Archangel's Enigma

23

Andromeda flew straight and true toward Amanat, her sense of aerial direction good enough that three hundred and twenty-five years earlier, she’d got herself to the Refuge while not yet an adult. With each wingbeat, she had to fight not to turn back, return to Naasir, make sure he was safe.

She knew her thoughts were irrational. Naasir was one of the Seven for a reason—he was strong and lethal. She’d seen that when they fought the reborn. He’d taken down three for every one of hers.

He was so beautiful to watch in motion, pure grace and wildness.

Riding a powerful sea wind, she dropped low enough to feel the salt air. Below her, the water was a sprawling emptiness in every direction. Not a single vessel, no birds, nothing but the night and the ocean. There was a deep peace to it, to feeling the wind push back her hair as her wings rode it.

She wondered if this was how Naasir felt when he set himself free and ran full tilt. She’d ask him, she thought with a smile that faded all too soon. The only good thing about Lijuan’s insanity was that it had brought Naasir into her life, allowed her to spend her last days of freedom with a man so extraordinary she knew eternity with him would be a constant and wonderful surprise.

Her heart hurt.

Eternity with Naasir was beyond her reach, but she could help him stop a heinous crime. For Lijuan to attempt to murder Alexander while he Slept wouldn’t only shatter one of the deepest taboos of the angelic race, it would destroy hundreds of thousands of years of history. Alexander carried that history in his bones, in his mind, in his memories.

Lijuan’s plan could not be permitted to succeed.

Jaw clenched, she rode another strong wind . . . and thought again of the silver-haired vampire who wasn’t a vampire who was her partner in this critical quest, and of how he made her feel heartbreakingly young and wild. This time, she didn’t fight the fantasies that whispered at her, fantasies of an eternity where she could explore and play and tangle with him forever.

On this night as she flew alone over a midnight dark sea while the stars glittered overhead, it didn’t matter. On this night, she was free and wild with a bloodline that was her own, unconnected in any way to that of a court built on pain and brutality and sexual acts devoid of love or even affection.

But of course the night, secret and sweet, couldn’t last.

Dawn was a blush-pink kiss in the sky, the morning light cool as she flew over the thick, dark green forests of Kagoshima, Japan, heading in a straight line to a city that should not exist here. Fog whispered a sinuous lover around the treetops, the mountains covered in sleepy-appearing white clouds, but Andromeda herself wasn’t the least drowsy; her breath caught in anticipation of seeing the lost city risen anew, of walking its ancient streets, of speaking to the people Caliane had taken with her into her Sleep.

Andromeda had read every one of the reports filed by others, pored over the sketches made by artists who’d visited. There were no photographs, for something in Amanat caused cameras to malfunction, perhaps the simple low hum of an Ancient’s close proximity.

Regardless, nothing could’ve prepared her for her first sight of the legendary city.

It appeared out of the green like a mirage, a city of stone and flowers and curves protected by a shield of delicate blue-tinged light that warned against trespass. Mouth dry with thirst and with wonder, Andromeda brought herself to a passable landing directly outside the shield, her wings strained from the long flight after days of near-inactivity.

She only had to wait a matter of seconds before an auburn-haired angel stepped out from behind the shield to face her. “What is your purpose here?” His green eyes were as cool as his voice, his body clad in the combat leathers of a warrior.

She recognized him from the descriptions in the reports: Avi, one of Caliane’s most trusted people, and an angel who had quietly returned to her side as soon as Caliane awoke. “My name is Andromeda,” she said. “I’m a scholar recently escaped from Lijuan’s citadel, thanks to Jason and Naasir.” Lifting her hand to her neck, she pulled out the chain that held Naasir’s ring. “I come to see Isabel.”

“Naasir is not with you?” No cool mask now, Avi’s concern darkening his gaze.

“He’s coming overland.” Andromeda’s fingers curled into her hand, her worry for Naasir a constant echo at the back of her mind. “It made more sense for me to fly.”

A small nod and the angel led her into the city after somehow causing the shield to part. Or perhaps it was his archangel who had parted the shield for him. “Suyin?” she asked.

“In anshara,” Avi told her shortly.

Andromeda refused to be brushed off like a child. “She will be all right?” she asked, unable to forget the agonizing sorrow that marked Suyin’s gaze.

