Archangel's Storm gh-5

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Archangel's Storm gh-5 Page 12

by Nalini Singh


  “Did you . . . Have you seen Lijuan’s Collection Room?”

  Jason halted, watched Mahiya rub her hands up and down her arms, as if they did not stand in sunlight thick as syrup. “Yes,” he said, “I have.” The Collection Room was located within the stronghold where Lijuan had first created her reborn, and kept permanently cold to preserve the bodies that hung on the walls, their wings spread out in magnificent display.

  Some, Jason knew, had died in circumstances where their wings had remained undamaged, but others . . . others had simply vanished from the world. “If you saw that room,” he said, driven to touch a single finger to Mahiya’s cheek, “you’re lucky to be alive.”

  She didn’t shrug away the touch. Flattening her hand over her belly, she said, “I thought I could bargain service for sanctuary. I convinced myself it would be akin to being a servant, that I’d be free aside from my duties.” A shiver wracked her frame. “I think the only reason Lijuan returned me to Neha rather than keeping me as a trophy was that she was deeply offended by the fact I would dare run from the archangel to whom I ‘owed duty.’”

  “Were you a cat,” he murmured, his mind on the massive cold-storage room behind the Collection Room, filled with drawers big enough to hold angelic bodies, “I would say you are now poorer by at least seven of your nine lives.”

  “What do you know?” It was a whisper dancing over his skin.

  “Many things I cannot unsee.”

  * * *

  Jason’s words continuing to circle in her mind, heavy with a lingering darkness that tugged at the vulnerable core of her in spite of her conclusion that he felt no such need in return, Mahiya parted from him several minutes later. “I must attend to Neha,” she said. “I am meant to be spying on you after all.”

  Jason’s response was as unexpected as the fleeting touch that had anchored her to the here and now when the nightmare of Lijuan’s stronghold threatened to suck her under. “You’re not hard enough for such a task”—almost gentle words—“and I honor the strength it must’ve taken to fight the bitterness, to refuse to allow your heart to petrify to pitiless stone.”

  No one else had ever understood that truth, understood the conscious will it had taken to remain untainted and unbroken. Shaken at the way he could reach her so deeply when he remained so distant, she said, “I must go,” and turned to walk away.

  When she looked over her shoulder seconds later, he was gone, the sky showing no sign of the spymaster who threatened to strip her to the soul. “Who are you, Jason?”

  The wind held no answers for her.

  Lowering her gaze from the sky, she took a deep breath and replaced the emotional armor Jason had disassembled with nothing but a touch, a few words. She could not go to Neha vulnerable and exposed.

  Ten minutes later, when she located the archangel, it wasn’t within the cool confines of her private palace, but walking the ramparts, looking down at the city that was her own. Keeping her wings neatly to her back, her emotions under rigid control, Mahiya watched the archangel nod to the visitors walking or riding up the steep, curving path to the fort. Neha didn’t allow modern vehicles on the pathway or within the fort itself, but elephants, camels, and horses were considered acceptable means of transport.

  “Have you forgotten who it is you come to speak to?” It was a silken question.

  “I apologize if I have misstepped, my lady.” Once, the words would’ve been knife shards in her throat. Now, they were nothing but tools she used to distract the archangel while she worked to break out of this prison.

  Silence. Neha’s wings a sweep of cool white scattered with a rare few jewel blue filaments that echoed Mahiya’s own feathers. The familial connection showed itself in other ways, too, but only to someone who knew what it was they searched for, and those old enough to deduce the truth also knew never to speak of it.

  To everyone else, Mahiya was a distant descendant of Neha’s the archangel had taken in out of kindness after the death of her unnamed parents. That the newborn child had appeared eight months after Eris’s incarceration and Nivriti’s assumed execution had further distanced any connection that might’ve been made by most. Few could imagine that Neha had been cruel enough to have kept her sister chained through the months of her pregnancy, but Mahiya had heard the story from Neha’s own lips.

  “A gift on your hundredth birthday.” The archangel’s smile caused a chill along Mahiya’s spine. “The history of your becoming.”

