Archangel's Light

by Singh, Nalini

  “What about the others?” Aodhan had asked, his voice hesitant. “The ones who don’t push into my space, but who stare? How do I handle that? When I was a kid, Illium told me to ignore the stupids and it worked . . . but now . . . The attention makes me feel soiled.” He’d swallowed. “I know they’re not touching me, but it feels like it.”

  Raphael had considered his response with care. “It’s not of your doing. Know this first of all. Those are the actions others choose to take.” He’d wanted to make it clear that no blame lay on Aodhan for any of this.

  “You can call it out when you’re comfortable—some will then back off. Others won’t and justify it to themselves and to you by terming it admiration.” It was an unfortunate truth that such was the way of those who thought only of their own needs, immortal or mortal.

  “But,” he’d continued, “there are many who will be embarrassed and aghast to realize they are causing you discomfort.” A lot of people were so struck by Aodhan that they forgot themselves; this didn’t excuse their actions but at least they could be taught to be better. “And, Aodhan—there will come a time when you are so strong that no one will dare look at you with such open greed.”

  A quick, shy smile from the youth that had Raphael ruffling his hair as he so often did with Illium. “Whatever happens,” he’d added, “always remember what I said first—these are the actions of others. They do not in any way define you.”

  Aodhan had taken a deep breath, exhaled. “At times, I wonder what it would be like to be normal.”

  “Naasir says normal is overrated,” Raphael had answered. “He says it’s far better to be a one-being and keep everyone guessing.”

  Aodhan’s smile had turned dazzling, his entire being alight. “I will aim to be more like Naasir, sire.”

  That delighted smile was what burned in Raphael’s mind as he flew high above the clouds, while Naasir ran far below, a hunter invisible. Illium flew slightly behind Raphael, Jason with him, while Dmitri held the fort for Raphael, and Galen kept an eye on the Refuge base of their enemy.

  Because that angel was now Raphael’s enemy. Sachieri had dared take Aodhan, dared take one of Raphael’s people. She would pay the price. At present, she and her equally guilty lover, Bathar, were in her Refuge home, but even had she been at the stronghold where she’d most likely imprisoned Aodhan, it wouldn’t have mattered.

  Sachieri was a dealer of rare antiquities for immortals. No warrior, no power, certainly no match for an archangel. What mattered was to find Aodhan before any of her people got to him and attempted to use him as a hostage.

  Which was why all the angels were above the cloud layer, while Naasir crept up to the stronghold. He wasn’t quite human today, hadn’t been quite human since he’d passed Sachieri in the Refuge a week earlier and caught a hint of Aodhan’s scent on her clothing.

  Not an old, faded scent like Naasir told him existed yet in parts of Aodhan’s studio, but a fresh, bright scent that spoke of recent contact. That Aodhan was an angel uncomfortable with touch except for his closest family, lovers, and friends, just made the implication of the scent all the more enraging.

  “I would rip out her throat,” Naasir had said to Raphael, his silver eyes as bright as a tiger’s and a growl in his throat. “After we find Aodhan.”

  “If she has a throat left after I am done with her.” Raphael’s rage was a cold, cold beast, one who understood that vengeance could last an eternity.

  Naasir had tilted his head to the side. “He is one of your cubs. You can go first.”

  Despite having seen Aodhan grow up, Raphael didn’t think of him as a child. He saw in him a young warrior any angel would be proud to have among his people. But Aodhan was his, and no one was permitted to hurt Raphael’s people. Jason, how is Illium?

  In control, was the cool response from the spymaster who’d searched with a relentless will that had left him as thin as Illium, yet who blamed himself for not having found Aodhan. He won’t act precipitously and put the operation in jeopardy.

  And you, Jason? Can I trust you to maintain?

  Yes, sire.

  His word was enough for Raphael. Jason wouldn’t be his spymaster if Raphael didn’t have implicit trust in him. What Sachieri had done, however, had damaged the black-winged angel, as it had damaged all of them—including the already fractured Lady Sharine. At least her broken mind had protected her somewhat; at times, she forgot Aodhan was gone and talked as if they’d painted together the previous day.

