The Queen knelt at Azrael’s bedside and caressed her hand. Her touch was gentle and comforting and Azrael met her gaze. There wasn’t intimidation or games dancing in her eyes, just fondness. Never before had Azrael felt more like her daughter.
“Azrael, I can sense your distress. I understand. I remember this very moment when I was you just as if it were yesterday. The doubt and fear are overwhelming, I know. But you must keep your eyes looking ahead and step forward in faith. Your future is waiting for you. All you need do is embrace it.”
A nervous chuckle was Azrael’s only response. Queen Ceres was right about one thing. There was no turning back now.
Carefully, Azrael pulled her legs to the side of the bed. She let her feet dangle until they were met by the cool stone.
The bed shifted as the Queen’s weight was lifted. She took a summer dress that matched her own’s orange shades from the rack. Azrael hadn’t even noticed that the dress was there, but now it held her full attention as the Queen offered the prize. The stitching was so intricate that Azrael couldn’t see the seams even if she squinted. The material rolling over her fingers felt exquisite, the fabric plush and soft. She immediately recognized it as Charmeuse silk, a Manor Saffron specialty.
Neither of them said a word while the Queen dabbed a washcloth in a basin and sponged the dried sweat from Azrael’s skin. It was Healer’s work, and they’d done the best they could while she’d been unconscious. But awake, she could peel off the layers of her crusted robe and not risk further damage.
The water, scented with lavender, gave calm and healing to her weak body. Azrael indulged in the feeling that she was truly the Queen’s daughter, born to ascend her throne, even if she’d hadn’t known it until now. She was almost sad when the Queen was finished and it was time to don her new summer dress.
Azrael’s body was already complaining and tired. Her back ached and her skin felt ragged, drying from the light bath in a way that made it itch. But the moment the Charmeuse silk folded over her skin, she felt relief, a perfect layer of protection from the harsh, humid air.
She could have lain back down and slept for a week again, but the Queen had instilled a new perseverance in Azrael. It wasn’t magic, or any overpowering extension of the Queen’s presence, it was merely the feeling of pride in her charge, as close to a mother and daughter relationship Azrael would ever get.
Dressed and clean, the Queen and Azrael slowly made their way to the gardens and Azrael still couldn’t put aside her fascination with the Inner Sanctum. Azrael had always known there were areas off-limits in the Manor. She’d never understood how it was possible none of the rambunctious and unruly Windborn had never even considered exploring them. But then, it was probably the Queen’s influence that had kept them all at bay. A sense of giddiness washed over her as they traveled onward through the halls.
Grand glass doors separated them from an immaculate garden. They swept inside and Azrael could hardly contain her excitement. The fountains were full of fish that darted and shimmered under silver lily pads. Bent trees boasted sleeping finches that ignored her presence. Azrael was engulfed by the scent of lavender and alyssum as she made her way through the secret paradise. She couldn’t help but miss Meretta, for she dearly loved flowers.
Past a line of apple trees and across from the largest fountain that marked the center of the garden, Gabriel was awaiting their arrival. Now, in the sunlight, she could see the way his white eyelashes framed his crystal eyes. He watched the skies, seemingly looking for something. Distracted.
When he noticed their entrance, his features lit up in a way that made Azrael’s heart skip a beat. How could he express so much joy in one single smile? And more still, how could that joy possibly be connected to her?
“That dress suits you well,” Gabriel said. He motioned to a beautifully crafted set of benches past the peaceful fountain. “Sit with me.”
She shot a glance to the Queen for guidance, not sure of herself when she was around the angel. The Queen only smiled, again with that knowing smile, and guided her to the stone bench.
“Azrael,” he began once she had settled, “you have Divine Material within you now. The power of Light has been infused with your body, opening the gates between your soul and the very power that sustains creation.”
Azrael nodded nervously, and noticed that the Queen was taking her leave. Guilt rose in her chest as she remembered that she was not the Queen’s only concern.
