Archangel's Light

by Singh, Nalini

  Bathar screamed, while tears rolled out of Sachieri’s staring eyes.

  In truth, Raphael didn’t expect either one of their minds to survive even the year. They were worthless worms, with no bravery in them. But they would now spend what little time they had thinking of the other horror to come. And it would come. Because Raphael would watch their minds—and he would dig them up the instant before the final insanity.

  Each would go into death knowing for what crime they burned.

  You must understand—for Aodhan, the Seven and Raphael are family, the bonds between them far beyond blood and bone. It is a thing elemental.

  —Lady Sharine

  39

  Today

  It was only ten minutes after Illium went into the tunnel with the food that Aodhan saw a stirring in the trees. Movement, he warned.

  The snow had fallen steadily in the interim, and had long erased any evidence of Illium’s passage. So it was on pristine white ground that the newcomer stepped, their head swiveling this way and that on a thin and small body as they ran toward the cavern.

  Their hair was a river down their back that shone as white as the snow.

  And their wings . . . they dragged on the cold earth, weak and twisted.

  Then Aodhan saw that the angel below had no primary feathers.

  Rage a hum in his cells, he said, Get ready, Illium. He began to drop down at the same instant, careful to do so in silence.

  The runner had entered the tunnel by the time he landed. A scream sounded even as his boots touched the snow, followed by the sound of movement . . . then a relatively light body slammed against his chest.

  Aodhan had the runner’s hands manacled behind their back before they could claw at him. “We mean you no harm,” he said in the tongue Lijuan had used most often. It was an older dialect, but all of Raphael’s people were fluent in it, for to know your enemy was the greatest advantage in battle.

  The person in his hold continued to twist, the long strands of their fine white hair obscuring their features. It was only when Illium emerged and took charge of restraining their captive that Aodhan was able to see enough to—

  He sucked in a breath.

  This person wore Lijuan’s face . . . on a male body. Slightly harder angles, but the same pearl-gray eyes, the same white skin, the same proportion to the features. “Was Archangel Lijuan your mother?” he asked the boy—because it was a boy. Young. Maybe fourteen in human years, which would put him at about seventy or so in angelic terms.

  The boy spat at him.

  Avoiding the spittle with a small movement because he’d been expecting an assault of some kind—the boy was a creature trapped and scared—Aodhan spoke to Illium. “Let’s take him to the stronghold, get him out of the cold.” Everything else could wait.

  Illium shook his head. “We can’t fly him if he doesn’t cooperate. He’ll cause a crash.”

  A sudden quivering motionlessness to the boy. Aodhan realized Illium had continued to speak in Lijuan’s favored tongue—and the child had understood. His eyes went to those stunted wings, the rage within him a cold, coiled thing born of a dark, wet coffin of iron.

  “We’ll take you into the sky,” he said in a voice firm and unbending. “But we can’t if you keep struggling.”

  The boy remained motionless. Almost as if he was holding his breath.

  Aodhan half expected Illium to question whether they could trust the child’s abrupt good behavior, but he said, “I’ll carry him.” White lines around his mouth, but his hands gentle on the boy’s wrists.

  That was what the world had never understood: Aodhan might be the artist, but it was warrior-born Illium who had the softer, more vulnerable heart. He’d come down on the side of the victim—always.

  It’s all right, Aodhan murmured into his friend’s mind. If I can’t stand the touch of a broken, wounded child, then I shouldn’t be in the position I’m in.

  Illium’s lashes flicked up, his gaze searching and protective—but then he stepped back, releasing the child. I’ll fly below you in case he panics at being in the sky and you have to drop him.

  Aodhan had no intention of dropping his passenger, but he knew Illium was right. If the boy began to claw at him . . . Aodhan still wouldn’t drop him. Illium had to know that. But Illium was also a rescuer. He couldn’t help it, his huge heart his greatest weakness and biggest strength both. But . . . he’d stepped back.

