by Nalini Singh
“Consort,” the other woman said. “I am Isabel.”
Naasir’s partner, Elena realized, situated here to give the vampire winged backup. “Elena,” she said and held out her hand, the other woman having been away from Amanat during Elena’s previous visits.
Isabel shook it with a smile, her eyes an extraordinary dark brown, her black hair pulled back in an elegant knot at the nape of her neck, and her skin a tawny gold that reminded Elena of paintings she’d seen of Egyptian goddesses. “I’ve made certain nothing was disturbed,” Isabel told her. “Those who ventured this way took little persuading to seek other pleasures.”
A slight shift in the winds that traveled through the temple, Isabel’s blouse shaped to her body for a fleeting second as Elena’s senses jacked into high gear. The scent of decay, putrefaction . . . and below it, of disease.
Not needing Isabel or Naasir to show her the way, Elena walked into the damaged building, the roof a filigree that created delicate patterns of light and shadow beneath her feet. At any other time, she would’ve lingered, taken photographs of the effect to share with Eve, her youngest half sister utterly fascinated by the lost city come to life in a land far from its original homeland.
Today, however, she followed the scent trail in a near-straight line to halfway across the temple. The woman was sitting with her back against one of the intricately carved columns, one hand cradled in a basket of dead flowers, the basket positioned in a way that made Elena think the victim had set it down herself, her body too tired to go any farther. She wore a dress of deep red silk that flattered her femininity without being sexual, the fabric vibrant against the rich cream of her ravaged skin.
There smell was distinctive but faint, the current cold in the city having preserved the victim as she’d died.
Girding her stomach against the rush of pity and anger, Elena crouched down, her wings spreading on the icy smoothness of the stone floor. A single glance was enough to confirm that the unusually small number of sores that marked the woman were visually identical to those on the bodies of the New York victims. No other obvious injuries, but that could be deceptive.
Sadness overwhelmed her as she rose to her feet, the victim appearing a broken doll discarded by a careless child. Elena hoped she was now at peace, this lovely woman who’d spent a thousand years in Sleep, only to die before she’d ever explored the new world into which she’d awakened.
Leaving her sleeping against the stone, Elena walked out into the sunshine where Isabel awaited with Naasir. “How long was she missing?” she asked, walking down a few steps so she could spread her wings, needing to soak in the sunlight after the cold sadness within a temple clearly built to be a place of beautiful serenity.
“Eight hours at most.” Isabel’s tone was direct but it held the same heavy sadness that had seeped into Elena’s bones. “Amanat is a small, tight-knit city,” the angel continued, “and she shared a home with two cousins. They raised the alarm when she didn’t arrive home for their nightly meal.”
“Was she healthy before this?”
“It was taking her body longer to adjust to being out of Sleep than most.” Isabel walked down to join Elena in the sunlight. “As a result, though she was mortal and not averse to sharing her life force with the blood kin, she hadn’t fed anyone in many days.”
The latter comment made it clear Isabel and Naasir had stayed up-to-date with the discoveries they’d made about the disease. “Since you’ve had no other infected”—a quick glance at Isabel to confirm—“it likely means the enemy intended to use her as a carrier. Except that she was too weak to handle the virus.”
Isabel’s jaw firmed, eyes flint-hard. “Had she been stronger, she may not have understood she was sick until it was too late, thus infecting those she fed in good faith.”
Sad as the situation was, it did seem to confirm their theory that the disease could only be passed via a transfer of blood, and as Keir had stated, a certain amount of it. Otherwise, the archangel behind it wouldn’t bother with such a slow method of infection—one that meant he or she had to make contact with the human chosen as the carrier.
Of course, an archangel could wipe a mind, so it wasn’t that big a risk in the grand scheme of things, more an inconvenience. “Do Amanat’s people go outside the city walls at any time?”
Isabel’s nod was immediate. “Caliane has encouraged them to explore their new world, but they almost always go in groups and return together. Kahla, despite her relative weakness, was more intrepid—I can well imagine her going for a walk on her own.”
