Archangel's Sun

29

“As certain as I can be without the results from my scientists,” Titus said, then described the site, the burned-out body of the angel, and the evidence of the clawlike hand. “Lady Sharine was with me and she took photographs—they’re being loaded onto the screens now.”

“What was she doing there?” Aegaeon demanded, the golden hue of his skin stretched over bone as he raged. “I’ve been told she’s extremely fragile, her mind fractured.”

Even as Sharine’s temper ignited, Titus proceeded to ignore him.

Temper morphing into humor, she had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle the urge to laugh. If there was one thing Aegaeon couldn’t stand, it was to be ignored.

Restrain yourself, Shari. A repressive order . . . given in an amused tone.

“Look with your own eyes,” he said aloud after the photographs were all available. “None of us need scientific confirmation to know those are angelic wing bones.”

More silence, though she could see Aegaeon’s face growing hot from within. That flush of red at the very tops of his cheekbones, it was a dead giveaway to a rising temper. Be careful, Titus, she warned. Aegaeon is about to blow.

If you believe that I’m afeared of a temper tantrum from a doddering Ancient, you don’t know me at all.

She almost snorted in laughter this time. If only Aegaeon could’ve heard himself being referred to as a doddering Ancient. On the other hand—I’m of a similar vintage. As so poignantly demonstrated by her earlier memory of Alexander and Caliane. She’d forgotten her age; she’d lived too long, had too many memories in her head. All she knew was that she was old, had been old for a long time.

You don’t feel old.

Titus’s response was a molten kiss. She didn’t feel old, either; she’d felt strangely young ever since her new awakening. As if she’d been given a second chance to soar.

“I respect you, Titus,” Alexander said, and in that patrician face, Sharine noted new lines of pain. “But I hope you’re wrong. If this disease has crossed the immortal boundary, then we’re fighting a battle we may never be able to win.”

Raphael was quiet, but Sharine saw a certain distance in his eyes. She thought he must be thinking back to what the Legion had told him—the story of a disease that had bound itself permanently into the cells of angelkind, a toxin that lived in each and every one of them to this day.

“I hope I’m wrong, too.” Titus ran a hand over his hair. “Unfortunately, from what we’ve discovered of what Charisemnon was up to behind the closed doors of his court, our hopes are unlikely to bear fruit.”

He opened his wings, then snapped them shut. “I haven’t shared everything of what we found in his court because we’re all finding horrors. But this is relevant to our current discussion—Charisemnon was experimenting on people in his own court. Specifically on angels.”

A hiss of sound from Alexander. “He dared cross that line?”

“He crossed it when he used his Cascade-born power to kill angels in my territory.” Raphael’s voice was brutal, no give in it at all. “I think we can all agree that he had no honor left in him. Neither did Lijuan.”

Neha, who was at odds with Raphael for reasons Sharine hadn’t yet remembered, said, “In this we agree.” Hands on her hips, she looked at Titus. “Do you need assistance?”

“Yes.” Suyin spoke for the first time, her voice haunted and haunting, and her uptilted eyes obsidian against skin as white as snow. “Neha is right—this threat supersedes all others. If you need us, we will come.”

No one raised their voice in disagreement.

“Right now, I only have evidence of a single reborn angel,” Titus said. “Should that change, I’ll send out an alert, but for now you can do more good in your own territories.” He shifted his attention to Alexander. “Our borders are the closest. I would speak to you after this meeting is over.”

Alexander gave a curt nod.

“As we are all here—all seven of us,” Neha said with a twist of her mouth, “is there any other business to discuss?”

Qin, an archangel with eyes that echoed the beauty of an aurora, and wings the shade of a smudged sunrise, whites segueing to soft pink, parted his lips. “It appears that despite Astaad’s best efforts—and I cast no aspersions on his honor or courage, for he fought valiantly—he didn’t manage to eliminate the poisonous insects from his territory.”

His territory.

It was telling that Qin hadn’t yet claimed ownership of the Pacific Isles. Most archangels wouldn’t have hesitated, even if it was a temporary posting. He really isn’t part of our world, is he? There was something preternatural about Qin, a kind of haunted grace to him.

He has no choice but to be, Titus responded with rough frankness. The Cadre is running with seven right now, one of them a brand-new archangel. My spies in the Pacific say Qin has worked tirelessly since taking up Astaad’s mantle.

Sharine thought it was because Qin just wanted to go back to Sleep. The faster he cleaned up the mess left behind by war, the faster he could retreat. Now, the silken ebony of his hair shone like jet, his cheekbones sharp slices against his skin as he continued to speak.

