The Secret

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “What did Orsala find out about Vasu?”

  “That he was supposedly killed by the archangel Galal over two centuries ago. But before then, he’d been an ally of Jaron’s in Central Asia. He was also known as one of the more… human of the angels.”

  “How—”

  “The legends say that Vasu was young—the equivalent of an angelic child—when the angels fell. He interacted with humanity more than the other Fallen. Humans in his area considered him a kind of god because he came among the population so much.”

  “Interesting. Well, he was different from Jaron. He, um…” She cleared her throat. “He kissed me.”

  “What?”

  “It wasn’t sexual.” She put a hand on his chest. “It was after the fighting. I was in shock. And he was… curious, I think.”

  Malachi’s face was stormy. “He kissed you?”

  “I didn’t kiss him back!”

  “What did you do?”

  “Well…” She paused, trying to remember the tumult in the cemetery. “I think right after that I crawled over to the bushes and puked. Probably not the reaction he was going for.”

  Malachi burst into laughter. “Probably not.”

  “Just relax,” she said. “How many mating feasts are we going to have after all?”

  “My mother had seven.”

  Ava blinked. “What?”

  “Yes, one with her immediate family and new mate. One with my father’s. Then the extended families host one. And of course, my father’s family was in Turkey, so—”

  “Wow, so…” She looked around the room. “Are we going to have to do a lot of these?”

  “Not if you don’t want to,” he said. “We’re not exactly the traditional Irin couple.”

  “No.” She smiled. “We’re just… us.”

  Rhys wandered over. “I feel privileged. The first mating of an Irin scribe and one of the kareshta. Doesn’t this feel historic?”

  Ava could see the scholarly excitement, but she had a hard time thinking of her own life as historic in any sense.

  “Historic may be stretching things, Rhys.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “I want to know when Damien plans to reveal the existence of the Grigori women. We should all be in the Library for that.”

  Malachi seemed hesitant. “Do we need to? We promised Kostas our discretion. He has women and children he’s protecting. Revealing anything to the elders could be dangerous at this point.”

  “But we must,” Rhys said. “Not only could this change everything about how our race views the Grigori, but we may have trouble getting a mandate from the elders unless they know there is something to be gained.”

  Ava asked, “What exactly do you mean by mandate? In Irin terms.”

  Rhys said, “Think of it as… a rule of engagement. Officially, our mandate as scribes now includes protecting humans, killing Grigori, and hunting angels if they hunt us first. A watcher who deviates from that can be disciplined. His scribes could receive censure.”

  “So, officially, Damien and you guys have been breaking all kinds of rules.”

  “Yes,” Malachi said. “But Damien is old and powerful enough that no one is going to question him too much.”

  “Did you know he was a Templar Knight?”

  Both the men blinked.

  “What?” Malachi said.

  “This is awesome,” she said. “I love knowing stuff you guys don’t.”

  “Whether that’s true or not,” Rhys continued, “one of the reasons Damien has been petitioning the elders is to change the mandate of the scribe houses to include more offense against the Fallen—specifically Volund—based on the attacks in Istanbul and Oslo.”

  Malachi nodded. “He’s not having much success.”

  “But the knowledge that there are Grigori women being victimized would be another motivation for taking action.”

  “Yes,” Rhys said. “Leo was right. There are thousands of scribes without mates because there are so few women left after the Rending. The elders would not be able to ignore that. The Watchers’ Council would force them to expand the mandate. They would see the kareshta as potential mates, as you and Ava are mates.”

  Malachi tensed. “You’re saying that not only should we reveal the existence of the kareshta, but we should also reveal that Ava is of their blood?”

  “Why wouldn’t we?”

  He squeezed her tighter as one of the scribes she didn’t know came up to Rhys.

  “We have a situation,” he said quietly.

  “What is it?” Rhys asked.

  “There is a… I don’t know what he is. He smelled Grigori, but he didn’t attack.” The guard sounded confused. “Just handed me a note to give to Maxim and ran.”

