by Nalini Singh
An intense silence, followed by, “It has nothing to do with her.” Another quiet, so taut it hurt. “Mother—”
Her hand clenched on the phone as he broke off; she wanted to go to her knees and beg for him to confide in her. Beg for him to tell her what strained his voice and hurt his soul. All those years when she’d been lost, he’d been forced to rely on others and then to rely only on himself. She wanted him to know that she was here now and that she’d never again let him down.
“You can say anything to me.” Her voice came out rough, husky. “I won’t be shocked or dismayed. I will love you to the end of time.”
“He has always been my best friend,” Illium said at last, something in his voice that she couldn’t read and the aged gold of his eyes looking to some distant point. “I waited so long for him to emerge from his self-imposed exile, but now that he’s done so, he spreads his wings and leaves me behind.”
Placing one hand on the wall outside her suite, Sharine staggered under the unknowing blow Illium had just struck. Did Aodhan understand that Illium had lost not one but both of the most important people in his life to their own demons?
Her eyes stung, her mind cascading with images of two small boys who’d been as thick as thieves, one taking the blame for the other no matter what the situation, no matter what the other had done. “I know my son,” she said when she could speak again, glad that Illium was distracted enough not to notice the pause. “He isn’t small-hearted, and he wouldn’t begrudge his friend finding happiness, so tell me what it is that truly pains you.”
A shuddering breath, the wind his only reply for long moments. “I look back and I wonder if he hadn’t suffered such terrible harm whether he’d still be my friend. I wonder if he only stayed my friend because he was so badly damaged in the aftermath—” Voice ragged, he broke off again for several seconds.
When he came back, his voice was so small it caused her physical pain, and he wouldn’t look at her. “I wonder if the man I’ve always thought of as my best friend considers me nothing but a weight tying him to a past he’s attempting to forget.”
Her heart broke for her son, who loved so fiercely. “It took but a single word of your need to have him flying from the Refuge to meet you in Lumia,” she reminded him. “He didn’t have to do that.”
“That’s just it, Mother.” Illium looked up, his eyes fierce and hot; she could tell he was clenching his entire body, as he had a habit of doing in tense situations. “Aodhan is loyal and he pays his debts and I’m certain he believes he has a debt to me—because I waited so long, because I never gave up on him.
“I don’t want a friendship based on obligation.” Angry, hurt words, his face flushed. “If he wants to cut the bond between us, I wish he’d simply tell me instead of putting distance between us.”
She felt lost. So many pieces of time were missing or blurred from her head. She remembered holding Aodhan in the years he’d locked himself in the shadowed dark of his home, away from the sunlight that turned him into a shooting star against the sky. She remembered rocking him for hours, and telling him he would conquer this, that he would sparkle again, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember what it was that had hurt him so badly that he’d turned away even from Illium.
But one thing she knew: “The Aodhan I met in Lumia is no one’s fool. Don’t do him the disservice of believing you know him better than he knows himself—I think, for the first time in an eternity, he knows himself.” In this, she and Aodhan were mirrors of one another.
“What if he decides that the man he’s becoming wants nothing to do with me?” Raw, the words bled Illium’s pain.
“Then you’ll let him go,” she said quietly, her hand fisted against her chest and her gaze locked with his. “Freedom and love are entwined. And you, my blue-winged boy, you love more deeply than anyone I’ve ever known.”
She almost heard the hardness of his swallow. She wished she could be there to wrap him up in her arms and in her wings, as she remembered doing for Aodhan. All wide shoulders and a height that eclipsed hers, he’d been so quiet, so stiff, but he hadn’t rebuffed her.
Crooning gentle words, she’d cradled him close, and led him to where he could lie with his head in her lap and his body partially under her wing. So much pain contained in that big, strong body, his own wings limp and his face expressionless. Memory upon memory of doing that for the sparkling boy who’d gone deathly silent.
“Until then,” she said, “love him with all your strength. Aodhan may one day shatter your heart, but at this critical time when he’s spreading his wings, he needs the support of a friend who’s never once let him down.” Anguish twisted through her to give such advice, but she knew her boy would never forgive himself if his friend needed him and he wasn’t there.
Another flash of memory, this one bound with fog. A grown Illium’s shoulders slumped and his wings as limp as Aodhan’s had become. “I tried so hard, Mother,” he sobbed, “but I couldn’t find him. For so long, I couldn’t find him. Now that we have . . .” A shudder so violent it seemed to rattle his bones. “I don’t know if he’ll ever come back to us. I don’t know if he’ll ever heal from what was done to him.”
“My beautiful boy,” she said on the wave of memory, “you’ve never loved with boundaries. Don’t begin now. Don’t alter who you are because you’re afraid that you’ll lose what you love.”
“I wish I could be a child again, when your kisses used to make every pain better.”
“I’ll come see you after my sojourn in Titus’s territory is over, and Lumia is running well once more.” She would hold him then, because no child was ever too old for his mother’s love.
“Mother.”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you’re awake again. I’ve missed you.”
She stood there, heart aching after ending the call, but she wasn’t yet done. She had more than one boy to check up on.
