Archangel's Heart (17 page)

A
piercing silence.

“Jason got word to me before dawn this morning.”

“How?” Charisemnon sat up in his seat. “Mortal technology cannot presently penetrate Lumia and the borders of the stronghold are heavily patrolled.”

He may as well have called Raphael a liar.

Strangling the ice cold anger that would disrupt the meeting and give Charisemnon a victory, he shrugged and spoke to the room at large rather than deign to respond to an archangel he planned to kill as soon as it became feasible. As far as he was concerned, Charisemnon was a cockroach, a scourge on the earth.

“Jason isn't known as the best spymaster in the world for nothing.” It was a deliberate dig—Charisemnon had once tried to lure Jason away by promising him lands of his own to rule.

The other archangel had never understood that, to Jason, such an offer wasn't freedom: it was a cage.

“I don't care how that black-winged shadow of yours got word to you, Raphael,” Titus said. “I want to know what he said.”

A number of the others nodded, though Charisemnon's
face was rigid, the color of an overripe tomato and as attractive.

“A moment.” Reaching into his boot, Raphael retrieved the thinly rolled map that had been slipped under the door to his and Elena's suite during the early hours of this morning. Raphael would've questioned its veracity except that Jason had reached out with his mind to confirm his presence, before the spymaster disappeared back the way he'd come, a shadow among shadows.

He was no longer anywhere near Lumia, having flown back in the direction of China the instant after passing on the map and the information. His parting words, however, hadn't been what Raphael expected from his long-silent spymaster.
I hope you settle this fast, sire. I wish to return home to Mahiya.

Jason's princess understood who and what he was, accepted that he needed to travel to distant lands, but she missed him desperately. So much so that when Jason was away, Elena, Honor, and those of the Seven located in New York City, as well as all the other friends she'd made, worked together to keep her company as often as possible.

The last time Mahiya visited the Enclave, she'd told Elena and Raphael that she was training so she could accompany Jason on missions that didn't require stealth Jason alone could pull off.
Your princess is thinking about joining you
, he'd said to the other man.
Not on this journey. Others.

Jason's response had been so aggravated that Raphael had laughed—his spymaster had not sounded so very “real” in an eon.
Yes, we are in discussions about her plans. She refuses to listen to reason so it appears I must teach her how to be a spy.

The memory of that unexpected interaction faded as he unrolled the map, then rose and used a mere dusting of his power to meld the edges into the stone of the wall behind his armchair. It showed Lijuan's territory in detail. The fine tide of red that licked at China's northeastern border needed no explanation—the line was nearly unbroken.

A gasp of sound, erupting from more than one throat.

“Surely that isn't true.” Michaela's tone was, for once, pure archangel, no undertone of seduction or nastiness. “Your spymaster has noted cases of bloodlust all along that region? We would've heard had it been so.”

“The outbreaks have only ratcheted up in the past forty-eight hours,” Raphael told them, tapping at a red dot on the map. “A dot of this size denotes one or two fatalities.” The vast majority of the dots were of that size.

“Sporadic breaks,” Elijah murmured, two deep grooves between his eyebrows. “Those happen everywhere in the world. The worrying thing is how close the outbreaks are to one another.”

Getting to her feet in a rustle of silk, Neha came over to examine the map more closely, the pleats in front of her sari opening and closing with quiet grace as she walked. “Raphael, are you certain?”

He ignored the biting, jagged edge of her. “You know Jason, Neha.”

A sigh, a nod. “Yes, I know Jason. He wouldn't report this unless he'd confirmed it twice over.”

Alexander's silver wings caught the light as he leaned forward, his expression grim. “We have time yet, but not as long as we'd hoped.”

“I refuse to believe this until I see it with my own eyes,” Charisemnon countered, jumping to his feet. “Lijuan deserves that from us. She was the oldest among us until Caliane's rise.”