  “What did he look like?” Malachi asked.

  The guard shrugged. “Like a Grigori. I would have killed him, but he came and left quickly. He looked to have a dozen men with him. I was prepared to call for help when he mentioned Maxim’s name.”

  “Give me the note,” Rhys said. “And wait here.”

  “Kostas?” Malachi murmured as they walked to a quieter corner.

  “Possibly. Or a trap.”

  “Have you ever heard of a dozen Grigori walking through the middle of Vienna like that? We’re only blocks from the Library.”

  “None would dare.”

  Except, Ava suspected, a heretic Grigori with nothing to lose. But Kostas had been adamant about secrecy when they’d met him in Sofia. What could have caused him to seek them out now?

  “Ava?” Malachi reached for her hand and she took it. So much for reassuring him nothing was going to happen.

  Rhys approached Max in the corner, who started and grabbed for the note his brother held out.

  “Malachi,” he called from across the room. “With me?”

  Malachi nodded and tried to let Ava’s hand go, but she held on tighter.

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Ava—”

  “He didn’t hurt me before. He’s not likely to do it now. And Kyra might be with him.”

  After meeting her grandmother, Ava was desperate to talk to the kareshta woman again.

  Malachi paused, nodded. “Stay close.”

  “I will.”

  THE four of them slipped out of the house and down the stairs, turning right when the earlier guard nodded in that direction. In an alley, just off the main road, they caught the muted scent of sandalwood.

  “Maxim,” someone hissed from the shadows.

  “Kostas?”

  The man flew from the shadows and grabbed Max by the neck, tackling him to the ground.

  Malachi and Rhys immediately flew to their brother’s aid.

  “Who did you tell?” Kostas shouted. “Who was it?”

  “Kostas, I—”

  “I trusted you!”

  Ava saw the dozen Grigori standing in the shadows, but none went to aid their brother. They were watching. Waiting to see what Malachi and Rhys would do. Ava had the feeling that the minute any knives came out, all bets were off.

  She saw Malachi reach for one of his daggers. “Malachi!” she cried.

  Her mate pulled away from the fight to go to her, leaving Max, Kostas, and Rhys tumbling on the ground.

  “Stop them!” she yelled. “Something’s happened. We need to talk, not fight.”

  One of the Grigori stepped forward just as Rhys tore Kostas from Max’s throat and stood between the two men.

  “Yes, something happened,” the beautiful man’s face was twisted in rage. “One of you betrayed us. Betrayed our sisters. The children…”

  Ava gasped and Malachi immediately sheathed the knife he’d been about to pull and put his hands down.

  “None of us betrayed you,” he said. “And we would never put your women in jeopardy. We’ve been trying to find a way to help.”

  “The monastery was attacked,” Kostas panted out. “Old women. Children. They killed anyone who couldn’t flee.”


  “No.” Ava felt her knees give out.

  Malachi caught her.

  “Kostas,” Max panted. “I would never—”

  “No one knew where it was. We were so careful. We turned away dozens because we couldn’t be sure their sires were dead.”

  Beyond the anger, Ava could see grief tearing up Kostas’s eyes. The sickening rage of a protector who had failed.

  “Who was it?” Kostas asked again. “Who did you tell?”

  Max shook his head. “I don’t know, my friend. None of us would put children at risk.”

  Kostas still glared. “Kyra was in the city with me. Sirius”—he pointed at the Grigori who had spoken up—“was the guard there. Most of his men are dead now. There were too many. Some of the older girls and women were able to escape with some of the smallest. But the oldest kareshta and some of the youngest…”

  Sirius said, “We lost thirteen of our sisters and a dozen free Grigori. The monastery was compromised. They knew exactly how to attack.”

  Max said, “You’ve never taken me there. None of us knew where it was, Kostas. Think. This betrayal did not come from us.”

  “It was Svarog’s men. Assassins from Hungary. We didn’t even know they were in our territory.” Kostas’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “We didn’t even know.”

  “The other women, are they safe?” Ava asked.