“It takes multiple bites to kill a vampire, but mortals are more susceptible.” Pain, such pain in him. “I have no choice. After evacuating the uninfected onto a quarantine ship, I will have to sterilize three affected islands.”

“You mean a burning with archangelic fire?” Aegaeon’s brash tones—but his next words were of an archangel. “Such will turn the islands into a wasteland for a long period. You’re certain it’s the only possible option?”

That was the thing with Aegaeon, part of what had first enchanted her. He was a good archangel, one who took his responsibilities seriously. But that honor hadn’t stretched to a blue-winged little boy who’d idolized him.

No matter how long she lived, Sharine would never forgive him for that. He’d broken her mischievous, laughing boy’s heart, and for what? Because he couldn’t be bothered to stay awake just a few more decades? Decades were nothing in the span of an Ancient’s life, mere drops in an ocean.

It was Raphael who’d taught Illium how to lift a sword, Raphael who’d given her little boy the life lessons that should’ve been imparted by his father, Raphael who’d hugged Illium with ferocious pride when he won all the winged races in the Refuge.

Raphael had been the best big brother any child could wish.

Yet Aegaeon had the gall to be angered that Illium refused to shift his allegiance to Aegaeon? It was Elena who’d told Sharine that Aegaeon had tried to recruit Illium to his new court and been soundly rejected—Raphael’s consort had done a terrible job of hiding her delighted satisfaction and Sharine was in charity with her.

Illium knew the value of his loyalty and he knew Aegaeon deserved none of it.

“I hope for another solution.” Qin’s voice was like water, lovely and sinuous. “Astaad’s scientists work on to discover a less violent remedy.”

“That is troubling news.” Neha sighed. “I’d hoped . . .” She shook her head. “We cannot hope. We must deal with the reality.”

Alexander spoke into the resulting quiet. “Suyin, how is your territory?”

“Painfully quiet,” was the answer from the woman who was one of the greatest architects in all of angelkind, the dot of a beauty spot below the far edge of her left eye bringing attention to the resolute sorrow in those eyes.

“I intend to allow huge areas of the landscape to go wild for the foreseeable future. There won’t be enough people to maintain the fields, towns, and cities for many generations. The numbers are catastrophic.” She pressed her lips tight. “I’ll have to rebuild as if I were an archangel given a territory no one else had ever ruled—except that I must do so in the shadow of Lijuan’s horrors.”

At any other time, Titus said, his voice resonant in Sharine’s mind, such words would’ve left Suyin ripe for a takeover attempt from another member of the Cadre. Now, no one knows what surprises Lijuan left behind.

Sharine could see the reason behind the reserve: China had been Lijuan’s to rule for millennia, the landscape itself imprinted with her mark. Is Neha the only one of the Cadre helping her?

She helps at the border but doesn’t land inside China itself. Raphael, however, spent a full week with Suyin before he came to Africa—and Caliane will be by her side as soon as she rises. We won’t allow Suyin to drown before she finds her wings; we can’t afford to lose any one of the Cadre.

“Any resurgence of the poison Lijuan left behind?” Aegaeon’s tone had Sharine rolling her eyes.

Condescending ass, Titus said into her mind at the same time. Suyin is an archangel, not a child to be patted over the head.

In this, Titus, we are in absolute agreement.

“No.” Suyin’s response was firm. “Whatever it is she did with the fatal black fog, it died with her.” Obsidian eyes landing on Titus. “I think you have the most difficult task. If your enemy created a way to ensure the sickness thrived in angels . . .”

The meeting concluded soon afterward, leaving Titus and Alexander alone. The two spoke of precautions to make sure no threat could fly over the border. They’d just decided on a small squadron of winged fighters whose job it’d be to control the area when Sharine remembered something Illium had told her.

Titus, she said on their mental wavelength. I apologize for the interruption, but my son told me of eyes in the sky. Do you have those?

“Alexander!” A thunder of sound, the vibration comforting. “What about satellites?”

Alexander frowned. “I’ll ask my grandson if the eyes in the sky can watch that closely. It’s not something about which I have too much knowledge, young pup.”

Listening to his answer, Sharine found herself thinking that it wasn’t good to stay ignorant of the new ways. Her son adored this world, was constantly telling her of its technologies and inventions. She would learn everything he wished to teach her, she decided, live in the here and now and not the past.

“We’ll speak again, Grandfather,” Titus said with a grin.

Making a rude gesture on the other side, Alexander said, “Careful, Titus, or I’ll send the twins to visit.”

“I’m not afraid of my sisters,” Titus said staunchly. “But please do keep them on your side of the border, I beg of you. Already, they send me three letters a week, full of much advice.” The affection in his tone belied his words.

