Aodhan had become so used to standing on that foundation that he’d forgotten to rebuild and strengthen his own—and he’d blamed Illium for it. He needed to apologize for that part of it. The blame was equally his. He’d allowed Illium to take the reins, allowed him to pave the way, allowed him to be Aodhan’s shield against the world. That was on him.
But Illium had made his own mistakes. He hadn’t listened when Aodhan tried to speak, hadn’t accepted that his healing was done, that he no longer needed a keeper. Aodhan’s jaw tightened even as he picked up his finest brush to add in the details of Illium’s crouching form.
In this image, everything was as it should be, their friendship unbroken by time or atrocity or pain. But life moved on. To stagnate was to die.
Aodhan knew that better than anyone.
11
Yesterday
Sharine held one small hand in each of hers. She was holding on far too tight, but it was necessary for the two mischievous monkeys in her grasp. Honestly, she was giving serious thought to putting a leash on each of them—if Illium was naughty on his own, add in his quiet little accomplice and dear Sleeping Ancestors!
“He has never made mischief before,” Aodhan’s mother had murmured the last time around, after Sharine’d had to deliver Aodhan home with clumps of tar in his beautiful hair. She’d wanted to clip it, but hadn’t felt she had the authority.
In truth, Sharine wouldn’t have been surprised had Menerva decided against allowing Aodhan to play with Illium—though Sharine would’ve pled the boys’ case. Yes, they got into mischief, but it was never anything mean or more than what could be expected of two smart little angels.
But Menerva had given her a small, shaky smile. “Rukiel and I used to worry that we’d stunted our son’s development by taking him so far from all other angels his age. He’s such a serious little man.”
Affection in her gaze as she watched Aodhan sit glum-faced on a garden bench a little distance from them—but mingled with the affection was a sense of bewilderment. “I never expected to conceive a child so many hundreds of years after my first. I had settled into the next age of my life.”
“I can but imagine your astonishment.” The strange thing was that Sharine was far, far older than either of Aodhan’s parents, but she’d been revived by Illium’s birth. Menerva and Rukiel, in contrast, seemed perpetually perplexed by having a little angel in their vicinity—as Menerva had put it, they’d settled into an age of contemplation and scholarship, and for so long that they couldn’t alter course after Aodhan’s birth.
That day, Menerva had turned to Sharine, a touch of desperation in her tone. “But we love him. Never doubt that.”
“I don’t, Menerva. Of course I don’t.” Sharine had taken the other woman’s hand, held it in both of hers. “And you don’t have to worry about his development. He acts exactly as a boy his age should.”
A look of gratitude from the fair-haired angel. “Do you mind his continuing friendship with your son? I know they are naughty together, but Aodhan makes friends so rarely that I would not get in the way of it.”
“They are naughty,” Sharine had agreed, “but they’re also very good for one another. The way they encourage each other, it is a joy to watch.” She’d squeezed Menerva’s hand. “I think our boys will be just fine if we set them on the right path.”
Which was why Sharine was today taking the two miscreants to school, to make sure they got started on that path. “Aodhan, you’re technically too young, but Jessamy is happy for you to join in. The school has a morning session once a week for littles where the teacher tells stories, then the students play games.”
“We play games,” Illium said, a pugnacious look on his face.
Aodhan nodded firmly.
“These games involve more than just two players. They’re about making more friends and having fun together.” She didn’t worry about Illium—her boy could talk to anyone. He already knew and played with most of the Refuge children. By the time Illium became a man, he’d no doubt have friends from one end of the globe to the other.
He’d gotten that from Aegaeon, she thought, a kind of wild charisma that swept everyone up in its wake. Illium’s charm, however, was far kinder and without arrogance. But then, he was only a babe.
Aodhan, however, was like Sharine. Withdrawn around strangers, reticent with new people. Not that he was shy. He knew his mind, could speak it. Illium might’ve made the first move in their friendship, but Aodhan had chosen to accept the overture.
She’d heard them argue over decisions on what to play, which way to walk, and Aodhan never simply gave way. He won his fair share of battles. Theirs, she’d been pleased to see, was no uneven balance, but a true friendship of equals.
Now Aodhan looked at her with big eyes. “My friend, Blue.”
“Yes. You’ll always be friends with Illium. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have other friends.”
“Adi, my friend,” Illium said in his most stubborn tone of voice, his little forehead scrunched up darkly.
Oh dear. It looked like her son had inherited a possessive nature, too. From whom, she wasn’t quite sure. Neither of his parents held on to one another. Perhaps she could find a grandsire to blame. Be that as it may, she’d have to watch him to make sure he didn’t accidentally stifle Aodhan’s attempts to make other friends.
Yes, Aodhan could stand his ground, but she wasn’t sure he would when it came to making more friends. He had one true friend, and that was enough for him. Sharine understood. She had one true friend, too—that Caliane Slept at this time and place made no difference to their bond. But she was an adult, and she did have other friends who weren’t as close to her as Caliane.
No, she’d make it a point to tell Jessamy to put the boys into different groups for games. Else, they’d pair up, demolish everyone else, and not widen their circle.
12
Today
Not counting the Tower, Illium had attended meals at the court of more than one archangel. The most recent had been at Titus’s. His “stepfather” had threatened to deck him if Illium called him that one more time, while his mother smiled in a way that was dazzling sunshine full of humor.
For that alone, Illium would’ve loved Titus. But the archangel had many things to commend him—chief among which was how he treated his warriors. Never were they expendable to Titus. The Archangel of Africa valued each and every person in his forces and was known to take the time to train with even his most junior squadrons.
Of course, he did believe Illium too young to have so much power.
“You need seasoning, boy!” he’d boomed, slapping Illium on the back. “There’s a reason ascension happens at a certain age.”