Kahla. Having a name, a glimpse into her spirit, made it worse.
“The timing,” Naasir said, speaking for the first time since Elena walked out of the temple, “cannot be a coincidence.”
“No.” Turning, she met both their gazes. “No one can know of this.” The archangel behind it had to believe he or she had failed in the attempt to infiltrate the city. “We also need to keep Caliane’s people within the walls for the time being.” From the sly cowardice of the attacks, Elena didn’t think the individual behind it would have the nerve to abduct and infect one of Caliane’s people in so public a setting.
“No one will leave.”
Elena didn’t push the vampire for an explanation as to how he intended to achieve that—Naasir might make her instincts bristle in self-protective warning, but he was one of the Seven for a reason. If there was one thing Elena knew about Raphael’s most trusted men, it was that they got the job done.
“And I,” Isabel said, “will quietly examine anyone who has been outside the walls within the last three days, in case our enemy touched more than one.” A glance back at the temple. “There is a volcano not far on the wing. I can carry Kahla to her final rest when night falls.”
Touched by the gentleness in Isabel’s tone, Elena nonetheless shook her head. “Keir will need to examine the body.” Frowning, she considered the logistics of it. “He’ll need to wait till after the ball to avoid arousing suspicion, but I’m guessing the shield’s going to go up soon as the overnighting guests are all in”—Isabel nodded at her questioning look—“which means the temperature will rise.” And Kahla would begin to rot.
“Amanat has no suitable refrigeration facility,” Isabel told her, “but there is a fishing village two hours to the east. I’ll have a local drive one of their refrigerated trucks into the forest where it’ll be concealed from sight and out of earshot.”
There in the cold, Elena thought, Kahla would sit alone while the city danced.
* * *
“I am sorry, Mother,” Raphael said, as Caliane walked with him through her city, her people offering him shy smiles, their eyes drenched with love when they landed on Caliane. “Naasir told me of the loss of one of your own.”
“Kahla was a sweet girl—lively as a small bird, inquisitive as one, too.” Sorrow deep and true, followed by a whiplash of fury. “It is cowardice to take an innocent life in such a way, with no claim to the honor of open combat.”
His mother, Raphael thought, would never believe she’d just echoed the words of the hunter who was Raphael’s consort. “We will unearth the perpetrator and make his cowardice known.” It was one thing to infect a volunteer from his or her own lands, another to attempt to use a maid who knew nothing of battle.
Caliane’s expression softened as she tilted her head back to meet his gaze. “Yes, you will, my beautiful boy.”
Again, they walked in silence for many minutes.
“In the last Cascade,” he said, knowing she was the one living being old enough to know the answer, and someone who’d never betray him to another, “do you know of any archangel who heard whispers in his dreams?”
It was a strange thing to ask, but his mother simply looked thoughtful and he could feel her turning the pages of her eons-long existence. “No,” she said at last, stopping beside a wall entirely covered with hot pink blooms, her expression searching when she turned it on him. “Do you?”
He
heard the concern she couldn’t hide . . . and he knew. “Father heard whispers, did he not?”
Sorrow darker and older than that caused by the loss of Kahla, a sadness that made his bones ache. “My beloved Nadiel would’ve been so proud to see who you’ve become. He always said you were the best of both of us.”
In evading his question, she’d given him his answer. His father had heard voices in his madness and now Raphael heard them, too.
22
Twenty-four hours after she’d left the temple, Elena found herself in the surreal position of getting ready to dress for a formal ball while a refrigerated truck sat not far from the city, hidden from the sight of the angels who’d soon be flying into Amanat. A number were already here, the city in a flurry of excitement, the majority of the residents unaware of Kahla’s death.
Caliane had made the decision to delay the announcement till after the ball—“for my people have worked so hard for this night”—the death to be explained as a tragic fall that broke Kahla’s neck. The young woman would still be sent into the heart of a volcano, but as part of a full funeral service that gave her friends and family an opportunity to say good-bye.