“I agree,” Titus said, as Astaad nodded. “It is a titanic decision and we can't rely only on the word of even the best spymaster in the world.” His dark eyes met Raphael's. “You understand.”

“Yes.” Not simply for reasons of honor and tradition. “If we make a mistake and place two active archangels in the same territory, we risk igniting a catastrophic war.” The Cadre had to be dead certain that Lijuan had gone into Sleep.

Favashi spoke for the first time. “The tide of blood is concerning, but it
is
sporadic yet. I say we come to a decision as to what would be the best course of action should Lijuan indeed be in Sleep,
then
make our inspection. That way, should Lijuan prove to have disappeared, the archangel or archangels in charge of her former territory can take over at once.”

Michaela tapped a finger on the arm of her chair. “Why waste time discussing a ‘what if' scenario? I say we go to China now, scare the vampires into good behavior, investigate, then make our decision.”

Raphael wasn't in the habit of agreeing with Michaela, but she was right: why waste time and energy if there was no reason for it?

“There is no
decision
,” Favashi said, her steel showing. “We are all dancing around the very large elephant in the room.” Her eyes went to Alexander. “You and I are attempting to share a territory that should belong to only one. If Lijuan is dead, I take over her lands and you keep Persia. That is the only viable option.”

Having retaken his seat after Neha took hers, Raphael waited for one of the more land-hungry of the archangels to dispute Favashi's point. But no one did.
I didn't expect such quick agreement
, he said mind to mind to Elijah.

I think the possibility of war is in everyone's thoughts, and right now, Favashi and Alexander are ripe for it—you cannot put two such aggressive powers next to each other and expect peace.

Still
, Raphael responded,
Charisemnon seems the kind who would encourage a war that would decimate his enemies.

I see your point.
Elijah's eyes lingered on the Archangel of Northern Africa.
We must not forget, Raphael, that for all his faults, Charisemnon has ruled for two thousand some years. He may have more sense in him than we realize.

Michaela waved a languid hand. “Your solution is simple, Favashi,” she said with a smile that was a wonder of physical beauty. “However, there is a reason Lijuan is the Archangel of China—and it's not because it was the land of her birth. Her territory also includes a significant portion of what was once Uram's.”

Astaad nodded. “Michaela is right. Lijuan's is one of the physically largest territories.”

“Michaela's territory is as large now,” Favashi countered. “She, too, controls a sizable percentage of what Uram once did.”

“But those lands contain areas that are largely uninhabited, and the overall population in Michaela's lands is in the same vicinity as Astaad's,” Neha said with crisp pragmatism. “China, in comparison, has
the
largest number of vampires in the population, and Lijuan was the most powerful among us for a long time.”

That
was a very, very good point.

“Are you implying that I can't control the vampires under my command?” Favashi's whip of a question was directed not at Astaad but at Michaela.

Titus boomed an answer, his voice echoing off the stone before he tempered it—
after
he had everyone's attention. “We are all archangels,” he said. “But I am quite prepared to accept that some of us have more power than others—and Lijuan has proven that multiple times. You are the newest member of the Cadre, Favashi. It would be irresponsible to hand you China and Lijuan's associated lands.”

Favashi's face tensed, her bones pushing out against the cream of her skin, but it was Michaela who next spoke—and very strangely for her, she didn't ask for a piece of the pie for herself, or suggest they redraw the borders of all the Cadre territories. “Lady Caliane,” she said, her tone respectful. “The easiest answer is for you to take over a larger section of Lijuan's territory, while Favashi oversees the rest.”

Favashi's angry expression faded into thoughtfulness. “A workable solution,” she said at last. “And your lands, Lady Caliane, are currently the smallest in the Cadre. Such is not respectful to your status as an Ancient.”

The truth was that Caliane didn't want anything more. The only reason she'd taken over Japan was that she and her people needed a home.

“I have done my ruling, child,” Caliane said, and from her, the world “child” was no insult. In this circle, only Alexander was her compatriot. “Unlike some of my friends”—a glance at Alexander that held dry amusement—“I have no desire to step back into that arena. I wish to live in peace with my people. Japan is enough for me.”

