So I do, for that matter.
Under the table, I rub my foot against hers. Myla smiles.
Meanwhile, Father continues with his story. “Never was there a worse tournament beast, and never a greater warrior to fight it than Octavia.” He pauses for dramatic effect. This happens a lot in my life. “Afterwards, I went to visit my lady in her family’s tent. I wanted to commend her valor on the battlefield, but I failed to announce myself formally.”
Mother smirks. “He walked in while I was alone and half-dressed. Appeared behind me out of nowhere.”
“What did he get?” asks Myla. “Elbow to the gut?”
Mother arches her right brow. “Knee to the groin.”
Myla winces. “Yowch.”
I try to hold in my laughter. “You never told me that, Father.”
Father chuckles once more. “It’s not a memory I like to recall.” He takes Mother’s hand. “But after that moment, no one else would do. You see Myla, for the thrax, everything is about strength in battle.”
Myla gives me a sideways glance. “I’ve noticed.” So I starts another game of footsie with her under the table. She blushes. It’s lovely.
Father nods, his decision made. “This, my dear, is why I’m willing to take a chance on you. You’ve some strength in you.” He leans back on his chair. “But I get ahead of myself. If you’re the Scala Heir, you need angel blood. Who’s your father then?”
How I’ll love dropping this particular bomb.
“The archangel Xavier,” I declare.
Mother and Father pause. Then both their mouths fall open. That’s an absolute first.
“You’re first-generation archangel, then.” Father lets out a low whistle. “And not just any archangel, Xavier!”
Myla frowns. “Why is first generation important?”
“More angel blood, more power,” I explain. “The current Scala is fifth-generation common angel. I’m third-generation archangel. Father’s second. We descended from the archangel Aquila. Have you heard the story?”
“Yes,” Myla replies. “Mom told me how she founded the House of Rixa.”
Father grins. “I’ve heard of the Archangel Xavier. Amazing warrior turned diplomat. Led the final battle to drive demons from Heaven.”
Mother narrows her eyes. “But he disappeared after the Ghoul Wars, I believe.”
Beside me, Myla stiffens. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
I tilt my head, wondering. When we were walking through the hedgerow maze, Myla spoke at length about her mother. But whenever I asked about her father, Myla changed the subject. She wouldn’t say much beyond the fact that he wasn’t around. Once I learned her father was Xavier, I figured that was because archangels are always off on heavenly business. Now, it seems something darker happened to him.
What became of Xavier, anyway?
“Of course, of course.” Father folds his arms over his chest. “Now, what are your plans exactly?”
Myla tosses her head. In typical warrior style, she sets aside the pain of her father and moves on with the challenge at hand.
“I have an arena match tomorrow morning,” explains Myla. “Right after that, I go to a safe house until we hear from the angels.”
“I see.” Father drums his fingers on the tabletop, his face lost in thought. Mother and I exchange a worries look. No question what Father is considering here. Does he stand up to Aldred? Do I have time to salvage my treaty?
Myla isn’t impressed. “You’re clearly debating something, Connor. What is it?”
Did I mention she’s amazing? She is.
“If you must know,” replies Father. “It’s whether to endorse Lincoln’s plan to gather together the lesser houses.”
Myla shrugs. “I’ll help him.”
Father huffs out a breath. “And how will you do that from hiding?”
“I’ll find a way.” Myla glares at him, arena warrior-style “Strength in battle, your Highness. If the earl doesn’t like it, I’ll pull some strings and send him to Hell.”
Father nods slowly. “I believe you’d do it, too.”
Myla snaps her fingers. “In a heartbeat.”
I beam with pride. My future queen.
“Fine, we’ll wait.” Father points at my nose. “You’ve got a month, boy. Bring together the minor houses.” His face droops. “I’ll stall the earl.”
I can’t help but grin. “Thank you, Father.” I give Myla’s hand an especially long squeeze. We’ve been together for less than a day, and already, my girl’s taking on Aldred. She’ll be a queen for the ages.