Turning to pin her with those penetrating green eyes, Avi took his time to reply, but when he did, his tone was gentler. “Keir says it is the best thing for her. Her physical wounds will heal, and when she wakes, she’ll do so in a city where she was often a treasured guest before her imprisonment.” An unexpected touch on Andromeda’s hair, as a father might do to a child. “Have no fear, young one, Suyin has friends here who will protect her and help her heal wounds not so visible.”

Throat thick, Andromeda nodded. Dropping his hand from her hair, Avi led her deeper into Amanat. It took her a minute to get her emotions under enough control to see clearly, and then, she had to fight not to gawp like a fledgling.

To a historian, Amanat was a fever dream taken vivid form.

With each one of her steps, she walked in history itself. The architecture, the ethereal carvings on the stone of the walls that made up the buildings, the mineral-veined cobblestones of the path on which she and Avi walked, the window gardens that spilled blooms in every direction, they all fought to capture her attention, but she focused first on the people who had Slept so long beside their archangel.

They were clothed in bright flowing gowns when it came to the non-warrior females, and embroidered tunics and pants for the non-warrior males. A rare few of the men wore flowing kaftan-like robes. In contrast, as with Avi, the warriors were dressed much the same as warriors anywhere in the world. They also had the same grim-eyed and alert appearance.

All in all, not so different from the men and women of Lijuan’s court. Only here, no one avoided her gaze, and instead of glimpsing shivering fear on their faces, she heard laughter drifting through the streets, was gifted with smiles by those who weren’t warriors, and curt nods of welcome by those who were.

And this in the home of an archangel once judged insane, an archangel who had sung the entire adult populations of two thriving cities into the sea. Bloated corpses had littered the beach in the aftermath, pecked at by birds, and found by motherless and fatherless children who’d been so traumatized by the horror that they’d curled up and died “of such sorrow as immortals will never know.”

Keir’s words, as recorded for the Histories by an equally heartbroken Jessamy.

Was it possible Lijuan, too, could one day become a better version of herself? Andromeda bit her lower lip, unable to see that future. Caliane had Slept away her madness while Lijuan was intent on feeding it on the lifeforce of her people.

“Scholar.”

Pulled from the disturbing tenor of her thoughts, she saw they’d stopped in front of an archway.

“Isabel is within,” Avi said. “I’ll leave you to speak with her.”

“Thank you.” Walking through the archway, Andromeda found herself in a tree-shaded but still light-filled courtyard surrounded by dual-level homes and empty but for an angel going through a martial arts kata. The angel was tall and muscular in a toned, fluid way, her black hair pulled back into a neat braid and her wings white with a splash of delicate green at the primaries.

Instead of warrior leathers, she wore black jeans with boots of the same shade, her white top loose and long-sleeved, cuffed at the wrists. None of that altered the fact that she was a trained and dangerous fighter who moved with an economy of motion that told Andromeda Isabel wouldn’t be flashy in a fight, but she’d be effective.

Despite her tiredness, Andromeda stayed back, loathe to interrupt; she knew how much it meant to find peace in such a quiet pattern of movement. Isabel was setting herself up for the day and to interrupt would be to shatter her center.

Andromeda found a measure of peace in simply watching the other woman.

Completing her kata several minutes later, Isabel took a moment of silence before looking up. Her smile was quiet but deep, her eyes a brown darker than the darkest chocolate, and her skin a tawny gold. Handsome rather than beautiful, Isabel had a regal confidence to her that said she could command armies and courts without breaking her stride.

“You must be Naasir’s Andi.”

Andromeda blinked. “How could you possibly know that?” Not her identity, but Naasir’s pet name for her.

“Naasir borrowed a satellite phone from the captain of the barge after you left.” Isabel’s smile grew deeper. “It doesn’t come naturally to him, but he’s learned all about technology from Illium.”

“He’s smarter than most scholars.” Andromeda tried not to sound too proud and possessive, wasn’t sure she’d pulled it off when Isabel’s eyes crinkled as if she was holding back laughter. “More perceptive, too,” she added, unable to help herself.

Isabel’s agreement was obvious.

“And yes,” Andromeda said, “I’m Andi.” She could be that woman here, that young and happily reckless scholar who had adventures with a wild, wonderful man who bore secret tiger stripes under his skin. “Has Naasir been in touch since then?” The knot in her stomach wouldn’t dissolve until she could see him, touch him, draw in his scent.