After Alexander signed off with a laugh, Titus waited for the screen to close out before turning to her. “I thank you, Sharine. That was a very good suggestion and may save us from losing a squadron from the front lines,” he said before reaching up to rub at the lines on his forehead, his shoulders lower than usual.

It stunned her to see such vulnerability in the big and brash Archangel of Africa. Even more so because it was a thing of deep trust for him to allow her to see him this way.

“You need sleep,” she found herself saying, overcome by an unexpected wave of tenderness. “You flew an incredible distance in a short period of time, and didn’t eat the entire voyage, either. It’s not good to push yourself to the extreme and then collapse.”

He glared at her, hands on his hips. “I’m not a toddler, to be sent to bed.”

“Fall on your face, then,” she muttered, as she got to her feet. “I, for one, am going to bathe then rest.” Though she had every intention of expanding her physical limits as she grew in strength and endurance, it wouldn’t happen overnight. Rest was a necessity.

Pulling open the door, she stepped out—but she was still near enough to hear Titus mutter a single word under his breath: “Women.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she resisted the temptation to head back in there—tired as she was, he might well win a verbal battle. Red-haired Tanae came around the corner just as the door was closing behind her. “My lady.” The curt bow of a warrior. “Is the sire within?”

“Yes. And the meeting has concluded.”

Another short but respectful bow before Tanae walked past and through the door, her competence and confidence unmistakable.

Not sure she’d ever understand Titus, and annoyed she was even interested in trying, Sharine returned to her room to do exactly as she’d described to the stubborn archangel who refused to believe he had any vulnerabilities.

First she removed her grimy clothes, then she washed the dirt, dust, and traces of reborn—a shudder—out of her hair. That done, she scrubbed herself down until her skin was flushed with heat and so clean that it all but squeaked. Her eyes were already closing by the time she managed to wrap a towel around her hair, but she made herself stay awake long enough to set an alarm on the old-fashioned clock on the bedstand.

She fell into bed swathed in towels and woke to the shrill bell what felt like a heartbeat later. Groaning, she looked outside and saw that while the sun had begun to set, she had time yet to prepare herself for the horrors that would come with the hours of night.

When she unwrapped the towel from around her hair, it was to discover that the strands were still damp. Brushing it out, she opened the wardrobe in an attempt to find something to wear. But nothing had altered since she’d last looked within. She found herself faced with gown after gown, floaty and pretty.

They weren’t items she’d have eschewed in another time or place, but such clothing wasn’t conducive to dealing with reborn—and if nothing else, Sharine planned to fly guard over the ground fighters and use her ability to stop reborn from attacking from the back. Wars could be fought in gowns, but these airy things would fly up and engulf her head while displaying her body to the masses.

Making a low sound in her throat, she grabbed a gown at random and threw it on the bed. Perhaps she could borrow more suitable clothing before night fell and the fight against the reborn began in earnest once more. Pulling on a robe for now, she decided to eat something before she dressed. She’d noticed a small jug and a covered platter of food in the living area when she’d first returned to her room.

The jug was still there but the platter had been changed, with the earlier food hopefully utilized by others. All of that was peripheral, however; what caught her eye was the pile of neatly folded clothing that sat on the settee in front of the low table that held the food and drink.

She walked over on curious feet to pick up the first item.

It fell open to reveal a sleeveless tunic in dark green with black embroidery around the rounded collar as well as on the hems. Modest slits at the sides meant the tunic would fit easily over her hips. While clean, it was obviously used, but she didn’t care in the least.

Smile wide, she picked up the next item. It was another tunic, this one with three-quarter sleeves—the shade was a mauve that probably wouldn’t suit her complexion, but she didn’t care about that, either. This was about practicality and being an asset rather than a liability.

The pants in the pile were a prosaic black and brown respectively. She hugged them close, not too proud to accept gifts given. Even if it was Titus who must’ve arranged those gifts.

Scowling, she nonetheless took the clothing back into her bedroom and found fresh underwear. At least she’d packed extra there. Deciding to wear the black pants with the dark green top, she left her hair down so that it would dry more easily, but pulled a hair tie around her wrist for later use.

The woman who looked back at her from the mirror was fresh-faced, no artifice or age to her. “Foolishness,” she said with a laugh and walked out onto the balcony that flowed off her bedroom.

Activity buzzed in the courtyard and in the skies, Titus’s people using the final hour of light to prepare for the night. She searched the courtyard . . . and realized she was looking for one particular warrior with wide shoulders, skin of ebony, and a smile that knocked the breath out of her.