  Frowning inwardly, Aodhan returned his attention to the boy. “I’m going to take you in my arms so I can carry you.”

  No response, but though no one was holding him now, the boy didn’t move.

  “You start twisting while in the air, we land and walk the rest of the way.”

  Nothing, the boy a sculpture with hair of moonlight. Deciding there was only one way to find out what would happen, Aodhan bent and scooped the child into his arms, one arm under his knees, the other behind his back. He’s not as light as he looks. Nothing of a weight to trouble Aodhan, but worth noting. He’s eaten enough not to starve.

  Illium shook his head in a firm negative, refuting Aodhan’s implication about the child’s presence in the hamlet. Aodhan wished he could be as certain. But he knew how madness slid into your brain in the cold dark. He wasn’t sure he’d be sane today if he’d spent even a day longer in that iron coffin.

  This boy had grown up inside just such a coffin, for all that his had been a room.

  Flaring out his wings, Aodhan looked down at the boy. Those strikingly familiar eyes flicked to him before jerking away. Unable to feel anything but a protective sympathy, Aodhan left his questions aside and took flight into the falling snow.

  The boy went rigid in his arms.

  Aodhan made sure his grip was secure, then flew on at a far slower pace than that of which he was capable; if this child born with wings had never touched the sky, then this was a wonder for him, and Aodhan would not cut it short.

  Wild blue below him, Illium silent about his leisurely pace.

  That heart of his. Rescuing kittens, befriending mortals . . . protecting Aodhan.

  At times, Aodhan wondered how Illium could survive immortality with such a vulnerable heart. At the same time, he knew that very heart was why Illium would always be the best friend he’d ever have. To the people he loved, Bluebell gave everything. Too much. Until there was nothing left for himself. Honestly, the man needed a keeper, one willing to put Illium first.

  A small sharp sound from the boy, but when Aodhan looked down, it was to see no panic on his thin face, only a twisted kind of pain entwined with wonder. Aodhan understood, spoke to assuage his agony.

  “Angelic wings can recover even after being fully removed.” From all outward appearances, the boy didn’t have a congenital issue, as with Jessamy. His wings were simply weak from lack of use, and clipped. Aodhan had seen the scars on the wingtips that indicated a partial amputation, the removal of all hope of flight.

  The boy met his gaze, pearl-gray eyes flat and distrustful.

  “Illium—the blue-winged angel below—lost his wings in battle not long ago. I have images of him without wings.” Aodhan would’ve hated those images, hated the idea of his Bluebell being grounded, had Illium not been posing in a flamboyant cape and matching top hat, a glittering walking stick in hand.

  The pictures had made Aodhan grin even when he’d been furious at Illium. In those photos, he’d seen more courage than most would ever understand. Not only had Illium been recovering from grievous wounds at the time, he’d been reeling from the reappearance of his asshole of a father. And still, he’d refused to be anyone but Illium.

  Wild, open of heart, and quick of wit.

  Snow fell on the boy’s face, but he didn’t brush off the flakes, his eyes trained on Aodhan. It reminded Aodhan of how young Sameon, one of the little angels at the Refuge, looked at him at times. With the rapt at
tention of a child being told a tale.

  So Aodhan kept on speaking.

  “You’re hundreds of years younger than Illium. As a result, your recovery will take longer.” False hope could be more damaging than harsh truth. At the start of his captivity, Aodhan had clung to the hope that he could build up his strength and escape. Then his captors had brutalized him. Again and again.

  It had broken a piece of him in the end.

  “You’ll also have to build up your strength in the aftermath,” he said. “Even Illium had to do that,” he pointed out as they overflew the hamlet.

  The boy’s head twisted without warning, his gaze trained downward. Small, mewling sounds erupted from his throat, one hand trying to reach downward.

  A chill breath on Aodhan’s neck. Illium, do you see what he’s doing?

  The blue-winged angel looked up, a dusting of snow on his hair and lashes. Shit. He knows the settlement and he wants what’s down there.