“Eh-ma.” Aodhan’s astonished voice as he spoke the affectionate term by which he’d always addressed Sharine. “You’re on the phone!”
“Yes,” she said, smiling at hearing him alive and well. “I’ve joined this new age.” Catching the sound of wind, she said, “You’re in the air?” That explained why he’d answered with his voice alone, rather than so she could talk to him face-to-face.
“Night patrol,” he told her. “There’s such silence in this landscape, but I feel an itch at the back of my neck, the sense that Lijuan has left us one more surprise.”
Sharine straightened; Aodhan had always been intuitive. “Listen to your instincts.”
“I will,” he promised. “I didn’t initially wish to be left in charge of the stronghold while Archangel Suyin went to the border, but now I’m glad of it.”
“Do you have backup?” China’s forces had been decimated, and with the country apparently devoid of reborn but for the children at the border, they hadn’t been allocated many relief troops.
“A skeleton squadron. But Lady Caliane’s prime squadron is on alert to assist should it become necessary.” A sweep of wind that indicated a turn. “How are you, Eh-ma?”
“Surviving Titus.”
A laugh that had gone silent for too long, followed by words more hesitant. “Have you spoken to Illium?”
“Just now. He is well.” She considered how much to say, decided not to interfere, for they were grown now. But she could give advice—such was the maternal prerogative. “I get the impression you two are still at odds.”
A deep sound she’d never before heard Aodhan make. It was more in Titus’s wheelhouse. “He’s the most stubborn person I know.”
Her lips curved, her heart hurting less. That wasn’t the sound of a man attempting to disengage from a friendship. “I seem to remember you swearing up and down and sideways that you’d stolen the cookies, even as the real culprit sat there with crumbs all ov
er his face.”
Sudden, dazzling laughter. “You know too many of my secrets.” He said nothing more on the point, and she let it go—she had to be neutral territory, so either one of them could speak to her without worry of their words going any further.
Instead, she asked about how he was faring so far from home, and listened to all he had to tell. Afterward, she stood there on the balcony and worried. If Lijuan had left behind a final terrible gift, Aodhan was in the epicenter of it. But unlike when he’d been a child, she couldn’t pull him back from a dangerous edge.
“Have you fed?” A booming question from down in the courtyard.
Hand slamming to her heart, she glanced over the edge of the balcony to see a shirtless Titus standing there with his hands on his hips, his head tilted back to look up at her. He appeared suspiciously well-rested, and if the grin on his face was anything to go by, his good humor was restored. She didn’t know why she found that so attractive.
“Shari! I’m waiting!”
“And I’m in a position to drop something on your head!”
Throwing back his head, he laughed. His next words were in her mind, his voice resonant and beautiful. I’m going to eat. Will you join me, or will you throw knives with your tongue?
As she watched, he flew up and to the right of her own balcony. He was beautiful in motion and she flushed when he landed and almost caught her staring. “Sharine?”
“I’m coming.”
Since his rooms were right next to hers and he’d left his door open, she walked in without knocking. She didn’t know what she’d expected of his private quarters, but this entrance section was warm in its embrace, decorated with a huge earthen-colored rug and equally large and comfortable seating.
Nothing had sharp edges except for the weapons he’d mounted on the walls. All were unique, from different times and places. He also had art on those walls, leaning toward paintings that spoke of the vibrant heart of this land. She was drawn to one in particular—ink on textile done in the same tones of earth and sunset that dominated this part of his quarters.
“The art appreciation can wait.” Titus stood in the wide doorway to the balcony, his arms crossed and his lips curved. “Come, Shari, the food will get cold.”
A single glance and she was in danger of a hot flush. Standing there like that, with the light from the courtyard backlighting his body and his skin aglow with health beneath the sleeveless dark brown tunic he’d thrown on, he was the embodiment of fantasies she’d had as a young girl—when she’d still believed in the foolishness of passionate attraction and lived for the thrill of a rapidly beating heart.
In front of her, his expression turned intimate . . . welcoming, and she knew he wouldn’t reject her should she decide to cross the room and rise up on her toes to touch her mouth to his, her hands flush against the muscled ridges of his chest.
Even as her blood turned to honey, she knew it wasn’t just physical, what had taken root between them. The days they’d spent together on the journey to the settlement and back, the hours they’d spent speaking to one another, it had altered their relationship on a fundamental level.
“There’s always time for art appreciation,” she said, but walked toward him—she had to always stay conscious of her propensity to hide inside art. Art was safe. Art didn’t demand. Art didn’t look at you in a way that made embers smolder in your stomach. And art didn’t hurt you in the way people hurt you. “But I am hungry.”
Titus angled his body so she could pass, and though the doorway was wide and he made no attempt to hinder her, she felt buffeted by the wall of strength and heat that was his body. Spine stiff, she took care that her wings didn’t brush him as she walked out.
If she had to be attracted to a man, why did it have to be someone so big and brash and beautiful? It wasn’t any longer about comparing him to Aegaeon. The two might have surface similarities, but she wasn’t foolish—she’d seen the heart of Titus now and that heart was bigger than Aegaeon’s would ever be.
