“Leave us,” said Calenus.
I heard the shuffle of feet, and then the door closed.
Calenus sat on my bed. I kept my head down, riding the euphoria of Ixiah’s tincture. Damn him.
“It’ll take a while for you to heal. You were assimilated without your slits. Lucky that you’re here. Keep your wings out until the scarring is complete.”
“H-How long?” I stammered, wiping drool from the corners of my mouth.
“Not sure. Several days at least. Don’t sleep on your back.” He watched me writhe, the beginnings of a smile on his lips. “Better ecstasy than excruciation. Ixiah is very good at what he does.”
“What… w-what does he do?”
“He’s a master apothecary.”
A pharmacist, like his brother. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
He helped me into bed and laid me on my stomach, wiping down my wings. Once upon a time they’d felt a part of me, like arms and legs. Now they felt alien. Everything felt alien.
I was given a hot drink that made me drowsy. Trauma fueled exhaustion, and I gave in. My last thought was of Adrial.
He’d been right.
I should have never gone to the Nexus.
IV
IDEOLOGY
Leid Koseling—;
NOTHING SAID DINNER PARTY LIKE AN ANGEL AND DEMON arguing moral justifications for war over leriza soufflé and oreiz soup. Why, oh, why hadn’t we done this sooner?
“Hell has requested more land a thousand times,” said Belial, “and each time Heaven gave us the finger. Don’t act so surprised that Lucifer has finally taken off his gloves.”
“The Obsidian Court was given seven layers. Seven. That’s eighty percent of The Atrium,” Seyestin said through his teeth. “If the demons can’t stave overpopulation, that’s no fault of ours.”
“You gave us seven layers of shit. Frozen, unfertile ground and wastelands left by the Nehel—”
I flinched.
“Of the seven, two are able to produce food sources. Two layers to feed seven. What a bargain.”
“Please,” Yahweh sighed, holding his face.
Adrial tapped his fork against a glass. Belial and Seyestin looked toward him. “We’re not here to point fingers. That ship has sailed.”
“Let’s talk about ranks,” I said. “How much of an army do you have?”
“Not much,” murmured Yahweh, eyes on the table. “Twenty thousand active, another ten thousand in reserve.”
Adrial and Belial shook their heads. It was common knowledge that Hell had quadruple that.
“There was no need,” he added, on the defensive. “We were paying soldiers for nothing. I had no idea that—”
“How quickly can you gather more forces?” I asked. “You’ll need at least double that in a month’s time.”
“Less than a month,” Cereli said. “We don’t know when Hell will attack us.”
“Numbers are insignificant. You’re sorely outnumbered either way,” said Zhevraine. “The angels will have to rely on tactics.”
Yahweh said nothing, overwhelmed. He was not a seasoned Commander. Never had he participated in a war—not like this. Although he and his generals had sought counsel here, I could tell he was not ready to face the truth. Not yet.
As it stood, Heaven would fall.
But I had faced odds like these before.
“We can gather a few thousand more soldiers; ones retired from active duty,” offered Seyestin. “We can enlist others, but their training will be insufficient.”
I nodded. “How many jets do you have? War machinery?”
“We stopped producing them a decade ago. Again, no need,” said Cereli. “But we can restart production at any time. We have twenty thousand jets on reserve at Theosyne WDR. We can make triple that in a month if we place all of our resources into it.”
“So in a month’s time you’ll have thirty thousand soldiers, half of them practically untrained, and sixty thousand jets,” said Belial, amused. “How many pilots do you have?”
“Why do you care?” snarled Seyestin. “Why is he even sitting at your table, Leid? He could sneak back to Hell and tell their Commander everything in exchange for asylum.”
“He’s been our informant for ten years,” I said. “He’s a traitor, but not to us.”
“Not a traitor,” said Belial, frowning. “A businessman. And Lucifer doesn’t negotiate, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m set for execution, now and forever. Looks like you’ve got a demon ally.”