  Strange mercies.

  But when this is done, Jason added, I intend to erase Sachieri and Bathar from angelic history. I plan to steal every document in which either of their names is mentioned, and to strongly encourage anyone who has had dealings with them to forget they ever existed.

  Jason wasn’t a violent angel—but he burned with a smoldering power. For most, his encouragement would be difficult to resist; Raphael would take care of any who remained. I think, Jason, you will have the cooperation of more people than you know.

  Angelkind’s fascination with Aodhan could be used to gain him justice of a kind that would be a horror to an immortal: to be so forgotten that thousands of years of life added up to nothing. Neither has a child. Their bloodlines end with them.

  For Aodhan’s captors would both die. But it wouldn’t be quick. Not for this crime.

  They flew on.

  Until at last, Naasir’s mind touched Raphael’s. Technically, the other man shouldn’t have been able to speak to him this way, not given who and what he was—but Naasir had never been one to follow the rules. Sire, I am going inside.

  We’ll hover above the cloud layer until you give us the go-ahead. Take care, Naasir. You are smarter and stronger, but vicious cowards are not to be underestimated.

  I will be the stealthy hunter, Naasir promised. Our prey will never see me.

  Raphael kept an eye on Illium as they waited, all but able to see the rage that boiled in his blood. Illium hadn’t laughed or smiled for anyone but Lady Sharine since the day Aodhan failed to arrive at a courier waypoint; and even for his cherished mother, he could only manage bright falsehoods that didn’t fool her except for when she was far into the kaleidoscope.

  The rest of the time, he was grim rage.

  Raphael could’ve never imagined such an incarnation of their laughing, playful Bluebell.

  I have Aodhan’s scent. Sharp. Strong. He can’t be far. Fierce exultation in Naasir’s voice. The servants are weak and lazy. No threat. But I will find our sparkles, make sure he is alone.

  Blood fury hazed Raphael’s mind the next instant, Naasir still connected to him as he went into a sudden killing frenzy. Go! he ordered Jason and Illium, even as he dived through the clouds toward the stronghold situated in the midst of what would be rolling green hills in the summertime.

  Cloaked in snow and ice this winter’s day, it appeared a beacon of glimmering gray stone—look only at the elegant outside and you’d never deduce the filth and malice that coated its walls.

  The counterfeit sense of peace broke right then, transformed into screaming anarchy.

  Angels flew up from every corner, their wings beating in terrified desperation, while below, vampires ran out into the snow. A number stumbled and fell, crawling insects who deserved no mercy.

  Raphael struck them all down with a single modulated blow of archangelic power. Enough to slam them into unconsciousness—and cause a few broken wings and bones for the angels in flight.

  No death. Not yet.

  Anyone who’d worked in this stronghold was liable to be guilty of abetting in Aodhan’s torture, but he would make certain of that. No one who’d helped harm Aodhan, if only by their silence, would ever again know anything but terror.

  Jason.

  I’ll take care of the stragglers. Sire—Illium won’t stay with me. He’s heading after you.

  L
et him come. Aodhan would need his best friend.

  Raphael landed on a wide balcony. Aware of the streak of blue landing hard behind him, he blew open the closed doors, stepped inside.

  Silence. No more screams. No more panic.

  Naasir.

  Sire, they hurt him. Naasir’s voice shook with rage. They took him out of the light and they buried him in water and they hurt him.

  “Basement,” Raphael said to Illium, and they both stepped off the railingless edge of the upper level, their destination the ground floor.

  While small angelic homes had no basements, they were often added into large strongholds as extra storage. It made sense, since such strongholds almost always had non-angelic staff—the vast majority of whom felt no sense of confinement at going into the basement.

  Quite the opposite of winged beings.

  Raphael’s feet hit the floor at the same time as Illium’s.

  “Sire!” Illium sprinted to the left, having spotted what Raphael just had—fallen and broken vases, tumbled furniture. Casualties of the staff’s rush to escape Naasir’s rampage.

