Azrael read with heavy eyelids the accounts of the many Queens before her. Unfortunately, all of them seemed to have great difficulty utilizing the Divine Material in their bodies. And to her surprise, even Alexandria, the only Queen who’d ever Turned, didn’t access her gifts until she had completed her Acceptance.
But Alexandria didn’t have the Mark. The few who did had experienced a coma as Azrael had, but none seemed to have survived beyond that point. The texts listed the accounts as vague summaries, not listing what happened to the victims. Azrael wondered if her own experience would one day be listed as a short faded paragraph of failure.
The more she read, the more uncomfortable Azrael felt. The recovery time usually was one to two weeks, and the training progressed at a slow rate. She wanted to feel special that she was the first to experience such leaps in ability, but the looming knowledge of her possession made her feel like she was anything but special. Azrael remembered what Mita had said, that Mehmet had done something to her. Closing her eyes, she stared at the brightened red of the blood coursing through her eyelids. Her body trembled with rising uncertainty and dread.
Azrael closed the giant book and forced her eyes open. She wasn’t going to find all the answers tonight. She gently shook Meretta’s shoulders. “Meretta... Meretta hey, I’m going to bed.”
“All right.”
Changing into their sleeping robes with sloth-like speed, the girls curled up gratefully in the warm linens. Fortunately, the bed was quite large. Azrael wasn’t used to sleeping with someone next to her, but she appreciated the company. If she were being honest with herself, she was afraid to be alone.
Closing her eyes, Azrael attempted to fall asleep despite the Light. But the night was deep and sleep crested around the corner. The brightness dimmed as she slipped into the darkness unconsciousness brings.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Into the Night
MITA shivered in the dark. She’d wandered well out of sight of the Manor. Salty sea air drifted on the midnight breeze. Why had she come out here? Was this all a mistake?
She crouched in the short grass and tugged at the frayed weeds. No. This wasn’t a mistake. When she’d told her master of Gabriel’s unforgivable act, what did the Hallowed elder do? Did he show a shred of emotion? Did he promise to have a discussion with the Queen? No. He told her that she was lucky he didn’t strike her too for insulting the Princess!
Mita grasped a full fist of weeds and tore them from the ground.
This was why she’d finally given in to the visions from her nightmares. Night after night, she’d been visited by a dark force. She hadn’t told anyone, but knew it was no dream. She’d read enough accounts of demon influence to realize that a demon had been reaching out to her. Being Hallowed, she was warned of the potential hazard early in her training. Unlike other Windborn, her soul was already one foot in the Celestial realm. The demon could reach her, only if she lowered her guard. Her guard had steadily faltered every day that Azrael was in her life. But when Gabriel struck her, the wall she’d tentatively kept between the demon and herself had crumbled.
He had only one request: Meet me at the apex of the moon near the sea. He felt her frustration. He said he knew her desperation. And now, he was the only one who could do anything about it.
The grass at her feet iced over as a foul presence shadowed the ground. Mita opened her hand and let the weeds and dirt fall into the darkness.
“You came.” Its voice was deep and handsome. Not at all what she’d expected.
Mita looked up and saw a dark silhouette. The moon was only half full and hardly illuminated the form. She wrinkled her nose as a sharp and sour scent hit her nostrils.
“You stink,” she said. “Seriously, why do you smell?”
The dark form laughed. “My apologies. I had to trudge through the sulfur deposits of the western border of Mhakdar.”
Mita frowned. A gust of hot wind whipped her short hair against her face. “Why come all this way?”
The shadow laughed again. This time he whispered an ancient word that Mita couldn’t recognize. It parted the shadow and for the first time she was face-to-face with the creature of her nightmares. He stood tall, not unlike any other man. Aside from the two metallic horns protruding from his head, his sharp features and friendly smile could only be described as attractive.
“You’re him,” she said with a shocked gasp.
“Yes, Mita. I’ve come for you.”
She crouched and put her palms flat on the crisp grass. Should she run? No. He wouldn’t have come all this way and risk his own hide just to kill her. She had something he wanted. This was not a threat... This was a negotiation.
