like he was a big insect that sucked up all her brightness, that was it.

  But even though Aodhan shared everything with Illium, he didn’t share this. Illium would be mad if Aodhan said that about his papa.

  Illium loved Aegaeon.

  So when Aodhan spotted a glimmer of color on the horizon while Illium was searching another part of the sky, he said, “Look. I think it’s your papa.”

  Illium’s entire face lit up. Jumping up onto his feet, he began to flare out his wings. But Aodhan pulled at one wing. “You can’t fly so far. You’ll fall.”

  Illium tugged away his wing. “I can fly there.” His forehead creased.

  Aodhan also didn’t like how Illium was when Aegaeon was in the Refuge. His friend was still his friend, but he was also . . . hungry to be with his father. Aodhan didn’t mind about that. He still saw Illium all the time. He was mad for Illium, that his father made him so scared about missing time with him that Illium got all tight inside, as if he’d burst if he didn’t grab on to every minute.

  “If you fall and break your wing,” he said, repeating something Eh-ma had said to both of them more than once, “you won’t be able to do anything with him.”

  Illium’s scowl got darker, but he didn’t fly away. And, after a while, his scowl faded into a smile. He laughed and bounced on his feet. “Aodhan, my papa is coming home!”

  Aodhan smiled because his friend was happy, but he didn’t fly out with Illium when Aegaeon got close enough that it was safe. Moments later, someone scrambled up to crouch on the roof next to him.

  Naasir’s silver eyes were fixed on the spot where Illium flew toward his father. Illium’s flight path was wobbly, but he was going faster than Aodhan could fly, faster even than some of the older young angels. “It’s Illium’s papa,” he said, even though Naasir probably knew that.

  Naasir wasn’t like the other grown-ups in the Refuge. He wasn’t an angel and he wasn’t a vampire. He was just Naasir. He knew grown-up things, and Aodhan had seen him be very serious-faced and “normal” around some people, but he was himself with Aodhan and Illium.

  One time, Eh-ma had said Naasir was barely over a hundred. Aodhan had been so surprised, because Naasir didn’t act like the young angels. But he didn’t act like an old angel, either. When he’d asked Naasir, Naasir had told him it was because he was a “one being.” “There’s no one like me in the whole world.”

  He was right.

  The last time he’d been in the Refuge, he’d played hide-and-seek with them and he hadn’t just pretended like other grown-ups did. He’d played for real, and it had been the best game ever beca
use Naasir was a good hider—and he was really hard to hide from.

  Naasir said he could sniff them out, so Aodhan had been tricky and dunked himself in water before hiding, and it had taken Naasir a long time to find him. His silver eyes had been bright when he succeeded, his grin wild. “Good game,” he’d said afterward, then left to take a training session for a group of halflings.

  Naasir was fast and a good fighter.

  Today, he said, “I don’t like Aegaeon.”

  Aodhan’s eyes rounded. He turned to look at Naasir, able to see his profile because Naasir had pulled the shaggy silver of his hair into a short tail, except for a few strands that lay against the dark brown of his skin. Naasir had skin that looked warm, like it had sunshine in it, and people wanted to touch him sometimes, like they did Aodhan—except they were too scared of Naasir to try.

  Aodhan wanted to be scary like him. But today he was only thinking about what Naasir had said. “That’s not . . . paw—paw—”

  “Polite,” Naasir completed, then shrugged. “Polite is for pretending. You don’t like him, either.”

  Aodhan bit his lower lip, worried Illium would see his secret, too.

  It was as if Naasir could read his mind. “Don’t worry, small sparkles.” He patted Aodhan on the shoulder. “Small blue wings sees only his father.”

  Exhaling, Aodhan looked to where Aegaeon was now hugging Illium, holding him close. “He makes Illium too hungry.” He knew the words weren’t the right ones for what he meant, but Naasir nodded.

  “Yes. He creates a desperation in the child.” Right then, Naasir sounded like a proper grown-up. “I wanted to bite him when he came to visit Raphael, but Raphael said that might cause a political incident.”

  Aodhan only understood part of that, and it made him grin. “I would bite him if I had sharp teeth.”

  Colors rippled over Naasir’s skin for a moment, like the fur of a tiger. His teeth glinted, his eyes reminding Aodhan of a snow-cat’s. “Too bad we have to be polite.”