Archangel's Sun

9

Titus had just come in from the field, the dawn sun rising in a glory of orange-red, when one of his sentries sent back the message that Lady Sharine had—at long last—been sighted at the city border.

Groaning, he looked down at his blood-and-grime-splattered clothing, thought of his swords that needed to be cleaned, and just threw up his hands. There really was no point in trying to tidy himself up—it’d be more of an insult if he didn’t turn up to welcome her when he was at the citadel and not out fighting reborn.

Striding out the huge doors that flowed from his personal living area—doors he mostly kept open—he stepped onto his balcony, then took off. In the massive courtyard below, his people toiled, exhausted but devoted. Some were coming in, some going out, while another section dealt with the animals.

Still another group was sorting the weapons that had been brought in damaged or broken by the teams out in the field. Beside them worked the mechanics whose task it was to keep the vampiric troops’ heavy-duty vehicles maintained and ready to take hit after hit from the reborn.

The rotting creatures had yesterday succeeded in acting together to tip over one of the vehicles, but the vampire fighters within had survived because the vehicle was built like a tank. It also helped that they’d had flamethrowers on hand to fry any reborn who tried to crawl through the cracked glass of the windscreen.

The other glass, all of it toughened, had held.

The dull murmur of voices, the clang of weapons and the noise of the engines, the snuffing of the horses, it was familiar music that meant home. But he couldn’t rest this morn, couldn’t share a mug of ale with his people or just sit in the courtyard and clean weapons to wind down from a night of battle against the reborn. Groaning again at what awaited, he angled his wings and headed out beyond the bustle of his city and toward the northern border.

The sky blazed around him, red and pink and dazzling shades of orange. He loved this landscape and he loved the colors of the sky. He’d been Archangel of Southern Africa some thousand six hundred years and he would swear that each and every sunrise and sunset was different, was unique.

Yet despite the show of glory, he still saw the glint of a far different color in the distance, the indigo of the Hummingbird’s distinctive wings caressed by light—as if the sun itself was in love with her ethereal beauty.

Wings beating hard because there was no breeze today, no thermal to ride, he quickly closed the distance between them. The sooner he got to her, the sooner he could do away with the formalities, and have the bath he craved. But his forced smile of welcome turned into a black scowl as he brought himself to a polite hover a short distance away.

She wasn’t wearing her customary gown, and her hair was not only covered with dust, but in a braid that dropped over one shoulder. She was, in fact, in black pants and a light brown tunic not so different from his own garb—though he’d long done away with the tunic.

And while the straps that crisscrossed his chest were part of his sword harness, one hilt visible over his left shoulder, the other over his right, it looked like her straps attached to some type of pack.

The Hummingbird was wearing pants and carrying a pack.

He blinked.

Had he not known better, he’d have thought her a young angel out for the day. Perhaps even a warrior, though she was a little too slender to pull that off, no real muscle to her. Like most of the pretty beings in what the people within it chose to call the “gentle court,” and he saw as the tender heart of his warrior stronghold.

“Lady Hummingbird!” he boomed, then winced, because he’d told himself not to use his proper voice. The last thing he needed was for her to get the vapors and fall out of the sky. That would be wonderful. Then Raphael would be angry with him because he’d managed to insult and pain the mother of one of Raphael’s cherished Seven, and no doubt the rest of angelkind would think him an ogre.

But the Hummingbird didn’t drop from the sky like a small, startled bird. Instead, she came to hover across from him, a soft smile curving her lips. It struck him at that instant that she was beautiful, stunningly so. Shrugging off that errant thought because this was the Hummingbird and not a woman, he bowed slightly.

Yes, he was an archangel, but the Hummingbird existed outside the hierarchy of angelkind as far as he was concerned. He’d seen her work, been absorbed by it to the extent that he’d hunted down a piece for his own rooms. The person who created such transcendence, the person who had within them such grace, was to be treated with utmost respect.

“Archangel Titus,” she said with a bow of her own. “I see I have come at a bad time.”

He winced inwardly, wondering at the level of insult she’d taken. “I’ve just come in from battle,” he said. “The reborn have taken strong hold in this landscape. Charisemnon, that pestilent piece of . . . er, rotted meat,” he substituted instead of “excrement,” “worked with Lijuan to create a stronger, more intelligent strain before he died.”

“Yes, I have heard many such reports on my journey here,” she said in a voice so rich with texture it felt like a tactile caress. Titus had a weakness for music and art and she was the embodiment of both. Too bad she was also the Hummingbird and the entire angelic world would be insulted beyond repair should he invite her to share his blankets.

