Principles of Angels

by Jaine Fenn

  Speaking was too much effort so he just thought at her,

  Nual smiled and, safe in the shared knowledge that they had done what had to be done and could finally let go, they slipped together into a place beyond thought.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The glass dome of the transit hall had taken more than its fair share of damage during what the media, with a typical mixture of irony and understatement, were calling ‘the Cityquakes’, but it was already well on the way to being mended. After all, it was the first thing the rollers saw when they arrived.

  Taro looked up at the scaffolding over the main doors as he walked into the transit hall. There was barely a building that hadn’t been affected by the City’s recent near-destruction, but given the amount of money Khesh City attracted, the only place where the scars might never be healed was the Undertow. The entrance into the transit hall was one of many once-forbidden thresholds he’d crossed in the week since he and Nual had woken together in the Heart of the City. There was no place in the City he couldn’t go now - but he had already seen the whole City, with senses that were not his own.

  The Minister stood a little way off from the main flow of the crowd, talking to Nual. They turned as Taro approached and he allowed himself to meet Nual’s eyes. She held his gaze just long enough for a brief surge of warmth to flash through him. Perhaps love - ordinary, human love - was like this. In some ways the deeper union they’d shared, an experience beyond that of even the most intense human lovers, was as far away from him now as his days as whore and victim. But it’d changed him in ways he’d yet to come to terms with.

  If Taro hadn’t known better he would’ve said the Minister was embarrassed by their wordless exchange.

  ‘There you are. Goodbyes all said?’

  Taro nodded. It had been a hard decision to make, and the thought of the vast unknown universe beyond the forcedome filled him with apprehension, but he couldn’t stay in Khesh City now, not when Nual was leaving. And not when he’d experienced what it was like to be the City. Even life as an Angel seemed nothing more than an indulgence of the City’s ongoing fascination with the squabbles of the self-absorbed humans it sheltered. He’d accepted the offer of Angel implants, though: hidden blades and the ability to fly might come in handy, and he had an idea that once he got out into the big wide world he was going to need every advantage he could get.

  It occurred to him that the Minister expected more than a nod in reply and though he no longer felt any obligation to show respect he said, ‘Not that many people to say goodbye to. The survivors’re busy rebuildin’ and lickin’ their wounds, though Solo’s almost healed. By the way, he says the topside bakery where he gets his bread insists on not chargin’ him any more.’

  ‘Oh, she’s male already? Must have been the stress. Yes, I try to be fair, which includes rewarding those who deserve it. Not knowing much about the alien’s lifestyle, that seemed the least I could do. I was just telling Nual that the infobroker - his name is Ando Meraint; I don’t think either of you were formally introduced to him, and he’s mercifully oblivious of the significance of what he did - came out of hospital to discover a mysterious increase in his credit balance. The man had the good sense to use it to relocate his family off Vellern.’ He looked around at the bustle of rollers coming and going. ‘The resiliency of the human mind never fails to amaze me. That and its capacity for self-deception.’

  Nual said softly, ‘And of course, we Sidhe would never deceive ourselves, only others.’

  The Minister hurrumphed. ‘We Sidhe? I hardly think of myself as Sidhe, whatever race the body I originally had might have been.’ He looked at Nual and raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah, I see, you’re baiting me. Old habits die hard. You know, I think I’m going to miss you. Sometimes the games can get a little wearing, all that pretending to be human. Nice to drop the mask occasionally.’

  ‘Having spent so long thinking of you as my reluctant protector, I can’t yet say whether I will miss you or not.’ Nual spoke lightly, though Taro sensed the undercurrent of gratitude and affection in her words. Despite their inability to completely trust each other, these two minds were closer in nature than Taro liked to consider.

  ‘Touched, I’m sure.’ The Minister sounded almost emotional as he said, ‘I will tell you again that I think you are very unwise to even consider taking your late guardian’s ashes back to Khathryn. You realise they’ll be watching out for you?’

  Nual shrugged. ‘I know, but I have to do this. It is the least I can do for her.’

  ‘A shame you weren’t so fastidious about Vidoran’s remains,’ said the Minister, which struck Taro as a deeply insensitive remark - no doubt why he’d said it.

  Nual chose not to take offence. ‘You still disapprove of me leaving Vidoran’s body in the throne room?’

  ‘Yes, though it’s not as though I can do anything about it. I can hardly send someone in there to clean up after you. Tell me, was he already dead when you regained consciousness?’ The Minister directed the question at Taro but Taro signalled wordlessly to Nual that he had no intention of answering it. He had come to in the throne room to see Nual bending over the Consul’s prone form. He knew what she’d been doing - reaming his dying mind for every piece of information he’d gained from his contact with the Sidhe - but he’d never mentioned it, and neither had she.

  Nual said coldly, ‘I gave him his wish, to be at the centre of power.’

  The Minister barked a laugh. ‘Quite. The man’s arrogance still astounds me. To think a mere human could ever consider taking on all this.’ He gestured around him, then looked at Nual. ‘Or even an untrained Sidhe female.’

  He turned to Taro and said conversationally, ‘You do know that the woman you love is an inhuman monster who may well destroy you?’

  Taro let his hand brush Nual’s, a momentary touch. ‘Aye. I know.’

  The Minister shook his head. ‘So then, you’re on your own now. Both of you. Goodbye—And, I suppose, good luck.’

  ‘And to you,’ said Nual.

  ‘Goodbye . . . sirrah.’ Taro used the honorific with only slight irony.

  As the Minister walked off, Taro heard him mutter, ‘Gods of our ancestors, what have I let loose on the universe?’

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Being the first, this one took a long time gestating and had many hands to help it into the world. Though he might not recognise where I’ve ended up, it all started with Christopher Patrick. Since then many critiquers have helped me get where I wanted to go: Mike Lewis, Liz Holliday, Jim Anderson, Frances Beardsley and Milford Class of ’04. I’ve also had much useful feedback from first readers Dave Weddell, Kari Sperring and Emma O’Connell and proofreader Lucya Szachnowski. ‘Zero5um’ provided soundtracks and visualisations. James Cooke gave last-minute advice on weaponry. Jo Fletcher of Gollancz has guided me gently and expertly towards the finished article. My thanks to you all.