“No,” Isabel said. “But he will make it to Amanat in far less time than it would take any other vampire, of this I’m certain.” The open affection in the other woman’s tone belied the wagging tongues of those who said she was an automaton devoid of emotions. “Come. I’ll show you where you can bathe and rest.”

Andromeda wanted to ask Isabel what it was to live the life of an ascetic, asexual and serene, for so long, couldn’t find the courage . . . because she knew her own resolve was at breaking point. “I’ll need to gather supplies for our onward journey,” she said instead, her voice rough with need and a dull, throbbing loneliness.

“Naasir mentioned it. Rest first, then you must pay your respects to Caliane. I’ll put together the supplies in the interim.”

Andromeda stumbled, barely hearing Isabel’s last sentence. “What?”

“You are in her city,” the warrior said gently. “It is a matter of form . . . though she is aware of your bloodline, so she may subject you to deeper scrutiny.”

Andromeda’s lungs strained. “I appreciate the warning.”

Leading her to a set of steps on the far side of the courtyard, Isabel showed her to a second-floor apartment filled with sunlight. The windows were open, curtains of gauzy lace pushed aside to reveal flower boxes bursting with life; more flowers grew in the large planters set on the small balcony, which could be reached through a set of doors that had also been propped open.

A fresh wind blew the lace curtains into the air, until they almost touched the four-poster bed covered with exquisitely patterned white-on-white sheets. Beneath Andromeda’s abused feet, the thick carpet was a deep blue. More flowers—a wildflower posy—sat in a little glass vase set atop a writing table.

That cheerful posy gave the elegant room an air of welcome and whimsy—as if someone had gone out and picked the blooms just for her. “It’s lovely, thank you. Especially the flowers.”

“Ah, but I can’t take any credit.” Arms loosely folded, Isabel leaned against the doorjamb. “I mentioned to one of the maidens that a friend of Naasir’s was coming to stay and she took it upon herself to make you feel welcome. He’s a favorite with the women.”

Andromeda wanted to throw the stupid posy out the window. “Yet she welcomes me when she doesn’t know if I may be a competitor?”

“They all accept that Naasir is too wild to be held by any one woman,” Isabel said easily before pushing off the doorjamb. “I’ll leave you to your ablutions. Once you’ve slept and are ready to see Caliane, you’ll find me either at my home next door, or at the temple.” A faint smile. “Caliane has instructed me to teach her maidens how to defend themselves.”

Andromeda thought of the sweet-faced creatures, some prettily plump, others reed slender, that she’d seen on her walk through the city. “Oh.”

Isabel chuckled, one hand on the hilt of the knife she wore at her hip. “Yes. It’s a sometimes frustrating task, but they’re so earnest that I can’t be angry with them—especially after they spent so much time sewing up ‘warrior clothes’ for these sessions.”

Andromeda’s lips twitched despite herself at Isabel’s suspiciously bland tone; she was curious to see the maidens’ idea of warrior clothing. “Wait,” she said when Isabel would’ve left. “Avi told me Suyin was in anshara. Did Keir say when she might wake?”

The humor faded from the other woman’s expression. “It may be many weeks or even months—she is very fragile.” A pause. “It appears immortals can die of sadness and loneliness, of an existence without hope. I never knew that.”

Tears clogged Andromeda’s throat. “Suyin . . .” She just shook her head, unable to put into words the pain she’d seen in the other woman’s eyes.

Isabel’s face reflected the knowledge Andromeda couldn’t articulate. “Caliane says it is a kind of willing the self to end. It takes a long time, but Suyin has had millennia. She probably wouldn’t have woken from her next Sleep.” Leaving on those solemn words, Isabel pulled the door shut behind herself.

Her heart feeling as if it had a crushing weight on it, and the knot in her stomach a lump of stone, Andromeda didn’t allow her gaze to linger on the bed but headed straight for the large bathing chamber. The already-filled and steaming pool of water to her left made her moan in want, but afraid she’d fall asleep, she indulged for a bare minute, then rose and washed under the shower.

As the fat droplets crashed onto her skin, she would’ve done anything to be where she’d been the last time she’d taken a proper bath, in that icy pool in the valley. She could almost feel Naasir’s strong fingers in her hair as he washed it, the sneaky touch of his hand on her feathers, the way he’d raced with her. “Hurry,” she whispered, her hand reaching out as if she’d catch him through space and time itself. “I miss you.”