Gabriel continued, “First, you need to open a pathway in your mind.” He waited for Azrael’s acknowledgment to continue. She nodded once to comply, even though she wasn’t sure what he meant.
“Close your eyes, concentrate. Feel the connection. Ignite the flame that lies dormant in your soul and open the pathway.”
She sighed and focused as instructed. She reached deep within herself, searching for this so-called connection. Long moments passed where she felt nothing. She opened her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I can,” she whispered.
He patted her shoulder. Azrael shivered at the warmth of his touch that immediately seeped through the thin Charmeuse silk. “You were raised on this mortal plane. Even though you are Windborn, these abilities will not come easily to you.”
Azrael shifted her weight, struck with an intense desire to impress him. “Shall I try again?”
He nodded. “The sooner you are able to establish a connection, the sooner you will heal and the sooner you will be able to complete the Acceptance.”
Azrael didn’t have to be wise to read between those lines. The Acceptance was dangerous. Any obstacles she could eliminate, such as lengthy recovery time, would give her a much better chance to survive.
Azrael closed her eyes and tried again. She reached deep within herself, deeper than before. Desperately, she tried to focus. She filled her lungs with air and held it. She commanded with all her strength to find a connection that she knew must exist somewhere inside herself. Instead, she was met with only cold loneliness as she was forced to push the air back out.
For the better part of the day, she struggled on. She needed to survive, for Meretta, for herself, for Queen Ceres…for Gabriel.
As the sun crawled high overhead, servants brought them drink and nourishment. Azrael’s lack of success barely allowed the thought of food settling in her stomach. But after Gabriel’s stern insistence, she took short breaks to nibble on the delicacies: fruit cut into shapes, tiny pastries with frosting, and bits of salted meat on a stick, all washed down with iced water flavored with strawberries. Any other day in her life she would have enjoyed the treat. But today the morsels crumbled in her mouth, dry and without taste. The water tasted too sweet, and she longed for something simple.
Azrael found herself distracted under Gabriel’s haunting stare. She even said as much, and with a blush he wandered the gardens to leave her alone to try again. Even without his scrutiny, her incomplete Acceptance remained pained, cold, and empty. The air was thick with dusk when she felt Gabriel’s hand rest once again on her shoulder.
“Don’t be disappointed,” he offered. “It’ll be easier when you have more Divine Material at your disposal. It may be that you don’t have enough to spark the flame within you.”
She hung her head low. “What if I never can do what Queen Ceres can do?” Fear had already begun to constrict her chest and cast fresh black spots across her vision. What if she failed?
“That’s possible,” Gabriel confirmed after a moment. “Not every Princess gains access to the powers of the Light, even with a completed Acceptance.”
Her lungs struggled to draw in air. “How many fail to gain true magic?”
He didn’t look at her, but stared at the grass. The curve of his nose was so perfect, the way the ridge lined up with his eyebrow. When his deep blue eyes looked into hers, she knew she wouldn’t like the answer.
“That is a question for another day.” He brushed his fingers through his hair and the motion sent the white strands
sparkling in the dying light. “You’ve only gone through one session. Don’t be too hard on yourself.” He stretched his wings, the full length of them spanning three times as long as Azrael could reach, fingertip-to-fingertip. “I believe I have tormented you enough today. Surely, you long to rest?”
Azrael was exhausted. And even though she didn’t want to depart from the angel’s presence, she welcomed the thought of a warm bath and smooth sheets. The very idea set herself into a yawn and she jerked her hand to cover her mouth. Gabriel smirked, satisfied with her answer.
“Will we continue again tomorrow?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, I must depart the Manor. And while I’m gone, you must prepare yourself for your next session. The Acceptance must begin again before the next moon’s phase changes.”
She winced, not relishing the thought of the Hallowed’s needles. She wanted to plead for him to stay with her, to postpone such terrible agony. Instead, she said, “I understand.”
Gabriel rose to leave, but then paused to give her a warning glance as his wings curled into his back. “If you should feel the need to visit the public ward, I warn you to keep your new status to yourself.” He leaned in. “While I am pleased a hybrid will be Queen, most would not.”