  Stomach churning, Aodhan flew on. In his arms, the boy twisted to stare back at the settlement until the curtain of snow blanked it from view. Small, heartbreaking sounds of loss escaped his mouth—sounds that were eerie and unsettling, given for what he seemed to mourn.

  The lights of the stronghold came into focus right as the snow picked up in ferocity; he saw movement in the east wing, efficient silhouettes against the windows. I’ve told Li Wei to keep her people in the east wing and make sure the kitten remains with them.

  He landed, keeping his wings outstretched to protect the boy from the heavy precipitation. Li Wei says Kai was in the kitchen preparing food for us. I’ve told her she can remain, but that she is not to leave the area until we give her the all-clear. It won’t be difficult to keep the child away from her.

  He’d expected a strong reaction from Illium on the subject of Kai’s safety, but, shoving his snow-dusted hair back from his face, Illium just nodded. His attention was on the child.

  Who screamed and began to twist and claw for freedom the instant Aodhan stepped inside the walls of the stronghold. Crushing him tight to his own body, Aodhan walked quickly into the spacious, high-ceilinged living space that Suyin had used to gather with her people.

  He put the panicked boy down by the huge wall of windows that overlooked the front courtyard where they’d landed. “You’re not trapped underground.” He kept his hands on those bony shoulders. “You can get out at any time.” That wasn’t quite true, not given what they suspected he’d done, but it was true enough in that this place was no coffin cut off from light.

  Illium was already unlatching one of the windows.

  The child shot a suspicious look Aodhan’s way before darting over to the window and sticking his hand outside. He jerked it back after a few seconds, stared at the snow on his palm. Did the same thing three more times before he exhaled.

  With the breath went the primal fear in his expression.

  And when Aodhan asked him his name, he answered in a sweet, clear voice. “Zhou Jinhai.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Illium ducked into the kitchen while Aodhan stood beside the boy and spoke in a calm tone that seemed to near-hypnotize Jinhai.

  Kai beamed at him from behind the large stone bench on which she was putting together a tray. “I haven’t had a chance to make a more substantial meal,” she began, but Illium shook his head.

  “This is fine for now.” His neck prickled at the idea of leaving Aodhan out there alone with the boy. Because, though a child Jinhai might be—and while Illium wanted to find him innocent—he had to accept that there was a high chance of him being a deadly threat.

  After picking up the tray, he said, “You can head back to the rest of the staff.” It’d be easier if he and Aodhan didn’t have to worry about her. “Smoke?”

  “I left her with Li Wei.” A smile in her eyes, Kai touched the knot of her apron. “I don’t mind staying here.”

  “Thank you, but we really need to focus on the situation.” His entire body strained to be back beside Aodhan. “It could be dangerous for you to be nearby—we’ll have to divide our attention.”

  It seemed to take her forever to remove her apron. “Perhaps after we are at the coastal citadel,” she said, putting it on the counter, “you will have time to share a mug of mead with me?” There it was, that sweet boldness that reminded him so much of Kaia.

  But where such an invitation from his long-dead lover would’ve caused him to blush and acquiesce, all he felt today was a wave of irritation. He’d given her a clear overview of the security situation, yet she continued to try to flirt. That didn’t, however, give him leave to be harsh with her—not when she’d only made the invitation because he’d flirted with her first. Not much. But enough.

  He was sorry for that now. He hadn’t had any ill-intent and he’d done nothing to be accused of leading her on, for he’d flirted far more with others with no bruised feelings on either side, but Illium didn’t like to hurt women even a touch. He could’ve responded with a playful comment that would’ve kept her happy until he figured out what he felt for this woman who was an echo of the past . . . but he knew already.

  He’d known from the first. Had felt it from the first: a sweet, sharp nostalgia intermingled with affection. No roar of need, of wrenching love. Just a thing old and weathered and of a different time in his life.

  Take away his initial shock at her appearance, and that was all that remained.

