Then they were landing in what appeared to be a central courtyard, the pavings of a lighter stone than the walls of Lumia, the plantings around the courtyard simple grasses kept ruthlessly in control.
Alexander and Xander were already down; Valerius landed beside Aodhan. When the general held out his forearm in the way of warriors, Raphael felt Elena tense, touched her gently on the back. It is no attempt at one-upmanship or insult, but rather the opposite, he said to her. Given the gap in their ages, Valerius likely isn’t aware of Aodhan’s abhorrence for touch.
Aodhan didn’t hesitate. He responded by clasping his hand over the gauntlet that covered the general’s forearm, while the general did the same, his hand closing over Aodhan’s leather gauntlet. Only someone who knew Aodhan really well would’ve caught the stiffness of his wings, the relief that colored his eyes when the contact ended.
“Consort.” Alexander came over just as Elena finished unzipping the sides of the bottom half of her dress enough to permit her free movement. “Allow me to officially introduce my grandson. Xander, this is Elena.”
The young male’s smile was shy and it did put Raphael in mind of Izak, or Izzy as Elena called him.
“Consort.” Xander bowed his head low as befit a youth of his age in the presence of an archangelic consort; the fact he was an Ancient’s grandson made no difference. Warriors earned their own standing and Raphael knew Alexander well enough to understand that the Ancient would expect nothing less from his blood.
Even Rohan, his beloved son, had gone through the same training as any young soldier. When he made general, it had been through his own skill and efforts.
“Xander.” Elena held out her forearm.
The young male seemed stunned for a second before he responded to clasp her forearm. “You honor me.”
Elena grinned. “Finally, someone who sees my greatness.” The laughing dryness of her tone made even Alexander’s lips curve up.
Elena had just released Xander’s forearm, the youth even more in her thrall if his expression was anything to go by, when Luminata whispered out of the walls around them.
10
“A well-executed illusion,” Raphael said to his consort, his voice low enough that it would reach only her.
Her eyes narrowed. “They’re good at it,” she replied at the same volume. “I didn’t hear or glimpse them until they wanted to be noticed.” She brushed her wing over his, the barest contact to slide under the radar of those who might be watching. I don’t know what these Luminata have convinced angelkind is their purpose and aim, but they move like they have combat training. “I’m starting to think they’re more warrior monks than philosophers on the road to enlightenment.”
Raphael had to agree with her now that he’d seen the way the Luminata moved, the grace in their bodies, the contained strength beneath the pale, golden brown robes that covered them neck to toe. Including over their wings. That was extraordinary—no angel liked his wings confined.
However, when a light wind lifted the hem of one of the robes, he saw that the robe was in three sections at the back. The fabric was heavy enough not to part over the wings in ordinary movement, but should one of the Luminata wish to fly, they could snap out their wings without problem. Despite that, the effect was subtly disturbing to an angel. Not only did their silhouettes appear misshapen, but they were covering so much of what defined their identity.
Their heads were currently uncovered, but Raphael could see the hoods that lay on their backs, between the covered arches of their wings. Once pulled up, those hoods would shadow their faces, turning individuals into the anonymous many.
That, he realized, was the aim.
And while such anonymity might’ve made sense in a mortal monastery, it didn’t here, with immortals all over a millennia old. Each of them was very much an individual, and nothing Raphael knew of the Luminata suggested they advocated conformity of thought. The path to luminescence, as explained to him, had always been a journey done by one alone, though other Luminata might provide guidance or support.
“Welcome.” The word was spoken by a strikingly handsome man of medium height with eyes of a pale green almost as arresting as Aodhan’s shattered gaze, and hair of a thick, shining brown that was echoed in his primary feathers, the male’s wings otherwise pure white—because of all the Luminata in the courtyard, he alone did not wear a robe designed to hide his wings.
Elsewise, he was dressed identically to the others.
“I am Gian.” His skin shone a flawless cool white in the sunshine. “My brothers do me the honor of calling me Luminata.”
You didn’t say this was a male-only deal.
I did not know, Raphael responded, taking note when Gian’s eyes lingered on Elena for a beat too long—it could be simple curiosity about a new consort, but Raphael took nothing for granted. Angelkind rarely breaks along gender lines. Any demarcation is usually tied to age and power.
“I am glad to have you here,” Gian said. “Please, let us show you to your rooms so that you may refresh yourself.” His smile appeared to hold the purest serenity, as if he was no longer quite on the same plane of existence. “Favashi and Neha arrived an hour earlier, and I’m told that Caliane’s wings have been spotted on the horizon. The others cannot be far behind.”
He swept his hand gently to the left, the movement as graceful as a perfectly balanced sword curving through the air. “My brothers will guide you. Please take no offense that I do not do so myself—I must remain here to welcome the remainder of the Cadre.”
There is a strange peace in listening to him. Aodhan’s voice in Raphael’s mind, the sensation of color and light accompanying the words a mental echo of his physical form.
Yes. A strange peace is a good description, Raphael replied, just as Elena said, That guy is spooky. Not creepy. Spooky.
Raphael waited to respond until they were following their silent escort down an open outdoor corridor, light pouring in through the curved openings on either side that showcased the astonishing beauty of the landscape around Lumia. What is the difference between spooky and creepy?
Creepy is Lijuan. No further explanation was forthcoming—or needed. Spooky can go either way. You know that holy man I met? He was so much at peace that he was spooky. Like he’d become something different from all the rest of us on this planet. But on the flip side, spooky can mean a seriously dangerous mind—just because a person’s not part of this world doesn’t mean the world he is part of isn’t a whackjob nutso place.
Do you believe the latter of Gian?
A small shrug. Got no reason to—honestly, I’d have been a little disappointed if immortal monks turned out to be normal. Have to expect a little spookiness of people who consciously isolate themselves for centuries or millennia, their goal so elusive it must be like trying to find a dream.