  Raphael pounded after the young angel, his boots crushing the flowers scattered on the floor as his wings took out other items. A painting fell with a splinter of glass. A mirror followed right before a small marble statue thudded into the spilled water, broken porcelain, and bruised petals that were all that remained of a floral arrangement.

  Ahead of him, Illium disappeared through a wide door that proved to lead to a set of stairs that headed down deeper into the earth. Blood splattered the walls around the stairs, and a vampire who’d been disemboweled by claws as lethal as razors lay gurgling blood on the floor, his hands lost in the rippling folds of his intestines.

  What had Naasir seen or smelled on this man that had set him off?

  Ignoring the vampire—weak, not one who’d quickly repair the grievous wound especially with no blood to fuel it—Raphael followed Illium down the stairwell. He noticed a lever as he did so, noticed, too, that it had bloody prints on it. Naasir had turned that lever.

  Water. Buried.

  His gut churned as the scent of damp, cool and unmistakable, hit his nostrils. The stairwell, however, showed no signs of water. It was softly lighted, the walls lined with art . . . Aodhan’s art.

  A glow hit the air.

  His wings were afire.

  Raphael called on all his strength to keep his rage from blinding him. Aodhan needed him to be his archangel right now, not the man who’d seen him grow up, not the one who’d taught him how to use a crossbow, and not, too, the laughing new archangel who’d caught him when he tangled his wings as a babe and fell.

  “Adi, Adi, I’m here.”

  He’d half expected a scream from Illium, but his voice was quiet, gentle.

  Raphael turned the corner and saw.

  37

  Pieces of iron had been peeled up from a narrow and long box that sat on a stone floor still pooled with glimmering wet. The box had been manacled with chains now broken. Naasir’s bloody hands were jagged with embedded shards as he sat crouched on one side of the open part of the box, struggling to tear back more of the iron, while Illium knelt on the other side, his hand trembling as he reached within and brushed back Aodhan’s hair.

  Sachieri had kept this angel full of light in a box in the dark.

  Going frigid within as that was the only way he could deal with this, Raphael said, “Naasir,” and the other man moved with primal speed.

  A single flick of archangelic power and the iron box was nothing but dust. But he’d been careful, so careful, that nothing he did hurt Aodhan. Striding forward, he saw eyes of translucent blue and crystalline green shards turn toward Illium.

  No other part of Aodhan moved.

  Couldn’t move.

  His wings . . . his beautiful wings . . . battered and damaged to the point that they were nothing but strings of tendon over rotted bone. His body was emaciated, his skin broken and bloody and scarred.

  It took a long, long time to do that to an angel, but Aodhan was young yet. Young enough to hurt. Young enough to hurt to the point that he hadn’t been able to break out of the box. Sachieri had to have struck him a near-fatal blow at the first, then kept him too weak to heal. Else, he’d have used his power to smash out of the cage.

  Raphael would find out. He’d find out all of it. He’d strip her mind bare until she was nothing but a sniveling shell. But not today. Today, he would take Aodhan home.

  * * *

  * * *

  Raphael contacted Dmitri and Galen the instant they were close enough to the Refuge to speak through their minds. Cage Sachieri, Bathar, and their entire household. I will deal with Elijah. It was in the other archangel’s Refuge territory that Sachieri made her home, and she was bound peripherally to his court.

  Dmitri was the one who replied. Unsurprising. Galen, on watch with a full squadron, would’ve sprung into action. The weapons-master was also apt to be in a rage; Raphael would get no words out of him until his task was done.

  I’ll speak to Elijah’s second—he won’t stand in our way. Sire, Aodhan?

  He’s badly wounded. Warn the Medica that I’m bringing in a critical case.

  How do I stop myself from killing them?

  No fast death for either of them, Dmitri. No mercy. That goes for you, too, Galen. Keep them alive.

  A grunt of acknowledgment from Galen.

  Nothing from Dmitri, but Raphael didn’t need it. His closest friend had too close an understanding of the need for vengeance—and for justice. He would do nothing to diminish the harshness of the punishment Raphael intended to mete out.