He was insulted beyond repair on her behalf at his own base thoughts. The Hummingbird had long risen above all that, and he was—what was the word one of his sisters had used a few centuries ago?—yes, he was a cad for even thinking of her in such a carnal way.

“I saw much during my flight,” she said. “I would share that information with you. I think you and your people haven’t had a chance to fully survey the rural edges of Charisemnon’s territory.”

Titus gave a small nod. “I’d be grateful for any new information.” He didn’t expect much in terms of martial details, for the Hummingbird had probably focused on the artistic merit of various things, but still, perhaps she’d picked up a relevant piece or two of information by accident. “I welcome you to my court, Lady Hummingbird.”

A tightness to her face, but her voice remained pure velvet as she said, “It will become tiresome if we are both constantly formal with one another. Please call me Sharine, and if you do not disagree, I shall call you Titus.”

Titus almost scowled before he caught himself, his shoulders bunching. It didn’t feel right to call her anything but Lady Hummingbird, but he’d make the attempt since that was her preference. As for himself, she could call him whatever she liked. The Hummingbird had such rights.

“As you prefer, La—Sharine.” He shook out the tension in his shoulders. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll lead you to my citadel. We’ll sit and have a meal together, though I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until after I bathe.” He wanted to slap himself—what did he think he was doing, talking about bathing to a woman so genteel and refined?

“That is as well,” she murmured as they fell into flight side by side. “I’m dusty from my long journey and will need to clean up, too.”

Exhaling because that had worked out better than he’d expected, he said, “We expected you two days ago.” He’d been concerned enough when she hadn’t arrived some days after leaving Lumia that he’d contacted Raphael to ask if Illium had heard from his mother. “Your son assured me that you were safe and on the way else I would’ve dispatched my people to look for you.”

“I should’ve sent word.” A gracious apology in her tone. “I decided to take several detours to check on the status of settlements on either side of my main route. I saw some disturbing things and didn’t wish to rush here when I could bring you useful information instead.”

Grooves forming in his forehead, Titus glanced sideways at the Hummingbird before quickly looking away. He didn’t want her to catch him staring at her, but this woman was not behaving at all like the Hummingbird of whom he’d heard. Everyone in angelkind knew the great and gifted artist spent more time in a world of her own making than she did the real one.

The woman currently speaking to him, however, sounded more like one of his intelligence agents. Cool. Calm. Collected. The only significant difference was the richness of her voice, the tones filled with a depth of emotion. But, strange behavior or not, it could not be an imposter.

There was only one individual in all of angelkind who possessed wings of indigo brushed with light and eyes of a shade so pale and golden that they were like captured pieces of the first rays of dawn. This was most assuredly the Hummingbird.

“I haven’t seen so much activity my entire flight here,” she said as they flew closer to the citadel.

Narja bustled around that fortress of stone and light, his people choosing to live close to their archangel. It was a source of pride for Titus, that the people he ruled came toward him instead of going outward. Even the ones based in other parts of the territory tended to cluster around the senior angels in the area. It was quite different from the way his dead enemy’s land was laid out—Charisemnon’s people had not hugged close to their leadership.

“Anyone not able-bodied enough to help with the reborn scourge is assisting with the rebuild,” Titus said with considerable pride. “Whether that means holding a paintbrush in the hour they’re permitted out of the infirmary, or acting as teachers of craft even if their own limbs are shattered.

“My city took considerable damage in the war, close as it is to the border.” Scarlet fire burned his blood at the memory of how he’d permitted Charisemnon too close. His snake of an enemy had worn the mask of an ally, choosing cunning over honor. Death was too good for him, but it was all the satisfaction Titus would ever get.

“I didn’t realize your city had so much glass and steel. It reminds me of my son’s home but for the lack of towers that scrape the sky.”

“Narja stands up against any of New York’s temptations,” he said, chest puffing up. “We boast far more green spaces for one, and as for the towers—that’s a consequence of being a border city. The higher the building, the bigger the target.” As a result, the city’s buildings were constructed to not provide easy sightlines to the enemy, as the roads were designed to be confusing to the eye from above.

Noticing the Hummingbird’s wing muscles had begun to droop, he subtly lowered his speed. “My only regret is that you do not see my city in its full glory.” He had physically helped build the citadel that was the center of it, had even dug a garden or two that would normally be brilliant with color.

“It’s a place with heart, that I can tell regardless.” Angling her body to take in another part of his city, she said, “Are you aware that your ability to move the earth has created massive cracks in the earth that continue to creep farther inward? At one village, I was told that the gorge approaching them has advanced by half a foot per day—such a speed has them scrambling to relocate.”