“Half of the jets are drones,” Seyestin said, shooting Belial a look. “We won’t need many pilots, only aerial team leaders.”
“It’s still not enough,” said Yahweh. He was crumbling. “We might as well surrender.”
The table grew quiet, all eyes on him.
Seyestin leaned in. “Commander, please—”
“This is hopeless,” he said, standing. “Leid, we won’t waste any more of your time.”
The burdened look on his face had turned to anger. He was angry, and I could empathize. “Commander Telei, please sit. I know right now it all seems hopeless, but you’ve got two million people relying on you.”
Yahweh swallowed hard and his expression softened. He sat, slowly.
“We’ve been here for two hours and haven’t made any headway. In the meantime, start producing war machinery and gathering troops,” I said. “I’ll contact you in a few days, once I think of a solid battle plan.”
Adrial looked at me, startled. “Leid?”
I didn’t respond, waiting for Yahweh’s response. He seemed just as surprised as my guardian.
“You… you’re going to help us?”
“Do you need a contract written?”
“No, but—”
“I’m willing to act as your advisor, so long as you grant us continued asylum in The Atrium.”
Cognizance. Nothing ever came free. “You have my word.”
“Leid.”
I gave Adrial a sidelong glance. He didn’t seem pleased.
“I don’t think that’s wise,” he said.
“I didn’t ask for your thoughts.”
Adrial’s lips grew tight, and he looked away. He wouldn’t discuss my expiration to an audience, but I was certainly in for it when they left. No matter.
Yahweh nodded, finishing his wine. Cereli and Seyestin had already left their seats. Grave concern replaced their usual masks of pride. They had been charged with serving a Commander half their age—fresh out of adolescence. For all Yahweh was worth, he was not warrior material. Intelligence was a weapon far more dangerous than brute strength, but right now that intelligence was muzzled by fear and confusion. Yahweh was only confident in his expertise. War was not his expertise.
The Argent Parliament was doomed, and Raith knew it.
But the game had just begun. He would not see this play coming.
“Can you see us out?” Yahweh asked, following his generals to the door.
“Of course,” I said, leaving the table, ignoring Adrial’s condemning stare at my back. Our conflict was imminent, but I’d stall it as long as possible.
We lingered on the veranda. Yahweh relieved his generals, telling them he’d be on his way soon. They had much to do in the coming days, and I assumed none of them would be getting any sleep in the foreseeable future. News of the severed alliance had already hit Crylle. Heaven was in disarray.
Once alone, Yahweh asked, “Where is he?”
I knew who he was referring to. I hesitated, unsure of whether this was the right time to tell him. I had no choice. “Gone.”
“Gone?”
“He knows.”
Yahweh said nothing, staring.
“I didn’t tell him. Calenus came here.”
“Why did he come here?”
That was something he couldn’t know about. Not yet. “I don’t know.”
Yahweh looked out at Adure. “Where is Qaira now?”
“He left for the Nexus several day
s ago. Hasn’t returned since.”
“It was inevitable. You knew that. I still wonder why you brought him here at all.”
I didn’t respond.
Yahweh leaned on the rail. He surprised me with a smile. “His return might be advantageous.”
“I don’t think he’ll come home for a reunion.”
“If he comes home, it’ll be for blood. Whose blood, I wonder?”
Mine. “What’s your angle?”
“Qaira knows his way around a battlefield. You should call to him. Maybe he’ll come knocking.”
His lack of empathy was appalling. “I won’t use him. I thought you knew me better.”
“Don’t I?”
I felt my eyes narrow. Yahweh sighed and looked down.
“Please excuse me; I’m not myself.”
He retreated down the path without another word.
As heartless as his idea had been, he was right. Lucifer could use that kind of distraction. It would make our war simpler. Smart, but cruel.
I’d done enough damage. This was about making amends.
***
“You’re not thinking straight. War is the last thing you should be involved in right now.”