  Angels didn’t easily die, but a female angel was most vulnerable after childbirth, especially a childbirth where her womb had been cut open with a rusty blade, her baby literally torn out of her by uncaring hands, her internal organs left to spill to the floor. Add in a lack of food and water, and the thin, thin air at the top of the distant mountain fort where her mother had apparently been held, and Nivriti had stood no chance.

  Even then, powerful as she’d been, it must’ve taken her years of agony to starve to total death.

  “You give offense by existing,” Neha said at last, and it was an almost absent comment. “Tell me about Jason.”

  Mahiya did, and it was the truth . . . what she spoke of it in any case. As Jason had pointed out, she could hardly accuse Neha of murder and hope to live. “He appears to be upholding the vow,” she concluded, “and working to unearth the identity of the murderer or murderers.”

  Neha’s eyes focused on some distant aspect Mahiya couldn’t see, the silk sari Neha wore now a cool champagne bordered in bronze, the folds pinned with neat precision on her shoulder by an antique brooch. Her blouse was a bronze that echoed the border, the cut perfect, the intricate back work necessary to accommodate wings done with such precision that the fit remained flawless.

  No one, Mahiya thought, could say the Archangel of India was not the most elegant of creatures, but Mahiya alone understood the vindictive depth of hatred that had driven Neha for so long. It hadn’t surprised her in the least when Anoushka was found guilty of crimes against a child—the angel had watched her own mother raise a child for the sole purpose of vengeance after all. Kindness to a thousand other children could not eradicate the evil taint of that single heinous act.

  “Do you mourn your father?” Neha asked into the silence.

  “I mourn who he could’ve been.” There had been promise in Eris, and perhaps if he’d had better guidance as a youth, as a husband, he might have fulfilled it. That was as much forgiveness as she could give him, because he’d been an adult, too, had made his own choices.

  “In that we are in agreement, child of my blood’s blood.”

  Mahiya went motionless—it never augured anything but ill for her when Neha referred to the ties that connected them. However, today, the archangel simply tilted her face to the burning heat of the sun, allowing it to wash over the golden brown of her skin, imbuing it with warmth. At that moment, Mahiya could imagine why her people saw her as a benevolent goddess.

  “I first met him when I was an angel of a thousand.” The words were soft, her gaze on a past long gone. “At four hundred, he was barely an adult to my mind, and I treated him as such. Irresponsible, I thought, but beautiful and with such masculine charm. Our paths did not cross again until I had become an archangel, and Eris a man elegant and confident.”

  A hot desert wind waved over them a second later, breaking Neha’s reverie. “Have you ever loved, Mahiya?”

  Knowing what was coming, she steeled her spine. “No.”

  “Not even Arav?”

  There it was, the blow that reminded her of a humiliation that had crushed her young heart, threatened to fracture her fledgling spirit. “I was a child then. What did I know of love?” However, she’d learned that pretty words were not to be trusted—and that she had a strength she’d never before understood.

  “My daughter is dead,” Neha said, in an apparent non sequitur, “and so is my husband and consort. Some would say I am being punished for what I did to you and your mother.” Dark eyes on Mahiya’s face. “Do
you think I am being punished, Mahiya?”

  If you believe so. For your karma is of your own making.

  “It is not my place to think such things, my lady.” Mahiya used every ounce of skill she’d picked up from her years in the court to hide her thoughts, keep her voice expressionless. “I am only grateful for your kindness in giving me a home.”

  Neha’s lips curved, but the ice in her gaze remained frigid. “A pretty speech. Perhaps you will prove interesting, after all.” A slight motion of a slender hand, and Mahiya knew she’d been dismissed.

  Walking the wide pathway along the ramparts until she came to steps that led down into the sprawling main courtyard—built at a time when ground armies were mounted on elephants—she made her way down with slow grace, though she wanted nothing more than to spread her wings and fly off into the mountains. That deadly chance was one she’d save for last, when she had no other hope.

  “Yes. You matter.”

