Jason had paused, taking time to put his thoughts in exactly the right order. The spymaster didn’t waste words, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t have important things to say. Quite the opposite. When Jason spoke, Illium listened.
“If you look at the pattern of her senior recruits over the past half millennia,” Jason had told him, “they were all . . . damaged in ways that made them easy to manipulate. They wanted a path, a being in whom to believe—she used that need to feed her ego while turning them into zealous acolytes no longer capable of independent thought.
“The temples built to her, they didn’t emerge in the century past, or even in the past half millennia. Lijuan allowed her people to worship her long before that—such a desire strikes often in mortals, but most archangels don’t nurture it. Even Michaela nixed mortal plans for a temple to her—not ones to her beauty as exist now, but to her as a goddess.”
“You’ve surprised me with that one, Jason.” Michaela’s vanity was legend. “But then, she turned out a surprise all the way around, didn’t she?” The former Queen of Constantinople had fought with selfless courage in the war, even though she’d recently borne a child, could’ve been excused for taking a back seat.
“Archangels,” Jason had murmured that night, “have as many facets as a gemstone cut by a master artisan.”
“One of Lijuan’s was her comfort at being worshipped.”
“More than comfort, Illium. She wanted her people to view her as an omnipotent force. You could term that mere arrogance, but there were signs of a disturbed mind even then—such as the fact she collected unique pairs of angelic wings.”
“Yes, Ellie told me.” Illium’s skin had chilled at the memory. “She pinned dead angels up like butterflies.” Elena had warned him to never put himself in a vulnerable position with Lijuan. She’ll take you, Bluebell, pin you up on her creepy board.
Tonight, Illium reminded Aodhan of that—and of her other madnesses. “She thought the reborn were life.”
Aodhan stood unmoving, but the wind couldn’t stop itself from riffling his hair, the elements entranced by his beauty. A single butterfly as pale as snow landed softly on his shoulder. “Just because she was mad doesn’t mean she wasn’t also cunning and smart. She might be dead, but there’s a prickling in the air, a sinister energy that whispers at the back of my neck.”
Illium wanted to scoff, but fact was that Aodhan had always had an eerie instinct about such things. As if he was attuned to strands of time and life the rest of them couldn’t access.
No, that wasn’t right. Aodhan had always had an affinity for the natural elements of life, but it was only after his captivity that he’d become sensitized to the darker rivers of existence. Prior to that, he’d attracted butterflies until he turned into living art, laughed at the diminutive birds who perched on his shoulders, and been embarrassed by how much he loved his tiny familiars.
Though the butterflies and birds had never left him, he’d left them for a long time.
Pain slicing at him at the thought of those silent years, Illium turned to look in the other direction. “I’ll keep watch this way so you can focus on that side.”
“I can do it alone.” It was a comment as sharp as the edge of Illium’s sword.
“I know, but I’m here to be your backup.” Words he’d never before had to say aloud; it had always been understood between them that one would watch the back of the other, that they’d pick each other up if they fell, that they’d stand as a united wall against all threats.
Only once had Illium failed . . . but it had been a spectacular failure that led to Aodhan’s devastation. Illium’s gut still churned when he thought about that day, about their stupid fight, about what had happened in the aftermath. And about the silence that had followed. Aodhan’s silence.
24
Yesterday
Aodhan was so proud of Illium. His best friend had just been given the highest honor available to trainees their age—it put him at the top of their class. Had he been an adult, he would’ve held the rank of squadron leader. As it was, he was now First Wing of their training squadron.
It was a big thing, and the trainers had held a small ceremony for it. Their teacher, Jessamy, had come, as had Aodhan’s parents, even Archangel Raphael. But the most critical person in Illium’s life was missing; Aodhan had expected to see sadness in Illium because of that, but instead, when he finally got his friend alone, Illium’s face held only worry.
“My mother’s not having a good day,” he said, turning his head in the direction of his home. “She’s somewhere else today. Healer Keir is with her. I didn’t want her alone.”
“I’m sorry, Blue. I know you wanted her here.”
“She was so excited about me becoming First Wing.” Illium’s hand clenched around the small pin he’d been given as part of the honor. “When she realizes that she missed it . . . it’ll make her so sad, Adi.” His eyes shining wet, he swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to fix that.”
Aodhan’s chest got all tight. He couldn’t bear it when Illium was sad. “I have an idea,” he said. “Wait here.” He left his friend in the company of two other trainees who’d run over to congratulate him—no one was jealous of Illium gaining the honor. No one was ever angry at Illium. He was everyone’s friend, often helped others better their skills—and they all knew how hard he worked.
Aodhan’s Blue put in twice the hours as most trainees.
It took Aodhan a bit of time to twist and duck and make his way close to Raphael, and then he had to stand off to the side until the archangel noticed him. Youngsters didn’t go up and interrupt archangels while they were in conversation. But Raphael turned to him far quicker than he’d anticipated.
“Aodhan,” he murmured, after excusing himself from his discussion with a senior trainer. “Where is Lady Sharine?”
Raphael was one of the few people who used Eh-ma’s name. Most people called her the Hummingbird. “She’s away,” Aodhan said, knowing Raphael would understand. “Illium is sad because her heart will break when she realizes she missed this.”
Raphael’s eyes darkened, and he brushed his fingers over Aodhan’s hair. “He’s too young to have such worries on his shoulders.”
“I was thinking,” Aodhan blurted out because he could see someone else heading this way, no doubt wanting Raphael’s attention, “that when she’s better, you could come and present him with his pin again, and we could pretend it was the ceremony?”
The intense, dangerous blue of Raphael’s eyes pierced Aodhan, the power that burned off him an incandescent heat. “I do not believe in lies, Aodhan,” Raphael said at last, “but there are some lies that are told to save a heart. So we will do this so Lady Sharine’s heart doesn’t break.”