Azrael swallowed and was glad when Gabriel leaned back and smiled, causing the gloom in the air to vanish. Before she could think of a reply, he unfurled his majestic wings and thrust them toward the ground. He launched and a cloud of dust fanned around them. And then she was alone, peering into the sky as an angel took flight from Manor Saffron’s gardens. She hoped she could revisit this scene in her dreams.
Her eyes lingered on the skies long after he’d disappeared. Alone, she hugged herself against the cold. The world felt less beautiful, less safe.
She made herself shrug off the disappointment. She attempted to rise gracefully, to at least pretend to match the beauty she’d just seen. But she felt like a toad croaking up from a mud patty rather than the trained Windborn that she was.
With conflicting emotions, she made her way out of the gardens, feeling defeated and a bit lost. The rest of the evening’s hopes seemed empty and cold.
Despite Gabriel’s warning, Azrael found that at the bend back to her chambers, her feet took a sharp left, and hustled her toward a place with far too many enemies…but one, single friend. And just now, a friend is exactly what she needed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Invitation
Azrael paused when she reached her old chambers. Only a short time had passed since her life had turned upside down, but the narrow hall was just as she remembered it. One deep scratch ran down its length and Azrael trailed her finger across it with a smile. That was the only time Michael had tried to show off a new fencing sword inside the Manor. Madame ordered it broken in half and while it was indeed a loss of a fine sword, the look on Michael’s face was well worth the gouge in her wall.
Azrael peered around the corner, expecting to see the room empty, but found Meretta inside twirling a piece of paper across her fingers at the oak desk.
She smiled, running a light scratch down the door with her fingernails. Meretta spun around with her brows arched high and her mouth in a round “O.”
Holding her belly, Azrael doubled over in a hearty laugh. “Good Divine. That’s a guilty face if I’ve ever seen one!”
Meretta clamped her mouth shut and shot to her feet. “What on Terra are you doing here?”
Azrael slipped inside and shut the door. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
Meretta eased her hands behind her back, hiding something from sight. “Of course I am. It’s just—”
Sweeping to her side, Azrael leaned around Meretta’s plumed dress and snatched the paper from her grasp.
“Hey!” Meretta said.
Azrael wrinkled her nose. “Don’t hide things from me. It’s not polite.” And with that she tore the letter open and immediately regretted her decision. The first three lines told her she shouldn’t have shoved her nose in Meretta’s business.
Azrael thrust the letter back into Meretta’s face as her cheeks heated in a blush. “I have no interest in reading how one of your suitors fancies your… hum…”
Meretta huffed and seized the letter. “It’s not from a suitor. It’s from a Windborn.”
Azrael’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
Meretta tossed the paper atop a stack of unopened correspondence. She leaned both hands on the edge of the desk and glared at the letter as if she could burn a hole straight through and make it disappear. “I’m not sure what to do. I’d report it, but—”
“He’s one of Michael’s.”
Meretta pressed her lips in a tight line and nodded.
Azrael sighed and eased into a curved velvet chair, careful to avoid her fresh Acceptance marks. “We can’t just keep letting Michael run this place. Not anymore, at least.”
Meretta offered Azrael a wry smile. “Is someone already feeling like a Princess?”
Azrael barked a laugh. “Hardly.” She fell silent and tugged at a frayed edge of the chair. She couldn’t call herself a princess when she couldn’t even access the royal magic.
Meretta shuffled through the unopened letters, tossing aside ones with gold and silver seals until she found one at the bottom. “Ah! Here we are. This should cheer you up.”
Azrael leaned to get a better look. It was hardly extravagant, not even a proper metallic seal to keep it closed until the letter had arrived to its intended recipient. “What is it?”
Meretta handed it over. “It’s tonight’s fest in your honor. You should go.”
Azrael licked her lips and accepted the dull prize. Unfurling the letter with care, she was met with impeccable font inviting her to attend a Windborn-exclusive celebration for the long-anticipated and much-needed replacement… A new Queen.