“I think you do not have a choice, old friend.” Alexander leaned forward again, muscled forearms braced on his thighs. “There is a reason that we two are both awake—and I think it's partly because of this. The world does not need eleven archangels. It needs ten for optimum balance.”

Caliane's wings glowed with power. So did Alexander's.

Had any other archangel in the circle done that during a meeting, it would've been a sign of aggression. With Ancients, it had become clear that such things were often accidental.
They had so much power running through their veins that it poured out of them without their conscious knowledge.

“Alex,” Caliane said softly, “do you not think we should leave the world to the young?”

“Callie, you know we cannot. They have made a mess of it.”

Everyone else in the circle sat in stunned silence. Even Raphael was startled. As he forgot his mother's age at times, he also never thought of her as young. But once, she must've been. Once, she'd been simply Callie, not Lady Caliane.

Now, she laughed, the sound haunting music that made several archangels close their eyes and just listen. “Such arrogance,” she said to Alexander. “We made our own messes and we cleaned them up. We should leave them to clean up theirs.”

Alexander's smile was open, containing none of the distance so often in it when he spoke to younger archangels. “It is the time of the Cascade,” he replied. “The normal rules do not apply.”

Sighing, Caliane gave a reluctant nod. “Perhaps you are right.” Her expression was quiet for a long moment, the quiet of ages long gone. “I will assist young Favashi to maintain order—and when she is old enough, I will release the lands to her. Will this satisfy the Cadre?”

Favashi's expression was openly surprised—archangels weren't known to give up territories they'd claimed. Recovering quickly, she said, “I thank you, Lady Caliane.”

Will you truly be able to work with her, Favashi?
Raphael asked.
You are used to total control.
Like him. Like every other archangel in the Cadre.

Favashi didn't look at him as she replied.
Yes. She is not one of us—she is an Ancient. And unlike Alexander, she truly seems to want to be left in peace. Do you believe she will suddenly wish to rule again?

Raphael thought of the sorrow that sat heavy on Caliane's heart, the losses that still marked her, the tiredness he glimpsed in her eyes too often, and said,
No. So long as you do not encroach on the small territory she
has
claimed as her own, my mother will assist you as she has stated and leave you alone the rest of the time.

“Well,” Elijah said, “that settles it. Together, Favashi and
Caliane are more than strong enough to control Lijuan's territory.” As he spoke, Raphael realized the other man was one of the archangels who didn't see Caliane as Ancient first; to him, she would always be the warrior he'd once served. “The only question is whether or not we have the right to dispose of that territory.”

“There is another matter,” Astaad said, looking a little uncomfortable. “If Lijuan
is
still awake and alive, then we have a serious problem in Persia.”

Tension gripped everyone in a tight fist, because his words were an understatement of the highest order.

“Eleven archangels,” Caliane murmured. “It is not natural. There is no possible way to maintain the necessary distances long term with eleven.”

Alexander glanced at Favashi. “I have no quarrel with you, but I
am
awake and I want my territory, a territory I ruled for eons before you were born. I will not give it up.”

Favashi's response was curt. “You've made that clear, but I, too, am an archangel.” A reminder that she wouldn't go down easy. “It does not matter yet. We must resolve the Lijuan question first. At that point, there may no longer be an issue—but if there is, then we will hash out a solution, since the Cadre will already be in one place with no need for a separate meeting.”

“Favashi's logic is sound,” Astaad said.

Neha nodded, so did Titus, then slowly, everyone else.

“That leaves only one question,” Neha murmured. “How are we to determine whether or not Lijuan is simply recovering from an injury, or if she has gone into Sleep, or perhaps . . . into death?”

E
lena and Aodhan wandered deliberately aimlessly through Lumia that morning, giving anyone watching the impression that they were just killing time while Raphael was in the Cadre meeting. When they spotted Xander doing flight drills with Valerius in another courtyard, they waited until he was done, then asked both males to join them.