Mother taps the tabletop with her fingernail. “We have other matters to discuss.” She turns to Myla. “This match tomorrow morning. How will you compete without exposing your identity?”
“My fighting suit has a face-mask that hides my eyes,” answers Myla.
“Very good.” Mother turns to me. “And you’ll be there as well?”
“It’s not an official thrax event, but I’ll contact the minister. I’m sure I can watch from an archway.” After all, I have before.
Myla looks at me with wonder. “You’ll be there?”
I wink. “Nowhere else.”
“Will you bring extra soldiers with you?” asks Father.
We’re now in the detailed planning phase of the operation. I lean back in my chair, swinging my joined hand with Myla between us. “No, that would only attract unnecessary attention.”
Octavia wags a finger at me. “Be sure to wear full demon patrol gear: body armor, baculum, daggers…”
“I’ll be safe, Mother.”
Father rubs his chin. “And stay with her tonight.”
Mother gasps. “Connor!”
“Whoa!” cries Myla.
“I mean in a separate rooms,” says Father quickly. “But ready for trouble.”
Mother clears her throat, clearly trying to re-steer the conversation onto safer ground. “After the match, Lincoln will join our procession to Antrum.”
A chill creeps into my soul. After tomorrow, Myla and I will part.
“That’s the plan.” Myla’s voice quivers.
I give her hand a squeeze. “Let’s get you back home. Did you ride Nightshade here?”
“Yes.”
“Good. She’s probably outside waiting for you now, along with Bastion.” I gently kiss her cheek.
In less than twenty-four hours we’ll be apart, but the more importantly, Myla will be somewhere safe.
That’s what’s important.
Myla and I leave the reception tent, gather our horses, and ride back to her home. It’s dark by the time Myla and I near her house. It’s a standard Purgatory one-story ranch. I already know the area and style, having visited Walker’s residence. As we ride along on Nightshade and Bastion, our horses’ hooves beating out a silent rhythm on the quiet streets. I’m glad for our future, but I’m anxious about getting Myla safely into hiding.
Plus, there’s Armageddon’s silence.
Not to mention Aldred’s constant scheming.
And the Tithe is forever lurking somewhere.
There’s much to worry about. But later. Right now, there’s the fact that I haven’t slept in a rather long time. Myla and I dismount our horses. Yet again, I’m happy Nightshade can cast magic to keep both my mare and Bastion safe. With the horses set, Myla and I then march up to her front door. Camilla greets us. Myla’s mother seems rather pleased I’m bringing weapons, which makes sense. She also dictates that I must sleep on the couch. Again, I understand the logic.
Yet there’s no way I’m leaving Myla alone tonight.
My girl is ferocious in her bravery, but sometimes, even the strongest of us need to be held. So I slip into my girl’s room, sit with my back against her headboard, and hold my Myla all night. In my dreams, I keep searching for an important parchment. There’s something written on it about Myla being part angelic and why that’s important to the Tithe. My dream self won’t stop searching for it. Yet every time I get cl
ose to the document, it vanishes.
And for some reason, that makes me frantic with worry.
36
It’s just past dawn when I awaken with a gasp. Not a surprise that I’d have a nightmare. Myla still sleeps by my side, which in instantly comforting. Amazing the things you notice when in love. For instance, Myla makes these adorable little ‘ah-poo’ breathing noises in her sleep. I run my fingers through her hair and cherish this moment for the gift it is.
With the slightest of movements, I shift myself out of bed, careful to allow Myla to keep resting. I write her a quick note.
* * *
Off to rumple the couch before your mom wakes up. See you at breakfast. L.
* * *
I leave Myla’s bedroom and head into the house proper. I was too exhausted last night to really soak in my new surroundings. That said, Myla’s house is classic Purgatory: chipped walls, frayed couch, and small kitchen. Run-down but clean. It reminds me of Walker’s place, only with actual furnishings. After rumpling up the couch, I get ready and change into my battle armor.