“We shouldn’t celebrate the Queen’s…retirement,” Azrael said, choosing her words carefully. She resisted the urge to tear the invite into pieces and instead let it drift to her lap. “Why would you suggest we even attend?”
Meretta scoffed and scooped the paper up, smoothing out the edges. “You’re far too dramatic. It’s no secret her Majesty has upheld the longstanding tradition of selling off Windborn as slaves. A new Queen is a fresh start, a renewed hope that times will finally change.”
Azrael swallowed, unsure it would be that easy. “As Queen, I’ll be expected to uphold the tradition of Windborn sales. Of course, I would do my best to change the way things are, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
Meretta matched Azrael’s gaze, crossed her arms and shifted her weight to her hip in a way that said she meant business. “This is why you made a deal with your demon, is it not? You’re going to change things.”
A lump seemed lodged in Azrael’s throat and she swallowed. Her motivations had been far more selfish. She’d asked for an opportunity to change her own fate, not that of her entire race. And aside from Meretta, who had ever shown her kindness? Who deserved to be saved?
Azrael opened her mouth to explain, but instead said, “It’s not that simple.”
Ever patient, Meretta didn’t retort. She offered a sympathetic smile and placed a hand on Azrael’s shoulder. “It’s never simple.”
Azrael breathed out a sigh of relief. “And I assume I can thank you for letting the world know I’m the new Princess?”
Meretta rolled her eyes. “Of course not. Her Majesty announced it herself just the other day. She didn’t say who it was, but I wouldn’t worry. No one would believe the new Princess would be a hybrid.”
Azrael stiffened and folded her lower lip under her teeth.
Meretta sat on the armrest, finding a perfect balance to teeter like a finch on a branch. “It’s a good thing. They’ll find out when you’re ready, and not a moment before.”
Gabriel’s warning crossed Azrael’s mind. If anyone did find out, would it really matter? What was he so afraid of?
Seeming refreshed, Meretta
bounced to her feet and slapped her hands together. “It’s decided then.” She spun to the wardrobe. “Now, what to wear?”
Meretta swung the door open and Azrael wearily considered the brightly colored rows of fabric. “Anything that won’t show my back.”
Azrael had only been to the ballroom twice in her life. The first she couldn’t remember, because it was when she’d been an infant. Her fall from the heavens was an event she was glad not to recall, just as much as those who must have ogled her presence in Manor Saffron as one of the few hybrids to have survived.
The second time she’d been to the ballroom, however, she remembered vividly. That was when she was twelve and another child had been introduced with bi-colored eyes. And just like that day, Azrael swelled with foreboding and contempt, and just a sparkle of hope.
“Look!” Meretta shouted and pointed at the row of Windborn boys up on stage. Typically, the upper tier was reserved for Terraborn observers for the new Saffron Wares. But now it boasted condescending faces of another kind.
Azrael dragged her gaze away from the upper tier and to the dance floor. A swirling crowd of blue and silver gowns filled her vision, all colors in favor of her Majesty’s prized shades. Blue for the sky, from which they were born, and silver to remind them of what they were: raw ore to be purified.
There was one who wore a blue so dark it would have looked black in a duller light. Michael stood apart from the rest, a silver flute in hand and his eyes closed as the melody drifted across the bobbing crowd. To Azrael, he seemed like a dark songbird pouring out his soul to each drifting passerby. Azrael closed her eyes as she listened, and it was easier to read Michael’s heart without her blue eye and green eye battling for supremacy.
While Michael’s melody was soft and gentle, one of Lumerian’s ballads intended for celebration, the tone drifted into a minor key. She could feel his conflicted heart, the sadness born of the hybrid’s murder. In another life, he could have been proud of what he’d done. But in this life, he knew Azrael, and she could feel how he questioned his own certainty, his own goodness. When Azrael opened her eyes and their gazes locked, she reeled with the power of the connection. He’d never be able to understand the morality of what he’d done, but she could.
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