“I suppose you think I should go back to Exo’daius and live out the rest of my days under Calenus’s watch. He’ll certainly be happy to see me. Maybe he’ll throw us a welcome party.”
Adrial crossed his arms. “Expiration isn’t a joke.”
“You’ve never even seen one. What do you know?”
He massaged his forehead, battling a scream.
“I refuse to be placed under their scrutiny. Not as long as I’m awake.”
“This isn’t about you anymore.”
“No, this is about you. You and Zhevraine. Once you go back, they’ll never let you out. You’ll be paying for my crimes for the rest of your life.” Asylum in The Atrium was the only way. I was trying to ensure their safety. Why couldn’t he see that?
“Your anti-Calenus campaign isn’t convincing. He’s never treated you ill, even after…” Adrial trailed off, not able to say it. I knew what he was referring to, so he didn’t have to finish. “You’re weak, bleeding, and you were in a coma only yesterday. It’s time to throw in the towel, Leid.”
It wasn’t about how Calenus had treated me. It was his games, the little hints in his speech that alluded to his disappointment in me. He’d wanted me to bear his children, be his Queen. I was no Queen. I’d wanted none of that. And until recently, I’d thought he had killed Qaira. That had been the deal breaker.
Now I would expire, and a new Queen would rise. Zhevraine.
Calenus was no longer obligated to be kind to me. I had no idea what would happen if I returned to Exo’daius, and didn’t intend to find out.
Adrial had nothing to gain by going back. He only wanted to because he was worried about me. His anger was for my sake. He was my second guardian, but I loved him, and he me. Our love was not romantic, but something deeper, transcending words. I had been his scholar once, many years after Sanctum. Adrial was one of the few things I didn’t regret about Enigmus.
“I won’t. Not yet. You can drag my comatose body back to Exo’daius when I no longer have the will to fight if it pleases you, but I have to do this one last thing.”
He squinted, confused. “Why is it so important to you?”
I didn’t know; it just was. This world had seen too many wars already, and I’d become invested in it. I felt partially responsible, and the thought of leaving The Atrium to burn was too much. If Qaira ever returned, I needed him to know that I had tried to save it.
Qaira.
I shuddered, turning away. “Please, just help me. I don’t have the strength to fight you.”
I heard him sigh. A second later the gravity changed, and I knew that he had left the library. A silent concession.
Adrial had protected me when Calenus tried to steal me away. He could have died, but honored my charge anyway. I owed him more than my life. I owed him a future, and he would understand that one day.
Enough musing. I had work to do.
I’d gathered a collection of war philosophy books, as many as our library carried. Commander Raith was a force to be reckoned with. I knew that from personal experience, and wouldn’t chance Heaven’s victory on whim alone. Research was necessary.
As I opened a book, the room suddenly grew cold. A pressure in my head warned of an incoming message, and a voice I hadn’t heard for three centuries invaded my mind:
He’s here.
I froze, icy tingles shooting down my spine.
Calenus said nothing else. He didn’t need to. That had been enough.
Qaira was in Exo’daius.
It was only a matter of time before he found out everything. Everything.
He’d connect the dots and tell Calenus about Atlas Arcantia.
And then they would come for my head, expired or not.
V
TELLTALE
Qaira Eltruan—;
IXIAH COUNTED VIALS ON THE DESK. When he found a shortage, he replaced them from a box strapped to his shoulder. I watched him work, leaning against the wall on the bed. He pretended I wasn’t there, but I knew I was making him uncomfortable.
My wings were splayed around me, trailing all the way to the floor, each tip brushing the stone. A mug and plate sat on the foot, untouched. I wasn’t hungry right now.
Ixiah turned, vial in hand, and I was relieved to see it wasn’t the black licorice kind. He approached, gingerly, tilting his head as if to say, ‘What are you staring at?’