  Hugging Jason’s quiet words to her heart, her faith in his integrity an instinct she had no will to fight, Mahiya crossed the stone of the courtyard with measured steps. Open as it was, with only a few miniature trees in large planters on the edges, she could feel a hundred eyes on her—guards, courtiers, servants.

  She acknowledged those who acknowledged her, but stopped for no one . . . until a tall, handsome angel with skin of darkest brown and eyes of smoky gray walked into her path, his wings a mottled brown two shades paler than his skin. And she understood why Neha had spoken of the man who had taught Mahiya her first and most lasting lesson about love.

  17

  “Mahiya, my sweet.” Arav went as if to take her hand in preparation for lifting it to his mouth, but she halted that by the polite expedient of a small bow, hands clasped together in greeting in front of her.

  “Sir,” she said, and in her mind, it was an insult. “I did not know you visited my lady.”

  “Of course I visit Neha.” A charming smile he’d once convinced Mahiya was for her alone.

  Now she trusted no man’s smile . . . and was starting to trust a man who smiled not at all. It was an impossible thing, but there it was. She had more trust in an enemy spymaster than she had in any other person in this fort—Jason’s truths might be dark and often brutal, but they were never lies wrapped in acidic sweetness that could corrode.

  “She and I are friends of an age.” Arav’s gaze lifted to where Neha stood on the ramparts, her gaze cityward. “And of course, I have not seen you, my favorite lover, for many a year.”

  “I am no longer your lover and have not been for centuries.” She felt defiled by the memory of how she’d allowed him to take her innocence with a satisfaction she’d then mistaken for care. “I wish you a good visit, but I must be on my way.”

  Arav blocked her when she would’ve walked around him. To insist would be to cause a scene, and while Mahiya had no compunction against slapping Arav if need be, giving in to the urge while Neha stood so close could be dangerous. Because in one thing Arav did not lie—he and Neha did have a friendship.

  To this day, she didn’t know if Arav had been acting under orders when he seduced then threw Mahiya away like trash, or if it had been simple chance, the male in front of her taking advantage of an untutored girl who did not enjoy her archangel’s favor and thus had no one from whom Arav might fear reprisal.

  “I hear you share rooms with one who has sworn a blood vow.” Arav’s eyes glittered. “Raphael’s pet mute.”

  Mute? It was an insult so incomprehensible as to have no impact. Jason didn’t chatter, but he wasn’t a wholly silent creature—he simply chose not to speak until he had something to say. “Neha,” she said, with glacial politeness, “appears to hold him in high esteem.”

  His lips twisted in a reflection of the putrid inner self she hadn’t seen until it was too late. “She is grieving.”

  Ah. “Is that why you’re here? To offer solace?”

  “It is a friend’s prerogative.”

  “A friend who wishes to take Eris’s place.”

  “I am stronger than he ever was.” Arrogance backed by fact; Arav was one of Neha’s generals. “When I am consort,” he said, gripping her jaw between thumb and forefinger before she could flinch away, “I will ask Neha to give you to me as my special pet.”

  Fool. Mahiya twisted out of his grip, heedless of whether it might attract Neha’s attention. Because if there was one thing the archangel had never done, it was to overlook the mistreatment of women in her court. Any man found to have forced, beaten, or coerced a woman was summarily punished by having parts of his body amputated—the worse the assault, the more he lost, until some didn’t survive to regenerate.

  It did not matter if the woman was in favor or not, rich or poor, peasant or courtier. The rule was absolute and part of what made Neha such a beloved queen. But that Neha, Mahiya thought suddenly, a prickling of cold along her spine, might not be the one who ruled now . . . at least not where Mahiya was concerned.

  “Some would say I am being punished for what I did to you and your mother.”

  Stifling the chilling realization, she favored Arav with a scalpel-sharp smile. “Neha values loyalty in a man above all else. If she ever thinks you have plans to touch another while bound to her, Eris’s torture and disemboweling will seem a gentle punishment in comparison.”