“I want wings,” Mita said, shoving her fear down into the pit of her stomach and taking the upper hand of the negotiation. With wings, the Queen would believe she’d Turned even without undergoing the Acceptance. She’d inherit Celestia itself and no longer be subject to her master’s dull expectations.
The demon flashed a smile that boasted perfectly white and aligned teeth. “Of course you do. Your Hallowed master wants you to have a life of slavery and needles, am I correct? Your Queen wishes your servitude and loyalty, no? And what of the dashing angel ambassador... What’s his name again...”
Mita narrowed her eyes. “Gabriel.”
The grin on the demon’s face faded. The air grew unnaturally cold. “That explains why so few of my raid parties have returned.”
Mita stood straight and crossed her arms. “Stop wasting my time. I want wings.”
The demon sighed and began to pace in a long circle around her. As he moved, the black smoke of his magic thinned, straining to cling to him and swirled like living clothing. He wore tight black trousers, or what looked like trousers, and no shirt.
“You’re thinking too small. You only want wings because it’s all you know to want. What of power? What of respect? Don’t you want those?”
Mita shifted her weight onto her left hip as she pondered his words. “Wings would give me that.”
The demon clicked his pronged tongue. It slithered out at the action and sent goosebumps rippling down Mita’s flesh.
“Wings would give you reverence. You won’t be respected, not the way you could be.” He offered a warm smile, but all Mita saw was a predator eyeing his prey. Involuntarily she shrunk away.
“See? You respect me. I don’t have wings. You respect me because you fear me.”
Mita straightened, putting on a brave face. “No, I don’t.”
He grinned. “I can offer you all the magic of my clan in Mhakdar. I can give you a new body with powers that will bring respect like you’ve never seen.”
Mita ignored the impulse to retreat as he took another step closer. The chill of the air bit her skin, and she found a growing fascination of him was clawing its way over her fear.
“If you help me, I will help you,” he offered, reaching out his hand. It wasn’t clawed or dripping with blood. Even though he’d traveled through the dark lands of Mhakdar, his fingers were immaculately clean.
Mita swallowed and took a step toward him. He awarded her with a broad smile. The pull toward him was undeniable.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Simply your help.” They were within arm’s reach now. His long fingers were still extended. Close to his body the air shifted from ice cold to warm. Mita stepped within the invisible sphere and sighed with relief. It was safe here, her mind assured her. Could she trust herself?
The demon wrapped his hands around her thin shoulders. His hands were soft and warm. “You don’t trust me. Just because I’m a demon doesn’t mean I don’t keep my word.”
Mita looked up at him. His dark eyes contained an eternity of hope and desire. She felt lost in them. How could such a beautiful creature ever lie?
“I suppose so,” Mita admitted.
The demon released her and reached out his hand once again. The mists engulfed it before withering out of existence, reveali
ng an oblong object that glinted in the moonlight.
“Take this into Azrael’s room, tonight. Do so and I will become your ally.” He brought the object close to her face and Mita cupped her hands and took it with great care. It thrummed with life at her touch. It whispered a thousand dark languages and sensed her desire to eliminate Azrael just as much as its demon-master wished it. In this, they were allies.
“Yes. You feel it, don’t you? You aren’t meant to be with them. You were always meant for us.”
Mita looked up at him, now fully his. “Why wasn’t I born into your clan? Why was I Windborn?”
The demon smiled down at her and stroked the hair from her face. “Sweet child. We were all Windborn...once.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dark Assassin
AZRAEL had been sleeping soundly with the ever-present warmth gifted by the Light from Manor Saffron’s walls. But when comforting warmth transformed into frigid cold, she was shocked from her sleep. Her eyes burst open, and she expected her inner Light to shine through the darkness, but she could see nothing. It reminded her of her nightmares, and she would have thought she’d returned if it hadn’t been for her frantically pounding heart. She was certainly alive, and she wasn’t dreaming.