At some point, my stomach growls. When did I last eat again?
Too long ago, clearly.
Heading into the kitchen, I rummage through the cabinets and find a breathtaking assortment of candy disguised as food. Honestly, it’s a wonder Myla has all her teeth. There are even things called demon bars which should be billed a pro-diabetes treatment. Eventually, I find an untouched jar of peanut better. Protein, such a concept. I’m spooning it from the container when Myla’s mother shuffles into the room.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Humph,” replies Camilla. She looks bedraggled in her threadbare robe. Her auburn hair stands up at odd angles while she fiddles with the coffeemaker.
Damn. I should have done that for her. Brewing some coffee could have been a nice touch.
Then I realize that I have no idea how to use machinery to make any kind of food. My life is rather bizarre that way. For instance, there’s Minister of Ice who keeps cubes at the ready for me. If there were servants here, I could order them around with precision. Other than that, not too helpful.
So it’s probably best that I left the coffee to Camilla.
I scoop more peanut butter onto my spoon while Camilla sips her coffee. After drinking half-way down, Camilla looks at me over the rim of her mug. I’m reminded that this is a legendary senator as well as Myla’s mother. In this moment, she’s inspecting me with an experienced eye. What is she thinking? One way to find out.
“Are you angry?” I ask.
“Should I be?”
Now, that’s the sign of an expert politician. Answering a question with a question.
“The fact that Myla and I fell in love … that’s what activated her Scala powers. You could very well blame me.”
“I don’t blame you,” says Camilla softly.
A realization hits me. That’s what Walker had been warning me about. Camilla didn’t want Myla to be the Scala heir, and for obvious reasons. The mortality rate is through the roof. But falling for me would make it happen. And yet, even though I lived in a different realm, it happened anyway. What are the chances?
My eyes widen. Verus. The chances are rather good when you have an oracle angel setting things up. Verus didn’t invite my people here to protect Maxon Bane. She wanted Myla to become the Scala heir instead. A line of worry wriggles through my belly. There’s an obvious question here. Why did Verus want Myla to become the Scala Heir?
There’s a likely answer as well, and it involves Myla fighting Armageddon.
My spine stiffens. If that’s Verus’s plan, it won’t happen. I’ll get Myla to her safe house, and that’s the end of things.
Camilla stares into her mug. “I’ll tell you who I do hold responsible. Verus.” She sighs. “Although, the Queen of the Angels wouldn’t do something if it didn’t protect us all.” She looks up and meets my gaze. “You’ve no need to worry. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
Many men would move on from this point. But if I’m to have an honest relationship with Myla’s mother, I need to start now. “You should know. I was warned away from Myla.”
Camilla nods. “And you tried to run her off. For a while.”
“But eventually, I ignored those warnings.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to say the warnings in question came from Walker. After all, it’s logical that Camilla would have gotten Walker’s help. Half the after-realms seem to have Walker secretly aiding them. But I vowed to Walker that I’d keep his secret. So I try another route.
“You know I tried to avoid romantic entanglements with Myla,” I prompt.
“Sure.”
“Who told you that?”
Camilla takes an extra-long sip from her coffee. If she says Walker, it opens things up.
“A mother knows these things. That’s all.” She accents that last statement with a glare so powerful, I’m surprised the paint doesn’t peel off the walls.
Point made. We can cover Walker another day.
Dreams from last night appear in my head. Something about Myla’s father is important, I know it. I take the seat across from Camilla’s. “I’ve been tracking different threats toward Myla. Trying to proactively protect her.”
Camilla swigs down the rest of her coffee. “Xavier tried to do the same thing with me.”
“Meaning?”
“Proactively protect, as you call it. I can tell you this. Don’t go too far. Myla would take torture in Hell, so long as you’re together.” Her voice cracks with rage and grief. “Does that make sense?”
I rub my neck, trying to understand. “I’m afraid I don’t get it.” I shake my head. “There’s no way I’d never allow Myla to face that kind of pain.”