  Frowning inwardly at the quiet knowledge he’d been refusing to face, for to face it was to alter the shape of him, he nonetheless managed to keep his expression warm as he said, “I think we must all lift a glass together. After journeying to the coast together, we will be fast friends.”

  A fading of her smile, but as with Kaia, bold and determined, she wasn’t a woman to give up on what she wanted. “Please do call me if you need any help, Illium—I’ll respond at once.”

  Only after she’d headed safely up the stairs did he move out into the living area. He didn’t realize he’d been mentally holding his breath until he saw Aodhan safe and sound.

  40

  Aodhan had finished lighting the fire already set out on the hearth when Illium reappeared with a tray full of food. His stomach muscles unclenched. That hadn’t taken long at all, not considering the fact Illium had been with Kai.

  Stopping by where Aodhan stood near the fireplace—while Jinhai was pressed up against the windows—Illium kept his voice low as he said, “He say anything else?”

  Aodhan fought the urge to stroke his hand over Illium’s wing, the possessive need making his face flush. It was stupid to be irritated about Kai; she wasn’t Kaia, who’d treated Illium with such a lack of care. And it wasn’t like the young mortal could take Illium from Aodhan. The two of them had been friends too long, the tie between them a thing unbreakable.

  “Jinhai,” he told his friend, “was the name of his grandfather—Lijuan’s father.”

  Aodhan nodded when Illium raised an eyebrow in a silent question. “It’s truth. Suyin mentioned the name once when we were talking about their wider family. The elder Jinhai has been Sleeping an eon.”

  Nodding, Illium went to put the tray on a table near the windows that Aodhan had noticed already held a fresh pitcher of water and three glasses. Kai’s handiwork no doubt. Since she’d had no idea they’d be returning with Jinhai, she must’ve been expecting an invitation to join them for the meal.

  Shrugging off a renewed surge of irritation, Aodhan joined Illium, and they both took a seat. “Eat,” he said to Jinhai, and picked up a slice of bread, on which he began to pile on cheese, sliced meat, more.

  Jinhai watched warily for a second, then scurried over to join them. His table manners were impeccable. Perhaps not a surprise. Prior to her descent into obsession, Lijuan had been an archangel of great learning and culture, her cruelty informed by intelligence. She’d buried her
son in that cavern—but she’d also provided him with clothing, lessons, language.

  “Eat slowly,” Illium directed when the boy began to shovel food into his mouth. “Otherwise, you’ll just throw it all back up.”

  Jinhai had frozen at Illium’s first words, but when that was all he said, the child kept on eating—but at a more reasonable pace.

  Aodhan touched his mind to Illium’s. He seems too easily scared to have done what was done to the villagers. At least some of them would’ve tried to fight back.

  Leaning back in his chair, Illium rubbed at his face. Sparkle, I want him to be innocent . . . but those people lived in a world where they believed Lijuan a goddess. How do you think they’d have reacted to an apparently scared, starving young angel with broken wings? Especially one who is so clearly the son of their goddess?

  He held up his hand before Aodhan could reply. Even if the village was set up as Jinhai’s kitchen and the home of his guards, I don’t think all the residents were aware of his existence. I’d say, at most, they had knowledge of a nearby prison where some neighbors went to work, and that was it—and we know Lijuan inspired devotion. The guards entrusted with the knowledge would’ve held it close.

  Aodhan’s hand clenched on the glass of water he’d just poured, for Illium’s thinking aligned with his own. There was no reason for Lijuan to have entrusted an entire village with this secret; the more people who knew, the higher the chance of an accidental leak.

  The others would’ve considered his sudden appearance a boon, a sign of Lijuan’s triumphant return. Aodhan glanced once more at the boy. You think he’s capable of being so cunning?

  Illium’s face twisted. I have no fucking idea what the hell is going on. Rising, he went back into the kitchen, returned with a bottle of mead and two new glasses that he filled, one for him, one for Aodhan.