Yet like a dream, she was completely paralyzed. She tried to move, but a cold weight poured over her body like a waterfall made of black shadows. It rushed past her ears and felt alive, sentient, and terrifying.
Azrael’s breath came in quick gasps as the cold slowly invaded her body. Her fingers went numb and a rolling nausea climbed in her chest. Azrael tried to cry out, to scream, to shout, to do something, but every sound was absorbed by the blackened void. Finally, Azrael went stiff with terror.
But Azrael hadn’t survived her nightmares by behaving like a frightened child. She remembered what the Queen had sacrificed to keep her alive, how hard Meretta had worked, and how much Gabriel believed in her. In an instant she’d reached that place beyond that held the Light and it lit her soul on fire. Azrael gasped in metallic air as the world exploded into being again.
Light poured from her like a fountain, scourging the air and hissing the blackness away. Something was causing this. Azrael felt the raw stab of emotion as it raged against her onslaught. It felt like an echo of a Windborn. Its horrifying screech cried out in anguish at her onslaught, but Azrael’s blurred vision couldn’t find the creature. She sucked in mouthfuls of air as if she’d been drowning as Light continued to pour out of her in massive, pulsing waves.
The void was solid and slick, and broke against Azrael’s Light. Her screams finally reached her ears as the blackness shattered like a mirror. Everywhere Azrael swept her gaze left a steaming trail of dark soot and grime as blackness broke and hissed into dust.
Azrael tumbled from her bed and fell to her knees with a painful jolt. All color had been drained from the marble that had once been gold and alive, but was now like a husk, grey and sapped of life.
She crawled on hands and knees, searching for Meretta and praying that the creature hadn’t gotten to her first. Through the deafening cracks of the void the creature’s body flashed, a slithering tail, a dark blackened scale, and then it was gone. Its nails screeched against marble as it ran, but it stopped just when it was out of sight, letting Azrael take in the full red-tinted gaze of its hatred before it retreated with a blistering screech.
“Help!” Meretta screamed. Her voice seemed to echo in the room and became lost in the cracks of void.
“Meretta!” Azrael cried, but there was no response.
Azrael tried to keep herself from hyperventilating as the Light reacted to her fear. The gate within her burst open and a tingling ran through the patterns where her Acceptance ignited. Azrael gleamed like a beacon until the entire room filled with scorching brightness. The last of the black fog retreated, heaving like a dying creature. Finally, Azrael spotted Meretta trembling on the floor and she scrambled to her side.
Meretta! Azrael tried to say, but no words came. Azrael’s jaw was locked by terror. She grabbed onto Meretta’s robe and her friend uncurled at the touch.
Meretta tried to blink her eyes open, but Azrael couldn’t contain her Light. Meretta gave one weak cry of anguish before she went limp and her head lolled back in Azrael’s arms.
The door burst open and Azrael shot her gaze like an arrow, sending a maidservant reeling until she slammed hard against the wall. She clutched at her eyes as if they burned before she went limp as well.
Azrael whimpered helplessly as she turned back to Meretta and had no power to stop her skin turning pink as small cuts formed, as if an invisible knife was slitting her skin. But Azrael knew it was no knife, this was her, and she couldn’t stop it. She was about to set Meretta aside and run from the room, but fear kept her frozen. What if the creature wasn’t really gone? What if this was the only way to keep her safe?
Tears sizzled in Azrael’s eyes as she opened her mouth in a mute cry. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to pull herself together. Azrael’s sense of time wavered as she tried to slow the thundering of her heart. And when she looked upon Meretta again, bright crimson blood had soaked through her silk robes. Trapped in horror, Azrael hummed an old lullaby, one sung by angels who were lost and couldn’t get home. She rocked back and forth with Meretta slumped in her arms and lost touch with reality. She couldn’t register the voices when hands pulled at her and tried to take away the treasure in her grasp. Azrael cried out and clung onto Meretta even harder. She couldn’t let them have her. They didn’t belong here.