  What Dmitri did say was, I’m near the Medica. I’ll see Aodhan first before I join Galen. He doesn’t need me for anything but dealing with Elijah’s people. Our Barbarian is not the best at politics.

  Raphael didn’t deny him. Like him, Dmitri had watched Aodhan grow from when he was a babe. He’d once walked hand in hand with Aodhan when Aodhan got it into his head to visit an angelic monument on the far edge of the Refuge. Naasir’s “small sparkles” was beloved of them all.

  Raphael looked down to make sure that the cushion of power he’d wrapped around Aodhan’s blanket-enveloped body was still holding. He lay in Raphael’s arms, unconscious and without any real weight to him. He’d reacted only once—when he’d tried to speak to Illium. Then his eyes had closed, and he’d slumped into this state.

  Raphael had known he’d likely gone to a place beyond pain; he’d wrapped the cushion of power around him nonetheless. Never would he risk being the cause of even a minute trace of pain for this angel who was the gentlest member of his court, the one who saved small insects caught in pools of water and made sure the wild birds were fed.

  Illium had tried to pace Raphael, inevitably fallen behind. He was fast but didn’t have the endurance to keep up with Raphael over a long flight. Go, sire! Illium’s mental voice had been fierce. I’ll follow! He was doing so alone, Jason and Naasir having stayed behind at Sachieri’s stronghold to secure the prisoners.

  So when Raphael landed on the wide landing area outside the Medica, he was alone but for the wounded angel in his arms. Keir and several other healers were waiting for him, and he saw the horror on all their faces as they laid eyes on Aodhan. But it lasted the barest moment before they snapped into action.

  Dmitri stood off to the edge, out of their way—but plenty close enough to see Aodhan. Hurt them, he said to Raphael in a short, clipped voice, the skin of his face bloodless, it was pulled so tight over his bones. Break them.

  Oh, I intend to. He strode inside on Keir’s orders as Dmitri shifted on his heel to go join Galen. Once inside, he forced himself to relinquish Aodhan by laying him down on a large bed designed for angelic beings. But Aodhan had no wings to speak of, looked lost in the whiteness of the mattress.

 
When Keir and another healer unwrapped him from the blanket with careful hands, Raphael was hit once more with how little of Aodhan remained. “You must heal him,” he ordered Keir, his voice a thing of grit and stone.

  Keir had known Raphael all of Raphael’s life, and had little fear of archangels in general. “This is our place now, Raphael. Go. We’ll work better without your wings blazing fear into my staff.”

  It was only then that Raphael realized his wings were glowing.

  Hands fisted, he glanced around and saw faces bleached of color. Keir might not be afeared of him, but the same couldn’t be said of the others. He had to go, but he wouldn’t leave Aodhan alone without one of his people. “I’ll wait outside this room until Illium arrives. He is not to be separated from Aodhan, understood?”

  Keir nodded. “I was planning to ask you to send Illium here, regardless. The child will need his heart’s mirror to pull him back to us.” He brushed tender fingers over the broken straw of Aodhan’s hair. It still glittered bright under the light, but it was faded, brittle.

  Retreating to the doorway, Raphael stayed out of sight while positioning himself so he could see inside the room. When a sweaty and breathless Illium ran into the Medica some time later, he grabbed the young angel and crushed him close until Illium’s wings stopped fluttering and his breathing evened out, his heartbeat no longer a drum against Raphael.

  “Aodhan doesn’t need your anger or your panic,” he murmured in Illium’s ear. “He needs your friendship.” That term wasn’t enough to describe the tie between the two, Keir’s use of heart’s mirror far more fitting. “Be as you’ve always been with him. Do not treat him as broken. Be his friend, the one he’s always known.”

  Illium’s arms clenched around him as he nodded with jagged movements. “I understand.”

  Pulling back, Raphael met eyes of aged gold, saw more calm in them than he’d expected. But then, Illium was Lady Sharine’s son. He held far more maturity and kindness within than was apparent to those who saw only the surface flash. “Good. Don’t get in the way of the healers or I’ll pull you out.”