“We're going to meet Hannah,” Elena told them. “She said she'd be in the Gallery.” They'd met the other consort an hour earlier by chance.

Valerius inclined his head, his blond-streaked brown hair tightly curled, and the white wings arching over his back holding filaments of the same blond. “We will join you after we clean up.” A pause. “A young warrior should learn art as well as weapons if he is to be a man of strength in all its facets.”

“That sounds like something the Hummingbird would say.”

At Aodhan's words, Valerius's stern face cracked in a small smile that brought warmth to his eyes. “She was stuck in Alexander's territory once for two years—she spent that time trying to bring culture to those of us far more at home with the sword and the crossbow.”

So many connections over the eons lived by an immortal,
Elena thought, so many strands of lives entwining. Never would she have linked this usually dour general with the fragile Hummingbird, but from the smile that lingered yet in the greenish hazel of his eyes, that connection had been one he'd enjoyed.

Xander, his dark brown hair damp with sweat, gave Elena a small smile as Aodhan and Valerius fell into a quiet conversation. “I have a younger friend in your tower, Consort,” he said. “Izak. Is he well?”

“Izzy?” Elena couldn't help her affectionate grin. “Last I saw him, he was determinedly learning to shoot the crossbow to pinpoint accuracy under the tutelage of a number of my hunter friends.”

Xander blinked, while Valerius's eyebrows came down heavily over his eyes, the general clearly having kept one ear on his charge's discussion with Elena. “An angel being taught by mortals?”

Not all the hunters in the Guild were mortal now, but since Izak's tutors all were, that was a nonissue. “Angels can survive a crossbow hit,” she pointed out. “Mortals mostly can't—so hunters learn to be very, very,
very
good at hitting the other party first.” Survival instincts gave mortals an edge immortals simply didn't possess, especially when young.

Valerius nodded slowly, and though his expression remained reluctant, it wasn't intransigent in the way of some of the older angels. “Galen is in agreement with this?”

“He's the one who suggested it.” Galen was always aware of the best resources in Raphael's territory, whether mortal or immortal, and he utilized them well. “We'll see you in the Gallery?”

Xander and Valerius nodded before they headed off down a hallway to the right, Xander taller and more slender in comparison to Valerius's more solidly muscled form. She saw the boy ask the general something, heard the deep rumble of Valerius's reply. They disappeared from sight after making a turn off the hallway.

“Do you know the way?” Elena asked Aodhan. “I forgot to ask Hannah.”

Shaking his head, Aodhan said, “I haven't worked out all the symbols. But there are Luminata everywhere. We can ask one.”

Elena had noticed that, too—the Luminata
were
everywhere. “Guess they don't all have the same meditation times,” she said, thinking back to what Gian had said.

“Or it's used as a convenient excuse when needed.”

Elena sighed. “Damn it, Sparkle. Don't go cynical on me.”

Shooting her as close as Aodhan ever came to a glare, he said, “Illium is a bad influence on you.”

“Way I hear it, he's been a bad influence on you since you were tiny tots.”

A deep smile that creased his cheeks, his beauty once more stealing her breath. “We took turns.”

Around them, Elena was aware of the Luminata going motionless—yeah, Sparkle's smile had a certain effect. “Let's stop one of the brothers who
isn't
trying to be stealthy.” No reason to tip their hand, showing these men that Elena and Aodhan were highly conscious of being shadowed.

The one they approached was heading down the corridor toward them. About Elena's height, his face was in darkness because of his hood, his wings covered. However, when they asked about the Gallery, he immediately pushed back the hood. And his smile, it was a bright thing, his teeth white against skin of darkest mahogany and his black hair cut close to his skull, his cheekbones like razors, his eyes a startling sky blue.

She was surrounded by pretty men today.

