Archangel's Sun

31

Flushing as she realized she was looking for Titus, Sharine nonetheless didn’t step back inside. She needed to speak to Tanae or a senior vampiric commander, find out how best to assist.

That was when her eye caught on the wings of an angel who’d just landed, his feathers brown but for small splashes of a familiar wild blue. She looked at the sky again; she had time. Taking out her phone, she pressed the number that would link her to Illium.

It rang multiple times before he picked up. “I’ve been hefting debris,” he said, his voice a touch breathless, and his sweat-damp hair pushed off his face. “Galen says I’ve become soft, but I’d like to see him lift the wall I just did.”

Sharine smiled, well used to the byplay between Tanae’s son and her own. She had the faint idea that it was the weapons-master who’d given her son the nickname of Bluebell. “Galen’s in New York?” She knew he was based in Raphael’s Refuge territory.

“Raphael’s recalled all of us but for Aodhan.” He looked to the right. “Barbarian! My mother asks after you—though I don’t know why!”

Pale green eyes set in a square-jawed face entered the frame; Galen’s dark red hair hung shaggy and thick around his features. “Lady Sharine,” he said with a smile, “it’s good to see you.” He frowned before she could answer and then was gone in a sudden flurry of gray-and-white wings.

“An angel lost his grip on a big piece of wreckage,” Illium said, his gaze upward. “Galen has it.”

“Your city is grievously wounded.” Sharine had glimpsed a little of it when Illium moved the phone.

“Yes.” A bleak confirmation. “We’re finding that some of the areas Raphael had to scorch are reading as poisonous—it looks like there was something special about the insects Lijuan loosed in that direction, and their poison burned itself into the soil.”

The sheer scale of Lijuan’s and Charisemnon’s power-hungry evil continued to shock her. “Is there a solution?”

“Our scientists are working on it,” he said. “But for now, the entire area’s under quarantine. We’re also having to constantly monitor the situation to make sure that nothing from that sector is seeping into the groundwater or into the river. Even dead, Her Batshitness continues to haunt us.”

She had no idea what “Batshitness” meant but, from context, guessed it must refer to Lijuan. Listening as he filled her in on his other news, she noticed one omission. “Are you still feuding with Aodhan?” It would not do. “You know now that life isn’t guaranteed, even for an immortal. Don’t be so stubborn.”

“I’m not the stubborn one.” He sounded so like the little boy she’d propped on her hip as a babe that she smiled.

“I’m quite aware Aodhan is your equal in stubbornness.” Her memories from her lost years continued to be problematic, but she remembered sitting and painting with Aodhan for hours at a time when Aodhan had been swathed in broken darkness. Even in the fog, she’d known that the small, quiet, loyal boy she loved was hurting and she’d gone to him.

“But regardless of his mood,” she said to Illium, “he’s in a very dangerous situation—and he’s far from home and those he loves most. Tell me you’re looking out for him.”

“Of course I am,” Illium muttered. “I even sent him a package from home, full of his favorite things—including a horror movie Elena says he loves. But will he thank me? Hmph. He’s probably sharing everything with Suyin.”

Sharine frowned, unused to hearing such a lack of generosity in her son’s voice. “Do you not like her?”

An intense silence, followed by, “It has nothing to do with her.” Another quiet, so taut it hurt. “Mother—”

Her hand clenched on the phone as he broke off; she wanted to go to her knees and beg for him to confide in her. Beg for him to tell her what strained his voice and hurt his soul. All those years when she’d been lost, he’d been forced to rely on others and then to rely only on himself. She wanted him to know that she was here now and that she’d never again let him down.

“You can say anything to me.” Her voice came out rough, husky. “I won’t be shocked or dismayed. I will love you to the end of time.”

“He has always been my best friend,” Illium said at last, something in his voice that she couldn’t read and the aged gold of his eyes looking to some distant point. “I waited so long for him to emerge from his self-imposed exile, but now that he’s done so, he spreads his wings and leaves me behind.”

Placing one hand on the wall outside her suite, Sharine staggered under the unknowing blow Illium had just struck. Did Aodhan understand that Illium had lost not one but both of the most important people in his life to their own demons?

Her eyes stung, her mind cascading with images of two small boys who’d been as thick as thieves, one taking the blame for the other no matter what the situation, no matter what the other had done. “I know my son,” she said when she could speak again, glad that Illium was distracted enough not to notice the pause. “He isn’t small-hearted, and he wouldn’t begrudge his friend finding happiness, so tell me what it is that truly pains you.”

A shuddering breath, the wind his only reply for long moments. “I look back and I wonder if he hadn’t suffered such terrible harm whether he’d still be my friend. I wonder if he only stayed my friend because he was so badly damaged in the aftermath—” Voice ragged, he broke off again for several seconds.