  “For now,” Sirius said.

  “How many are left?”

  “Eighteen. We need to find them a new place. Right now they’re scattered among our brothers in populated areas. They can’t stay there for long. It’s not good for the little ones.”

  “I may know a place,” Ava said. “But you’ll need papers for them. It’s not in Bulgaria.”

  The safe house Karen, Bruno, and Astrid had set up outside Prague was intended for Irina, but it could work for the kareshta as well. Ava was certain they wouldn’t turn innocents away. She knew it was remote, but she had no idea how hard it would be to get papers for foreign women and children.

  “It shouldn’t be a problem,” Max said. “I’ve already helped with IDs for them in the past.” He turned to Kostas. “How could you think I’d tell?”

  Kostas only shook his head.

  Sirius said, “Kostas told me you were coming here to petition the elders. Some of them must know about the kareshta. We think some in Vienna are in league with the Fallen.”

  “Conspiracy theories,” Malachi said.

  “We have said nothing publicly,” Rhys said. “Not even to our allies. These women are innocents. Most of the Irin—”

  “Most of the Irin would kill them on sight, simply because they carry the blood of their enemy,” Kostas bit out. “I have no faith in your mercy.” He hung his head. “Nor should I expect it.”

  Ava pushed past Malachi and knelt by him. “I have Grigori blood. The scribes in Istanbul didn’t turn me away.”

  Kostas lifted his eyes. “Did they know?”

  “No. But when they found out, my mate didn’t turn his back on me. None of them did. It will matter to some Irin, but not all.”

  Kostas shook his head.

  “We’re more than our blood,” Ava whispered. “More than our pasts. We just have to make them see that. They need to see you and Kyra. See the good that you’re doing.”

  “I’m not dragging my sister into this”—he looked around—“vipers’ nest. Vienna would never be safe for her.”

  “You don’t know that. And I think that decision should be left up to Kyra.” Ava rose to her feet and held out her hand. “Stand up. Sitting on the ground angry isn’t helping anyone. Brooding isn’t productive.”

  Her irritation made the corner of his mouth turn up. “You remind me of her, you know.”

  “Then you should be able to predict how stubborn I can be. Come on,” Ava said. “Come inside and let’s figure out a way to fix this.”

  V.

  BARAK SAT IN HIS MOST FAMILIAR human form, watching the groundskeepers trim the bushes in the snow-blanketed cemetery in the middle of the Irin city. A conspiracy of ravens watched him from the bare branches of a lime tree arching over a family crypt where a frost-dusted woman sat with a scroll on her lap, staring into the heavens. Some melancholic mourner had placed a red rose there, and the despairing woman clutched it in her hand.

  Vasu appeared behind him, also in his most familiar form.

  “What has gotten into you?” Barak asked.

  “I have decided this is amusing. Is he here yet?”

  “No, but I’ve put the cemetery into a dream for when he comes.”

  “Why? I merely—”

  His voice was cut off when Jaron appeared beside him in a rage.

  Without a word, Jaron launched Vasu across the graveyard, his body hurled through the pillars of a memorial, which crashed with a massive thud, marble shards and ice flying through the frosty air.

  Barak sighed. “You should have known.”

  Vasu countered, his human form disappearing in a blink, then reappearing behind his brother, clutching Jaron’s shoulders as the two disappeared, only to reappear at the top of the church dome in the distance. Vasu threw Jaron off the tower, but the more powerful angel blinked out of sight and reappeared next to Vasu, shoving the angel off the blue-green dome and into the air where Vasu transformed into a large raven, one of his favorite forms.

  The raven came to light on the tree across from Barak. The conspiracy took flight, leaving him alone and staring at Barak.

  “I told you not to play games with her,” the other angel said. “He is possessive of his daughters.”

  The voice that came from the raven’s mouth was human, even if its form was not. “She’s not his daughter.”

  Jaron appeared beneath the tree. “She is of my line, and she is mine. That is all you need to know. Play your games with your own blood, brother.”