Camilla sighs. “And that’s why my daughter adores you. Vicious cycle, right?”
It strikes me that Camilla is having a conversation about something else here. Most likely, that something is Xavier. Wherever Myla’s father is, it’s not here. I can’t imagine how hard that must be.
Even so, I have some precious time with Camilla right now. There are so many threats against Myla. My dreams last night rattle in the back of y head. There was something about the Tithe, wasn’t there? I try to grasp the thread of the night’s vision, but it snaps before I can take hold. All I can recall is one name. The Tithe. Perhaps that’s enough.
I focus on Camilla once more. “Look, Myla is the Scala Heir now. There are threats against her. In particular, there’s this fellow called the Tithe. Does that name sound familiar?”
Camilla rises so fast, it’s like I pulled a weapon on her. “I don’t know that name.”
“It’s important. The Tithe. Can you think of any reason why he’d want to hurt Myla?”
“Let’s get through today first. Once my daughter is settled in exile, we can chat.” Her eyes take on a wild and cornered look. “We’re not talking about threats any more, right?”
“Of course.”
Camilla rubs her eyes with her fingertips. “Try not to worry too much. Your kind have such protective instincts.”
More half-talk and riddles. “My kind, meaning thrax?”
“Meaning a nobleman. Noble and a man.” She shivers. “Experts at breaking hearts.”
She isn’t speaking to me again. This is about Xavier. Even so, something tells me Camilla deserves an answer here. Clearly, Myla’s father hurt Camilla deeply. And for whatever reason, Camilla sees me as a stand-on for Xavier’s so-called type. If there’s any comfort I can give Camilla on this, I must try.
“About breaking hearts.” I take care to speak in my most gentle voice. “My kind would never mean to do so.”
Camilla’s eyes glisten with tears. “And that’s the deadliest part of your appeal.” The wild look is gone from her eyes, though. I take that as an improvement.
The doorbell rings. Camilla rises and tightens the sash on her robe. “I’ll get it.”
A small troop of visitors pile into the kitchen. There are
Cissy and Zeke, two of Myla’s friends from school. Walker then joins and I must admit, it isn’t easy to pretend I don’t know the fellow. There’s also an odd ghoul along for some reason. His name is Tim. When there’s a quiet moment, I glance at the new ghoul, then shoot a pointed stare at Walker.
Having known Walker for so long, he realizes what I’m asking. Who is this guy?
Walker shakes his head slightly. Not now.
I nod. This is Walker’s world. If my friend thinks it should wait, then I’ll wait. For now.
Still, my hunter’s instincts tell me this guy is not reliable.
Myla marches into the kitchen, looking indomitable in her dragonscale fighting suit. As she steps closer, I pull her into a deep hug. “Good morning, Myla.”
She presses her cheek against my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I whisper in her ear. “You’ll kick ass today.”
Myla grins. “Hells, yeah.” She breaks our hug. Stepping back, my girl scans me from head to toe. I can imagine what she sees: black body armor, daggers holstered on my outer thighs, and baculum strapped to the base of my spine.
“You look ready to kick ass, too,” declares Myla.
I shrug. “Another day at the office.”
Across the kitchen, Walker pulls an array of maps from the folds of his ghoul robes. He’s like one of those clown cars that humans have at circuses—it’s amazing how much he can hide in one garment. I watch over his shoulder as Walker preps his mission briefing on the tabletop. This is standard practice we both learned at the Citadel.
Now, I’m glad Walker has this all planned out, but I can’t help but feel a little irritated. All this secrecy between Walker, Myla, Camilla and me. It isn’t efficient. All of us should have been reviewing these plans last night as a team. We could have discussed weak points then, like this Tim character.
Cracking my neck, I force myself to focus on the present moment. No point crying over missed planning sessions. While I watch Walker over his shoulder, Myla chats with Cissy and Zeke. Tim the ghoul seems overly interested in Myla’s blue eyes.
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