We had done this thrice since Calenus had cut my wings out. I knew the drill and turned my back. He sat on the bed and I heard him open the cap, rub his hands together, and then felt a combination of heat and cold against my raw, exposed skin.
“Thank you,” I said, wincing.
“Don’t thank me,” he murmured. “Calenus’ orders. I would let you suffer just the same if he wished it.”
“I wasn’t thanking you for this.”
His hands stopped. He had found the meaning behind my gratitude. “How did you know?”
I’d had a lot of time to think, as my room was small and days of solitude tended to do that to you. “Namah Ipsin came to the Nexus, asking for me.”
“Have you told Calenus?”
“No.”
Ixiah continued rubbing ointment into my wounds.
I looked over my shoulder. “What if I did?”
“The next tincture will be acid.”
I smiled. Surprisingly, so did he.
“Why did you do it?”
He tilted his head, an Archaean gesture. “Why?”
“You told Namah where I was.”
“Mm.” Another Archaean gesture. He seemed so much like Yahweh, and that thought roused a strange sensation. “Not sure.”
He was lying, but I didn’t press. “What happened to your brother’s face?”
“He killed our father.”
I stiffened, and he felt it.
“The demons’ freedom cost him an eye. After the Fall our father had Lucifer impeached and planned mass genocide. Lucifer took the blame for Jehovah’s assassination and they were cast out of Heaven, to your lands.”
I looked away, taking that in. The idea of Yahweh Telei killing anyone was… strange.
At my shock, Ixiah grinned. “Time is a bitch.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Namah knew. We saw each other still. He turned crazy later, after his fall. Kept talking about retribution for his crimes and all that he and the others did after Sanctum’s collapse. He believed that freeing you would make amends.”
“Freeing me.”
“It got him executed. Your life for his. You must have swooned him.”
“I barely knew him.”
“He thought you could save their world.”
My world.
I was not here to save anything. Not anymore.
The look on m
y face made Ixiah frown. Disappointment played in his eyes, and I was confused by it. “Namah was mistaken.”
“How did the demons come into being? They… look like me.”
Ixiah shook his head. “That I don’t know. Namah knew, again, but never spoke of it. Only that he was involved. Experiments, I think.”
Experiments.
In eight hundred years, half of the angels had turned into demons—Nehel, for appearance’s sake—and a civil war had shattered Heaven. The only type of organization that could have ever caused such an experimental disaster was the Plexus. I needed to know more. Well, I didn’t need to know, but compulsion wouldn’t let matters rest until I did.
I wasn’t finished here. My wings needed to heal, and I needed more information.
But there was a plan forming; one that involved a place which I’d sworn never to return.
“I’m glad he’s dead,” Ixiah whispered, screwing the cap on the vial.
“Namah?”
“My father.”
***
There was a meeting held downstairs about who would be sent to Senestyre to stabilize the nova sun. Zira, Jii, and another scholar named Saphi volunteered. After some discussion, Calenus chose Saphi.
Zira was upset. He and his noble spoke heatedly in the corner of the room after the decision was made. We didn’t have enhanced audio perception in Exo’daius, so I heard none of what was said.
“He’s playing favorites,” said Ixiah, sipping from a mug. We stood in the doorway as dinner was served. I thought I’d acted nonchalant. Guess not.
Calenus had invited me down to dinner, and although I had no desire to mingle, feigning sociability was the wisest option. Pleasing Calenus posed a higher chance that he would tell me more about the proxies, specifically Leid’s statue.
They had given me a robe with the back cut to accommodate my wings. It’d been three days since, and my body had acclimated to their weight. I didn’t get caught in doorways or knock things over anymore. Progress.
“He favors Saphi?”
Ixiah laughed, mirthfully. The last time he’d laughed I was pinned to Eroqam’s lobby and he was about to crush my throat. “No, Zira. A nova ring is a dangerous job, and Zira’s ambitious. He has a history of refusing to pull out when things get critical.”
The Antithesis- The Complete Pentalogy Page 67