When he came back, his voice was so small it caused her physical pain, and he wouldn’t look at her. “I wonder if the man I’ve always thought of as my best friend considers me nothing but a weight tying him to a past he’s attempting to forget.”

Her heart broke for her son, who loved so fiercely. “It took but a single word of your need to have him flying from the Refuge to meet you in Lumia,” she reminded him. “He didn’t have to do that.”

“That’s just it, Mother.” Illium looked up, his eyes fierce and hot; she could tell he was clenching his entire body, as he had a habit of doing in tense situations. “Aodhan is loyal and he pays his debts and I’m certain he believes he has a debt to me—because I waited so long, because I never gave up on him.

“I don’t want a friendship based on obligation.” Angry, hurt words, his face flushed. “If he wants to cut the bond between us, I wish he’d simply tell me instead of putting distance between us.”

She felt lost. So many pieces of time were missing or blurred from her head. She remembered holding Aodhan in the years he’d locked himself in the shadowed dark of his home, away from the sunlight that turned him into a shooting star against the sky. She remembered rocking him for hours, and telling him he would conquer this, that he would sparkle again, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember what it was that had hurt him so badly that he’d turned away even from Illium.

But one thing she knew: “The Aodhan I met in Lumia is no one’s fool. Don’t do him the disservice of believing you know him better than he knows himself—I think, for the first time in an eternity, he knows himself.” In this, she and Aodhan were mirrors of one another.

“What if he decides that the man he’s becoming wants nothing to do with me?” Raw, the words bled Illium’s pain.

“Then you’ll let him go,” she said quietly, her hand fisted against her chest and her gaze locked with his. “Freedom and love are entwined. And you, my blue-winged boy, you love more deeply than anyone I’ve ever known.”

She almost heard the hardness of his swallow. She wished she could be there to wrap him up in her arms and in her wings, as she remembered doing for Aodhan. All wide shoulders and a height that eclipsed hers, he’d been so quiet, so stiff, but he hadn’t rebuffed her.

Crooning gentle words, she’d cradled him close, and led him to where he could lie with his head in her lap and his body partially under her wing. So much pain contained in that big, strong body, his own wings limp and his face expressionless. Memory upon memory of doing that for the sparkling boy who’d gone deathly silent.

“Until then,” she said, “love him with all your strength. Aodhan may one day shatter your heart, but at this critical time when he’s spreading his wings, he needs the support of a friend who’s never once let him down.” Anguish twisted through her to give such advice, but she knew her boy would never forgive himself if his friend needed him and he wasn’t there.

Another flash of memory, this one bound with fog. A grown Illium’s shoulders slumped and his wings as limp as Aodhan’s had become. “I tried so hard, Mother,” he sobbed, “but I couldn’t find him. For so long, I couldn’t find him. Now that we have . . .” A shudder so violent it seemed to rattle his bones. “I don’t know if he’ll ever come back to us. I don’t know if he’ll ever heal from what was done to him.”

“My beautiful boy,” she said on the wave of memory, “you’ve never loved with boundaries. Don’t begin now. Don’t alter who you are because you’re afraid that you’ll lose what you love.”

“I wish I could be a child again, when your kisses used to make every pain better.”

“I’ll come see you after my sojourn in Titus’s territory is over, and Lumia is running well once more.” She would hold him then, because no child was ever too old for his mother’s love.

“Mother.”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re awake again. I’ve missed you.”

She stood there, heart aching after ending the call, but she wasn’t yet done. She had more than one boy to check up on.

“Eh-ma.” Aodhan’s astonished voice as he spoke the affectionate term by which he’d always addressed Sharine. “You’re on the phone!”

“Yes,” she said, smiling at hearing him alive and well. “I’ve joined this new age.” Catching the sound of wind, she said, “You’re in the air?” That explained why he’d answered with his voice alone, rather than so she could talk to him face-to-face.

“Night patrol,” he told her. “There’s such silence in this landscape, but I feel an itch at the back of my neck, the sense that Lijuan has left us one more surprise.”

Sharine straightened; Aodhan had always been intuitive. “Listen to your instincts.”

“I will,” he promised. “I didn’t initially wish to be left in charge of the stronghold while Archangel Suyin went to the border, but now I’m glad of it.”

“Do you have backup?” China’s forces had been decimated, and with the country apparently devoid of reborn but for the children at the border, they hadn’t been allocated many relief troops.

“A skeleton squadron. But Lady Caliane’s prime squadron is on alert to assist should it become necessary.” A sweep of wind that indicated a turn. “How are you, Eh-ma?”

“Surviving Titus.”

A laugh that had gone silent for too long, followed by words more hesitant. “Have you spoken to Illium?”