“If you would not mind the company,” he said in a mellifluous voice, “I would be happy to guide you.” His expression turned apologetic. “I'm afraid the Gallery is deep in Lumia, the route to it complicated. We would protect our treasures from all possible natural threats.”

“We'd love it if you came along,” Elena said. “This place is a maze. Fun to explore, but I can see how we could end up going around in circles.”

“Yes, it took me a year to learn how to navigate it,” their guide admitted. “I used to constantly end up doing my brotherhood meditations in the hallways because I couldn't make it back to my room in time.”

A silvered chime sounded in the air.

“The breakfast bell for us,” their chatty guide said, beginning to walk. “I will go there after taking you to the Gallery.
We breakfast long here, brothers coming and going as they finish their personally chosen meditations.”

Elena had her guard up so high she could barely see over it, and still she found herself wanting to like this angel who seemed an open book. “I don't suppose you have a historical map of Lumia we could see?” she asked because, hell, why not? “It'd be interesting to see how the place has changed over the years.”

“I do not know of one,” the Luminata said slowly, “but I will search the Repository of Knowledge for you.” A smile so honest and innocent that Elena was suddenly afraid for him. “I am Ibrahim, Consort.”

“Elena.” She glanced to her left. “You know Aodhan?”

“We have not met but yes.” He and Aodhan acknowledged each other. “We carry pieces of your art in the Gallery.”

Aodhan tilted his head to the side. “I would've thought my age would disqualify me?”

“No, my brothers who are in charge of the art archive judge only on the merits of the work—and you are a student of the Hummingbird.” A smile that held shy admiration. “I am but an initiate yet learning of art, but in my opinion, you are the best student she has ever had. You have taken her teachings to heart but you haven't tried to emulate her. You are Aodhan as she is the Hummingbird.”

Maybe it was empty flattery meant to put Aodhan at ease, but though Elena was no art expert, she agreed with Ibrahim. Aodhan and the Hummingbird were both astonishingly talented—and each was unique in what they created. “Do you have many of her pieces here?” she asked Ibrahim.

“As many as we have been able to acquire.” His expression became mournful. “Her work is beloved by those lucky enough to have obtained a piece. Not many will pass them on even though the Luminata wish only to hold her art safe for future generations.”

And keep them out of view of the world, Elena thought privately. It wasn't as if this Gallery were a museum anyone could come by to visit. In fact, it struck her as being more like Lijuan's creepy “Collection Room,” where she apparently pinned up dead angels with beautiful wings: a secret hoard.

As Aodhan and Ibrahim exchanged further comments, it
became clear that Ibrahim wasn't only a student of art but a practitioner, too. “I am an unknown, nowhere near your level of skill,” he said modestly when Aodhan asked him about his work. “But it gives me joy.” A soft smile. “It is my contemplation.”

“The greatest art,” Aodhan replied, “comes from great joy and great despair.”

Ibrahim's smile faded. “I think for the Hummingbird, one turned into the other centuries ago.”

The comment resonated within Elena. There was such terrible sadness in the Hummingbird now, but she'd seen a work in Raphael's Refuge stronghold that Illium's mother had created two millennia ago—it burned with such radiant joy that to look at it was to smile.

However, even as she thought about art, even as Ibrahim told them about his favorite works in the Gallery, she was noting every step they took, creating a mental map of this sprawling maze. The stone of Lumia itself began to change as they got closer to the secret heart of the stronghold. Carvings done with time and care became apparent on the walls, while the floor beneath their feet turned into a delicacy of mosaics.

Those mosaics were earth-toned and gentle at the start, but the pale turquoise blues and faded reds slowly flowed into jewel tones so brilliant Elena wondered how the colors had been captured with such depth. And on the walls, the carvings turned into paintings of great events in angelic history.

“Who painted this?” Aodhan asked, stopping in front of a breathtaking piece that appeared to show an angel bursting into flame. His tone was dangerously quiet.