He scowled, for he didn’t like to think of mortals afraid and alone because of the outcome of an immortal war. It was brutal reality when archangels fought, but he’d never been at peace with such a consequence; his mother had taught him that the strong protected the weak.

“My scholars have been studying the advance and they tell me it should stop soon, as the energy in the earth runs out.” His Cascade power to cause earth tremors had helped him defeat his enemy, but as with all archangelic gifts to be born out of that unpredictable confluence of time and power, it had more than one facet.

He’d been uncertain that he retained the ability when the Cascade ended with a sudden finality, taking with it much of what it bestowed. In the end, it turned out that he could still affect the earth, but at a tenth of the capacity he’d possessed during the height of the Cascade. Given what he was hearing about the others in the Cadre and the powers with which they’d emerged from the Cascade, it was a fair enough trade-off. They’d all lost something and retained something.

“That is good news,” the Hummingbird said. “I’m glad you continue to give your scholars room to work. It must’ve been tempting to haul them into the battle against the reborn.”

He decided not to take insult, for there was a grain of truth in her supposition. “I have been Cadre long enough to have learned to think for the future. Well I know that my scholars’ greatest weapon is their collective brain and not their sword arms.

“All but for one—Ozias is a warrior-scholar and she is my spymaster, her task to gather intelligence about the state of the territory. But she is only one angel doing a mammoth task. I thank you for the information you’ve brought me.” Unexpected though it was from a woman known for her penchant of living in a dreamworld.

“You fight a difficult battle, Titus. I offer what assistance I can.”

Spotting the increasing dip in her wings, he chose against giving her an overview of the citadel. “We’ll land on the balcony outside your suite,” he said. “It’s near mine so you can access me at any time should you have any need.” That wasn’t quite true. He’d be out in the field more often than not. But it seemed like the sort of thing an archangel should at least say when the Hummingbird stayed in his home.

It wasn’t anything he’d ever before had to consider. With the entire gentle court sent to safety prior to the beginning of the war, he had no one soft and sweet left on his staff to handle such things. Elia, six-hundred-year-old vampire and foster mother—by choice—of the orphaned children who lived in Titus’s court, would’ve no doubt managed it all with smiling joy, Titus none the wiser of the work involved.

He wasn’t a complete dullard in such things, however—there was a reason he’d offered Elia a position as senior courtier. She might be kind of heart and prone to dressing in frothy fashions while putting enormous amounts of cosmetic colors on her face, but she also gave his steward a run for his money when it came to dealing with problematic or touchy guests.

However, his steward was currently using his sword arm against the reborn, and Elia was on an offshore island with her charges; he’d had to pull people from other duties to ready things for his guest.

The only positive?

Members of his household staff were so honored by the Hummingbird’s visit that they hadn’t minded pulling double shifts to pretty up a suite for her while not falling away from their usual duties—whether that be repairing weapons or feeding the troops or a million other critical tasks.

After landing on the balcony and ensuring the clearly exhausted Hummingbird got down safely, he pushed aside the gauzy curtains of the open doors—to see soft, curving feminine furniture and vases full of fresh flowers. Thanks be to the ingenuity of his people; he had absolutely no idea where they’d found those blooms.

“I hope this will suit,” he said modestly after they’d both stepped inside—but the modesty was for show; he was very conscious his people had done well and deserved all the praise she would bestow.

Expression tight, she looked around. “I didn’t expect you to go to this trouble.” A tone to her voice that, on any other woman, he would’ve described as an edge. But this was the Hummingbird. Perhaps she was displeased about some small element of the room.

Having known more than enough contrary women over his lifetime, beginning with his mother and sisters, Titus decided to leave well enough alone and didn’t ask her what was wrong. “My staff is honored by your presence and wished to make you welcome.”

Features softening, she inclined her head. “I’m deeply grateful for their care.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that on.” Titus wasn’t a man to steal praise that wasn’t his to take. “I made sure to remind them to set up an art studio for you,” he said with justifiable pride, and pointed upward. “You’ll find stairs just beyond the half wall to the right—at the end of the climb is a room full of light set up with an easel and art supplies.” He had no idea where his people had sourced any of those things, either.

When the Hummingbird said nothing in response to his magnanimous gesture, he decided to take his leave. Could be this was one of those moments where she existed out of time. Though . . . for an ethereal being, her jaw appeared unnaturally rigid and he could swear that her shoulders were bunched.

No, he had to be imagining it; the Hummingbird was beyond such things. Beyond anger, beyond petty grievances. The Hummingbird was a being special and gentle, a being who needed care and was to be handled as you would a fragile, broken bird.