  Paling until the loss of blood was obvious even under the darkness of his skin, Arav took two quick steps away from her. Mahiya was already gone, having used his momentary shock to skirt past and down the pathway toward the stables—petting the horses she so loved would go some way toward calming her. She felt Arav’s eyes boring between her shoulder blades until she disappeared around the corner, and knew that where he had previously seen her as a toy, he now saw her as something he wanted to break. She’d made an enemy this day.

  * * *

  Three hours after the discovery of Shabnam’s body, and having completed a number of other crucial inquiries, Jason had intended to interview the ladies-in-waiting, but found he had need to speak to Neha. “Venom asks permission to enter your territory.”

  Neha’s lips kicked up a notch where she walked beside a large outdoor mural of a lissome maiden carrying a water pot on her head. “So, the prodigal returns,” she said, the grief and anger in her voice leavened by warmth. “Is he on his way to the Refuge?”

  “He says he would not dare pass by without paying his respects.”

  Neha’s laugh echoed off the marble around them. “Though he did dare run off to Raphael as soon as his Contract was complete.”

  “I think you would’ve been disappointed had he not shown spine enough to forge his own path.” Though she would not be pleased to know exactly how powerful the vampire had become in the years since.

  Smile deepening, Neha said, “I assent to his visit, so long as he accepts the vow that binds you also includes him while he is here. Let us hope he has brought a gift that will soften my anger at his defection.”

  What Venom brought was nothing expected. No exotic snake or a necklet in the shape of a cobra, no jeweled comb or rare wine.

  “Explain this,” Neha said in a cool tone when he unveiled the mechanical monkey that beat drums and crashed cymbals with manic glee as it walked in circles on the sapphire-hued silk carpet in front of Neha’s throne.

  Venom turned off the toy. “It is a smile, my lady.” Glancing up from his crouching position, he allowed the sunlight pouring in through the windows to hit the shocking green of eyes that were not human in any sense, the slits contracting against the brightness. “I thought you needed one more than jewels. Especially on this day.”

  Neha said nothing for a long minute before she sighed and gestured for him to rise. “Put that in my private chambers,” she said to the servant who stood discreetly to the side, and Jason knew the danger had passed, Venom’s gamble at referring to Eris’s funeral paying off.

  “Tell me,” she said once the servant had departed, “of what you have been doing in
Raphael’s Tower.”

  It was a loaded question, one that asked Venom to divide his loyalties, but the vampire fielded it without lying—and without betraying any secrets. “Learning to be stronger, better. Now I go to work under Galen.”

  “Yes, that one is a man who understands patience, as you have never done.”

  “It’s in my nature.” Venom shrugged, and Jason knew he referred to the impulses that had been seeded in him by the Queen of Snakes, of Poisons.

  A faint smile curved Neha’s lips, the calculated gleam of her earlier question replaced by amused affection. “When does that barbarian weapons master expect you?”

  “I am early. If I may beg your indulgence, I would stay and talk with friends I have not seen for many a year.”

  Neha’s eyes shifted in that quicksilver way, now brown, now a jagged, slitted green, the speed such that Jason could almost believe he’d imagined it. “So, Raphael thinks to plant a second spy in my court?”

  “You insult Jason, my lady.” Disarming charm. “I would be a great thumping elephant to his sleek cobra.”

  An exasperated shake of Neha’s head, the archangel appearing more indulgent than Jason had seen her with anyone but Eris and Anoushka. “Stay, play your games, but, Venom? Do not forget who I am.”

  Venom bowed over her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. “My lady, never will I forget who you are—you did not Make a fool.”

  * * *

  Later, when Venom and Jason walked up onto the wall above one of the magnificent fort gates, Jason saw the vampire sigh as he looked out over the city below, the homes hugging the earth for the most part, but even the smallest with a door painted in a bright shade, or shutters of red, a roof of blue. “You miss this place.”

  “At times,” Venom said, his hair lifting in the breeze that tugged at Jason’s queue. “This land is where I was born, this fort where I was Made. It’ll always have a claim on my heart, though it is Raphael who has a claim on my loyalty.”

 

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