Azrael was shocked back into reality when the Queen slapped her hard across the face. What shocked her wasn’t the force of the blow, not her magic or her demands, but being struck by her Queen. Azrael blinked helplessly.
“Please,” the Queen said, her words finally within the realm of comprehension. “Let the Healers take Meretta. She can be saved.”
Sense seeped into her like the cold void, but this time she let it in. She released her grip on Meretta’s slick robes and whimpered as they took her away, blood sweeping the ground in their wake.
But what caught her breath wasn’t the loss of blood, but the fact that Meretta’s dark locks had turned white as snow, only finding color where blood seeped into her hairline.
Azrael’s vision went blurry as she wept. What have I done?
The Queen forced Azrael to her feet. “Follow me.”
Numbly, Azrael allowed the Queen to lead her away, stumbling under her tight grasp like an unruly child. She didn’t resist when she was shoved into a velvety chair.
“Azrael,” the Queen whispered, her voice taut like a string. “Look at me.” The Queen’s magic invaded her mind and sought the remnants of her lucidity, piecing them back together like a broken cup. She shivered and widened her eyes. “What—” Only one word came out before her sobs rolled through her throat.
The Queen shushed her and stroked her hair, and Azrael collapsed into her arms. She let the sobs take over and clutched the Queen as if letting go meant dying, as if she couldn’t trust herself to keep anyone she loved safe.
“Meretta’s going to be all right, you hear me?” the Queen said. “I’ve seen Light overdose, and those who are strong in spirit can survive it. I don’t know anyone stronger than Meretta, other than you.”
Azrael peeled away from the Queen and sniffled. Her nose felt like it had grown three times its normal size and a headache had begun to pound. The Queen brushed a hand over Azrael’s cheek before gathering a blanket and a cup of water.
Azrael took the cup with trembling hands as the Queen draped the blanket over her legs. After a sip, she realized her fingers were stained with Meretta’s blood. Just like when the hybrid child had been killed, she dipped the blanket into the water and began to wipe her hands clean. This time, Meretta couldn’t do it for her. She had to fix her own failures now.
“Tell me what you saw,” the Queen said softly as Azrael worked. She was ruining perfectly good Charmeuse silk, but the Qu
een was either too blind to notice, or too kind to care.
“Darkness,” Azrael offered. “A creature.”
The Queen’s eyes narrowed. “What did the darkness feel like?”
She shivered as she tried to put the feeling into words. “Like, I was drowning.” Fresh tears streamed down Azrael’s face and she searched the Queen’s cloudy eyes for answers. “What did I do to Meretta?”
The Queen’s eyes burned like dim coals, restraining Azrael from the Light even now. “You’ve saved her, sweet girl. Mehmet has made his move.”
Azrael’s eyes went wide. “What?”
The Queen stilled Azrael’s hands, not seeming to care if the blood stained her own porcelain skin. “That Darkness would have devoured any life in that room, and that creature was there to make sure of it.”
“What if it comes back?” Azrael’s voice came out panicked and Light threatened to burst from her soul at any moment.
The Queen pushed her magic deeper until it barely contained Azrael’s fears. “Someone let it in, but you cast it out. I promise, we’ll get to the bottom of this.” The Queen shook Azrael by the shoulders. “I promise, you will get through this.”
Azrael forced herself to calm down as she noticed the strain creasing the Queen’s brow. Sweat had begun to bead across her forehead and she’d never once seen the Queen perspire in any form. Azrael forced herself to give a tight nod. “I understand.”
The Queen glanced to the doorway and Azrael started, but saw only a solemn Healer waiting silently to be acknowledged. Her lively green robes were splotched with dark smears of blood and bile rose in Azrael’s throat.
“The Hallowed has reviewed the advisor’s condition, and informs she will survive, however her hair will remain bleached,” said the Healer.
Azrael cringed at her unspoken words, and resented the Healer’s snide tone. Meretta wouldn’t fetch quite the price she once boasted for Manor Saffron. She resisted lurching for the Healer and strangling her to death right there. Meretta would never be a slave to anyone, not while she had any say in the matter.
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