  With a spread of wings, Vasu transformed again into the black-haired man with deep gold eyes. His black coat flapping behind him, he walked to Barak and sat down next to the weary angel.

  “It was very informative to shadow her.”

  “You spoke knowledge to her mind,” Barak said. “It has entered the world now. Are you aware of the consequences?”

  “So our Master has not given us leave to tell our secrets to our children.” Vasu rolled his eyes. “This would be important if I cared about staying in His graces. I do not.”

  Jaron hissed. Even Barak drew away.

  “You tempt heaven, brother.”

  “I tempt nothing but the whims of the Creator. And since I do not aim to leave this realm, it is of no concern to me.”

  “Someday you will remember,” Jaron said. “And you will curse this day.”

  “I will curse nothing. I am not capable of regret.”

  Jaron’s mouth curled up at the corner. “We are capable of entirely more than what we like to admit, Vasu. For now, stay away from my daughter.”

  “She has given her magic to the scribe,” Barak said. “This has never happened before. Their union is unique.”

  “It will not be for long. I have seen it.”

  “Was this your aim?” Vasu asked, his head cocked to the side. “A blending of Irin and Grigori magic? My brother, you have more heretical tendencies than I gave you credit for. My apologies for doubting you.”

  “I hate to disappoint you, Vasu. But I believe this serves the will of our Master.”

  Barak asked, “Why?”

  “Azril returned the scribe.”

  Barak and Vasu said at once, “His Will be done.”

  “He desires unity?” Barak asked.

  “If He did not, I would not have seen our triumph over Volund. Would not have seen our return.”

  “Redemption,” Barak whispered, “was never my goal.”

  “But if it allows us to return,” Jaron said, “I am willing to play on the side of the light.”

  Vasu crouched on the ground and drew his fingers through the snow, writing words that would di
sappear in moments as the snow began to fall.

  “Svarog’s children have routed your son,” Vasu said, staring at the crystalline flakes. “They will be here in days.”

  Barak said, “Grimold’s get have been here for months, playing quietly while Volund chased the Irina from his territory. Svarog has called his sons. They will drag themselves here—screaming in rebellion, perhaps—but they will come.”

  Vasu said, “Two armies are aligned against us, Jaron. Are you content to let your sons stay in hiding?”

  “My sons have other tasks now. I do not need my army. I will take the Irin as my own.”

  “The Irina are here,” Barak said. “Volund is foolish to underestimate them. They have no authority that constrains them as the scribes do.”

  “And we will use that to defeat him,” Jaron said, brushing drifts of snow from his bare arms. The glyphs that marked his skin glowed with a faint silver light. As his daughter’s magic had transformed with her bonding to the scribe, he felt his own powers changing. Melding into something he could not predict. A rush of emotion had reached him the night of their union. Feelings he had not experienced for thousands of years.

  He found the experience disconcerting.

  And if he had found it disconcerting, he could not predict how Volund would feel when he lowered the shields around Ava. Whatever strange magic their union had worked would hit his enemy full force the moment he could feel her blood.

  Volund would be unbalanced, and Jaron would strike.

  It would not be long now. The singers had returned. The scent of magic in the city had shifted.

  “He knows we’re here,” Barak said. “How long must we wait? Their numbers grow by the hour.”

  “Not long,” Jaron said. “Soon the council will be complete, and we will reveal ourselves.”

  Vasu looked up from the snow, a smile on his face. “Then we demons shall play at being heroes, and Death will visit us again.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  IT WASN’T, MALACHI MUSED, a traditional end to a mating feast. But it seemed oddly appropriate for him and Ava.

  Kostas and the Grigori who seemed to be his lieutenant, Sirius, were sitting across the dinner table from Damien and Sari. Orsala was on their right, and Gabriel on their left. Maxim sat next to Kostas, and Ava and Malachi had taken a spot at the end of the table, bridging the gap. Rhys and Leo stood in one corner with Renata and Mala. Both sides eyed the other with distrust, while the rest of the guests had joined the free Grigori soldiers outside.