“Won’t people question the volcano?” Elena asked now, Raphael having just received the update about the funeral from Naasir.
He shook his head. “No, Amanat’s people have never buried their dead, so it’ll be seen as a fitting farewell.”
“Caliane,” she said, tightening the belt on her robe, “is she okay?” Raphael had spent time with his mother that morning, while Elena explored Amanat in Isabel’s company.
“She mourns.” His upper half shirtless, he stood at the open balcony doors of their third-level suite, looking out over the bustle of the city below. “My mother has ever treasured the people of Amanat.”
Elena couldn’t argue with that, not when she knew Caliane had taken her people into Sleep with her, she valued them so deeply. Those people, in turn, adored her with an openness and an affection so heartfelt, it gave them a rare sense of innocence and the city an unexpected warmth of heart.
“Kahla is the first she has lost since the Awakening.” His hands closed over hers when she wrapped her arms around him from the back, her cheek on the living silk of one of his wings and her palms on the rippled muscle of his abdomen. “If she could call off this ball, she would, but it’s too late.”
Elena thought of the haunting sorrow she’d glimpsed on Caliane’s face. “How does she not see anyone lesser as disposable, given how long she’s lived?” Of all the archangels Elena knew, including Raphael, it was Caliane who appeared the most attached to her people, mortal and immortal.
“I asked her the same question once as a boy,” Raphael answered. “It was after we’d been to the territories of two other archangels within a short period of time, neither of whom treated their people as I’d always seen my mother do.
“She told me there was a time when she, too, was utterly remote from the world. It was her love for my father that began the change . . . and my birth that completed it.” Echoes of time, of memories from the dawn of his life. “In becoming a mother, she found an ability to love that transcended the change engendered by time and power.”
Elena thought of the life Caliane had lived, tried to imagine the weight of so many years: To see an eon pass, then to fall in love and bear a child, only to watch your mate be consumed by a madness that forced you to execute him. And later, to be consumed by insanity yourself, cause harm to the child who was the last cherished reminder of your mate, to Sleep for over a thousand years and wake to find your son a man of incredible power . . . one who’d given wings to a mortal.
“If that happens to us,” she whispered, unable to wrap her mind around the idea of a life so long and so full of tragedy, “if we feel ourselves, who we are together, becoming lost in time, I don’t want to Sleep. I want to say good-bye when I’m still me and you’re still you.” A clean, sharp ending rather than a gradual unraveling.
Turning, Raphael cupped her face, his eyes incandescent. “Caliane and Nadiel never lost one another, Elena. My parents loved even in the madness.” And so, Raphael thought, would he.
Elena’s hands fell to his waistband, finger hooking slightly inside. “Together,” she said, and he knew she was recalling what he’d told her about Caliane’s inadvertent admission when it came to the whispers that plagued his dreams, his hunter’s words a reminder of the promise they’d made to one another.
“We fall, we fall together.”
Eyes going to his right temple now, she shook her head, jaw set. “If you dare go before me, I will haunt you in the afterlife.”
“To be haunted by my heart is no threat.” Tugging back her head, he claimed her lips. He’d meant only to initiate a kiss, needing to taste the fiery life of her, but they were by the bed seconds later, her robe falling to the carpet to leave her golden-skinned body open to his caresses. Passion a crash of sensation in his blood, he took her to the sheets, their limbs entangled and skin hot as they forged another memory that would hold through eternity.
* * *
Her body feeling deliciously used, Elena fixed the final straps of the gorgeous ankle-length gown that had magically appeared in the luggage one of Raphael’s staff had driven to Amanat from the jet. She’d given up trying to figure out when or how formal clothes like these poofed into her wardrobe—or into her suitcase, for that matter—all she knew was that a tailor came by every couple of months, took her measurements, and things turned up when she needed them. She was good with that.