No, it was because of Titus, who he was—this man would leave a mark on her life if she let him in, and Sharine already had far too many scars within. She had to decide if it was worth chancing another for a fleeting slice of pleasure.
I’ve never made promises of forever. Any woman who comes into my arms understands that I offer only pleasure and affection.
Sharine didn’t want forever, wasn’t sure she’d ever again be in a place where she could trust enough to offer her heart. On the flip side, however, she also wasn’t sure she was built for quick dalliances.
How do you know? asked the part of her that had been getting more and more mouthy of late. It’s not as if you’ve ever tried it. Take a risk, dance with Titus. You’re tough enough now to pick up the pieces—if there are any pieces to pick up in the first place.
You’re not who you once were, Sharine. Take the risk.
32
When Titus pulled out her chair for her, she was startled to see a scowl mar his smile. Had he picked up on her discomfort and uncertainty? She’d hope she was a better guest than that—but Titus, she was learning, had more sensitivity than the majority of the world realized; never would she forget his internal struggle as he readied himself to wipe the villagers’ minds.
“I see we are to starve.” The table was piled with dishes upon dishes, all of them steaming and aromatic, but that wasn’t why she made the comment—she found she didn’t like it when Titus went quiet, and as he seemed unable to resist responding to sarcasm or dry words on her part, she’d use it to break his mood.
“I told you, I’m hungry—and I have a cook who signed on to feed an archangel’s court but is now managing troop meals. The man can’t help himself,” he grumbled and picked up a dish. “Try this. You’ll like it.”
Wondering if his mood resulted from hunger, she took a spoonful. When he stared at the tiny amount on her plate, she rolled her eyes. “I want to taste all the dishes and I won’t be able to do that if I stuff myself on the first one.”
Not appearing convinced in the least, he nonetheless began to dish out his own portion while she tried her spoonful. It bloomed an array of fresh and bright flavors on her tongue. Moaning deep in her throat, she glanced up. “I’m not saying you were right, but maybe I should’ve taken more.”
A dazzling smile shattering the scowl, he handed over the bowl . . . even as her breath caught. He was beautiful, with a warmth to him that drew her like a moth to a flame. And while he might flit from woman to woman, he was honest in his attentions. He didn’t lie and make false promises.
Any mark he left wouldn’t be one scored by cruelty.
“You’re thinking too hard.” Another aromatic spoonful placed on her plate. “Eat. You gave away your food during our journey, and you’ll be in the skies again as soon as darkness falls.”
Her stomach chose that moment to growl.
When Titus laughed, the sound a booming wave of joy, she found herself joining in, sparks of delight in her bloodstream. It had been so long since she’d laughed with such open happiness, but being with Titus . . . yes, he made her feel good. He might infuriate and aggravate her, but he never made her feel lesser or unimportant.
They ate in friendly harmony for the next fifteen minutes, passing each other dishes, and having a little of that, a lot of that, until their stomachs were sated to the point that conversation was possible. “You slept?” she asked, as he refilled his plate.
She could tell he hadn’t eaten properly for too long—she could see it in the sharpness of his cheekbones, the subtle leanness of his torso. It could happen that way with the incredibly powerful—a sudden physical shift when they burned too hot.
And Titus would be running at this pace for some time to come.
Picking up a dish he’d particularly enjoyed, she held it out. She’d never again wait on any man, but she was a woman who took care of
her people, and she wouldn’t permit Aegaeon to steal that part of her nature—especially given that Titus would feed her to the brim if she permitted it.
Creases forming in his cheeks and light in his eyes, Titus accepted the dish. “Asante, Shari.”
She had no trouble recognizing the language. “You’re welcome.”
“I did sleep and you were right, I feel much better for it.” A scowl. “Don’t say ‘I told you so.’ I get quite enough of that from my sisters.”
“Why have I not heard more about your sisters?” It was true she didn’t pay much attention to casual gossip, but surely she should’ve heard of the family of an archangel.
“Probably because they’re so much older.” He took a long drink of ale. “I suppose those who don’t know us believe that, with such a difference in age, we mustn’t be close.” A grin. “As if the first general would permit anything but full cohesion in her personal family squadron.”
Her lips curved. “You’re very proud of your mother.”
“Yes.” He put a choice bit of meat on her plate. “I’m also happy she’s currently Sleeping. A man needs a break from mothering every few millennia. Of course, with my sisters taking up the cause, I’m not so sure I’m better off.”
Fascinated, she waited for him to go on.
“One thing is certain—under no circumstance will I let my mother join my army when she wakes, though she is a brilliant general who is feted by others,” he added, brow dark. “She’d probably tell me all my strategies were wrong, and also ask me why I wasn’t wearing a shirt.”
Sharine wanted to laugh, but wasn’t about to break the moment.
“Alexander is ready to take her back with open arms any time she wakes—and once there, she’ll no doubt slay half his court with her magnetic presence.” A huge grin, the sun slamming into her with brilliant force. “I inherited my charm from her. We both must beat off suitors with a stick.”
Sharine narrowed her eyes. “Once again, I’m blinded by your modesty.”