“Just now. He is well.” She considered how much to say, decided not to interfere, for they were grown now. But she could give advice—such was the maternal prerogative. “I get the impression you two are still at odds.”

A deep sound she’d never before heard Aodhan make. It was more in Titus’s wheelhouse. “He’s the most stubborn person I know.”

Her lips curved, her heart hurting less. That wasn’t the sound of a man attempting to disengage from a friendship. “I seem to remember you swearing up and down and sideways that you’d stolen the cookies, even as the real culprit sat there with crumbs all over his face.”

Sudden, dazzling laughter. “You know too many of my secrets.” He said nothing more on the point, and she let it go—she had to be neutral territory, so either one of them could speak to her without worry of their words going any further.

Instead, she asked about how he was faring so far from home, and listened to all he had to tell. Afterward, she stood there on the balcony and worried. If Lijuan had left behind a final terrible gift, Aodhan was in the epicenter of it. But unlike when he’d been a child, she couldn’t pull him back from a dangerous edge.

“Have you fed?” A booming question from down in the courtyard.

Hand slamming to her heart, she glanced over the edge of the balcony to see a shirtless Titus standing there with his hands on his hips, his head tilted back to look up at her. He appeared suspiciously well-rested, and if the grin on his face was anything to go by, his good humor was restored. She didn’t know why she found that so attractive.

“Shari! I’m waiting!”

“And I’m in a position to drop something on your head!”

Throwing back his head, he laughed. His next words were in her mind, his voice resonant and beautiful. I’m going to eat. Will you join me, or will you throw knives with your tongue?

As she watched, he flew up and to the right of her own balcony. He was beautiful in motion and she flushed when he landed and almost caught her staring. “Sharine?”

“I’m coming.”

Since his rooms were right next to hers and he’d left his door open, she walked in without knocking. She didn’t know what she’d expected of his private quarters, but this entrance section was warm in its embrace, decorated with a huge earthen-colored rug and equally large and comfortable seating.

Nothing had sharp edges except for the weapons he’d mounted on the walls. All were unique, from different times and places. He also had art on those walls, leaning toward paintings that spoke of the vibrant heart of this land. She was drawn to one in particular—ink on textile done in the same tones of earth and sunset that dominated this part of his quarters.

“The art appreciation can wait.” Titus stood in the wide doorway to the balcony, his arms crossed and his lips curved. “Come, Shari, the food will get cold.”

A single glance and she was in danger of a hot flush. Standing there like that, with the light from the courtyard backlighting his body and his skin aglow with health beneath the sleeveless dark brown tunic he’d thrown on, he was the embodiment of fantasies she’d had as a young girl—when she’d still believed in the foolishness of passionate attraction and lived for the thrill of a rapidly beating heart.

In front of her, his expression turned intimate . . . welcoming, and she knew he wouldn’t reject her should she decide to cross the room and rise up on her toes to touch her mouth to his, her hands flush against the muscled ridges of his chest.

Even as her blood turned to honey, she knew it wasn’t just physical, what had taken root between them. The days they’d spent together on the journey to the settlement and back, the hours they’d spent speaking to one another, it had altered their relationship on a fundamental level.

“There’s always time for art appreciation,” she said, but walked toward him—she had to always stay conscious of her propensity to hide inside art. Art was safe. Art didn’t demand. Art didn’t look at you in a way that made embers smolder in your stomach. And art didn’t hurt you in the way people hurt you. “But I am hungry.”

Titus angled his body so she could pass, and though the doorway was wide and he made no attempt to hinder her, she felt buffeted by the wall of strength and heat that was his body. Spine stiff, she took care that her wings didn’t brush him as she walked out.

If she had to be attracted to a man, why did it have to be someone so big and brash and beautiful? It wasn’t any longer about comparing him to Aegaeon. The two might have surface similarities, but she wasn’t foolish—she’d seen the heart of Titus now and that heart was bigger than Aegaeon’s would ever be.

No, it was because of Titus, who he was—this man would leave a mark on her life if she let him in, and Sharine already had far too many scars within. She had to decide if it was worth chancing another for a fleeting slice of pleasure.

I’ve never made promises of forever. Any woman who comes into my arms understands that I offer only pleasure and affection.

Sharine didn’t want forever, wasn’t sure she’d ever again be in a place where she could trust enough to offer her heart. On the flip side, however, she also wasn’t sure she was built for quick dalliances.

How do you know? asked the part of her that had been getting more and more mouthy of late. It’s not as if you’ve ever tried it. Take a risk, dance with Titus. You’re tough enough now to pick up the pieces—if there are any pieces to pick up in the first place.

You’re not who you once were, Sharine. Take the risk.