A heartbeat later, Elena noticed that while the angel's hair was gold, his face was one with deeply familiar lines. She'd always thought Raphael strongly favored his mother, but the face that stared out at her from that painting was his. Change the golden hair to midnight, the equally golden eyes to a blue too pure to be mortal, and she'd be looking at a portrait of her archangel.

Wait
. “His eyes aren't golden.” And the hair whipping across his face was created of flame.

“No,” Ibrahim replied. “His eyes show angelfire burning him up from within.” Ibrahim's entire body seemed to sag. “The artist is one of the brotherhood. He was once a healer,
but now he chooses seclusion and art. But this is the only scene he ever paints. Over and over.”

“Was he a friend of Nadiel's?” Because Elena was certain beyond any doubt that she was looking at an image of Raphael's father in the moments before his death.

“He has never said.” Ibrahim tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe. “The older Luminata tell me that he came to us in silence and in silence he has remained forevermore.” Pausing, the blue-eyed male seemed to be about to say something further, but then simply shook his head.

Lifting her fingers, Elena traced the lines of Nadiel's face. It was eerie, the resemblance . . . but even if the hair and eyes were changed, she would never mistake one for the other. There was something in Raphael that was missing in this man, and there was something in Nadiel that she'd never seen in Raphael.

A brokenness. A subtle madness that was visible even in the final throes of his life.

Magnificent but broken, that was Raphael's father. And this painting captured his death, when his beloved consort had been forced to execute him lest he drench the world blood red in his insanity. “He
never
speaks?” she said to Ibrahim. “The brother who painted this?”

“Never with his voice. I was more curious than I should've been,” Ibrahim added, “and I looked up his record in the Repository. He once bore the name ‘Laric,' but my brothers have come to call him Stillness.”

Poetic and sad.

And an erasure.

Elena knew one other person who'd given up her name—Sorrow had chosen that name in despair over the changes ravaging her body, so it hadn't exactly been a free choice, but it had been
her
choice. It didn't appear as if this healer artist had made any choice at all. “Where does Laric live in his seclusion?”

“The north tower.” Ibrahim nodded in that direction. “I do not mean to say he never emerges. He does. It is simply that he rarely interacts with us, and so he carries his seclusion with him.”

Aodhan's wings flickered, a surprising movement from an angel who knew how to be still, until you could almost forget him despite his shattering otherness. “I would meet him.”

Ibrahim looked at Aodhan for a long moment. “You, too, were silent for a long time,” he said unexpectedly before inclining his head. “He seems to exit for sunset most often.” A pause. “I walk with him at times. I do not know if I intrude on his seclusion, but he has never given any indication that he wished for me to leave.” A hesitant but very real concern in his tone for this brother who lived in aloneness.

“Thank you.” Aodhan's voice.

Forcing herself to walk away from the disturbing but compelling painting of Nadiel, she said, “Do you know when Laric first came here?”

“It was not in the records that I saw.” Ibrahim shrugged, then winced. It was followed by a sigh. “I am new to the brotherhood. Only on the first step to my path for luminescence.” A lopsided smile that was infectious. “You will not report my behavior?”

The more time she spent with this man, the more she liked him. And the more she worried that he was a hapless lamb among wolves. “Your secret's safe with us. Right, Aodhan?”

“We are vaults.”

An actual grin before Ibrahim seemed to remember himself and suddenly was all contemplative quiet again.

“Who did the work on the Gallery?” Elena asked out of curiosity. “I mean, the Luminata are meant to be a closed sect and, no offense, but I can't see your brothers learning construction skills.”

Ibrahim winced again. “I think I am not meant to talk of such.”

“Let me guess—the rules get bent now and then?”

A subtle nod. “As you say, there are certain things we need that we cannot provide for ourselves. And those of the angelic squadron that patrols our borders also have need of supplies, so Lumia has certain ties with the closest town.”

“What about shelter for the squadron and their lovers or families?” She hadn't seen any soldiers in Lumia.