Today’s gown was sea froth around her ankles, the color an evocative azure blue, the tiny buttons that anchored the straps designed to hug her body faceted diamonds, and the azure lace accent along one side unexpectedly striking. She didn’t wear her workmanlike forearm sheaths but strapped on the jeweled upper-arm sheath and blade set Raphael had given her prior to the last ball they’d attended.
It had survived the ensuing carnage, and the blade, sweet and deadly, looked prettily decorative on her biceps. She slid a second blade into a thigh sheath, her dress created with a discreet slit that gave her quick access—the tailor knew who he was dressing, that was clear. Into the hair she’d put in a fancy twist, she slipped the blade pins given to her as a gift by Jason’s princess, the spymaster currently on the other end of the call Raphael had received as he was buttoning up his severely formal black shirt.
“What did he say?” she asked when he ended the call.
Taking in the sight of his consort in her finery, Raphael walked across to run his finger along the curve of her bodice, the way she arched her neck in a responsive shiver enticing him to bend, press his lips to her throat. “You appear a pampered courtesan.” The jeweled blade on her arm only added to that effect.
She smoothed her hands over the crisp fabric of his shirt. “Good”—her fingers slotting in the remaining buttons—“the better to fool people.”
It would be a stupid individual indeed who’d miss the acute perceptiveness of Elena’s eyes, the fluid hunting grace of her walk. “Jason,” he said, in answer to her earlier question, “has heard not even a whisper of other vampiric deaths such as the ones in New York, and no incidents with mortals as in Amanat.”
“Hmm.” Slipping her hand into his, she led him to their balcony, which overlooked the cobblestoned square that was to be the center of the ball, the area lit with old-fashioned standing lamps of delicate iron, and accented with the natural blooms of the city. “Are all immortal balls outdoors?”
“For the most part—a ballroom big enough to comfortably handle so many wings would be an impersonal structure.”
“Like a stadium.” She made a face. “I get why angels would prefer an outdoor setting. It’s much prettier this way. The carpet over the cobblestones—it must’ve taken the weavers a human lifetime to complete.”
Raphael nodded, making a mental note to take her to visit the master weavers in the Refuge on their next visit. Elena would appreciate bot
h their skill and their artistry. “Do you see how the buildings are built in a staggered pattern around the square?” Sliding one arm around her waist, he pointed out the design with his other. “It’s so each rooftop has an uninterrupted view of the festivities.”
Elena’s face glowed as she took in the informal seating areas that had appeared on those rooftops, each warm with candlelight. “It was built this way on purpose!”
“Yes. Should we ever have a ball in Manhattan,” he said, laughing when she pretended to stab herself in the eye, “it will require us to get creative. I was not thinking of angelic balls when I built my city.”
“Thank God or I’d have had to divorce you.” Leaning against him, their wings sliding intimately against one another, she returned to the darkness beneath the sparkle and the gilt. “If Jason’s right and Amanat was the only other target aside from New York, then it reduces the short list of possible enemies down to one.”
“Yes, Lijuan seems the perfect candidate, yet Jason is dead certain Lijuan has not left her stronghold for the past month.”
Elena frowned. “Not that I doubt him, but she has that whole other noncorporeal form.”
“I had the same question, but your favorite archangel has apparently been highly visible attending celebrations thrown in her honor in her territory.” He watched a tiny bird come to sip at one of the large blooms that climbed up the side of the house, its wings a splash of red and green. “Lijuan was at a winter festival during the entire span Kahla was missing from the city.”
“Damn, that takes us back to square one.”
“Not quite, for we now know Lijuan is not the diseasemonger.” Yet his instincts said she had a hand in this nonetheless. “The others, bar Neha”—who had a legitimate reason for excusing herself from the gathering—“will be here tonight.”
His consort smiled as the jewel-toned bird hopped onto a small table to one side of the balcony. “I’ll see if I can get close enough to pick up a scent,” she said, her eyes on the tiny creature. “Maybe since this is a bloodborne disease, the angel will carry some hint of it in his own blood and it’ll speak to my hunter senses.”