“That first love is a small madness.” Haunted echoes in his voice. “For some, it leads to a bond indestructible. For others, it ignites fast and fades as quickly. This shows all the hallmarks of the latter. Leave him be to make that discovery himself rather than turning yourself into an enemy of his love. Be there for him when his heart breaks.”
Aodhan had followed Dmitri’s advice, gritting his teeth and staying quiet whenever Illium mooned over Kaia. What he’d never expected was that he’d have to be there for Illium because he’d breached such a fundamental law that it gave Raphael no choice but to punish him with utmost harshness.
“Are you grounded, too?” To not be permitted to fly, to miss his squadron training, it would hit Illium where it hurt him the most.
A sharp bark of laughter. “He’s taking my feathers. It’s what I deserve.”
Aodhan swallowed hard. The taking of an angel’s feathers by an archangel was just one step below total excision of healthy wings. The impact of the process would leave Illium with translucent wings that, unlike an infant’s, could be spread and stretched—and that were hauntingly beautiful when opened in the light, a shimmering mirage of flight.
Only a member of the Cadre was capable of doling out the punishment—which, despite the visual impact and painful surface burns, caused no serious damage to the underlying wing structure. So it was another mercy that Raphael was doing Illium. But an angel wasn’t designed for featherless flight; to lose your feathers was to lose your wings.
Aodhan didn’t know how long it’d take for Illium’s extraordinary feathers to return, how long his friend would be tied to the earth. Despite his question, however, part of him had known this was coming; he’d just hoped for leniency. But Raphael had already shown the greatest possible leniency by allowing Illium’s lover to live.
Not many of the Cadre would have been that kind.
Aodhan was happy for that mercy for Illium’s sake, but he worried at the repercussions. He knew Illium. As soon as he healed, he’d be unable to stop himself from going back to the village to watch over his lover from a distance.
That was how Illium was about his loves—he held on to them with teeth and claws. It made him capable of a depth of loyalty rare and precious, but it also left him wide open to devastation.
Today, that devastation was a gray rain that washed all the color from Aodhan’s best friend. Heart aching for him, Aodhan sat in the cold and held him, and let him talk. Then he flew beside Illium as he made his way back to Raphael for the final part of his punishment. Aodhan was the only witness, for Raphael would never make Illium’s chastisement a public spectacle.
As long as he lived, Aodhan would never forget the searing flash of archangelic power, the voiceless agony on Illium’s face, the dragonfly shimmer of wings gone translucent before they blazed red from the burn . . . or the carpet of wild blue left behind in the aftermath. Neither would he forget how hard Raphael embraced Illium once it was done, the archangel’s eyes glittering with rage and sorrow.
33
Today
After leaving Li Wei and her team safe within the stronghold, Aodhan flew a grid over the thick forest between it and the hamlet, his eyes trained on the landscape below—though he never lost track of his aerial surroundings. Lijuan still had many angelic admirers in this land.
The wind was cool over his wings, the sky darker with every moment that passed—but when he looked in the direction Illium had gone, he was still able to pinpoint the dot of blue that traced a grid in the sky. Illium was a dancer in the air even in so repetitive and routine a task; it was a pleasure to watch him fly.
As a child, he’d always tried to teach Aodhan the tricks he could do in the air. Aodhan, in turn, had tried to teach him how to draw the lines and shapes that came naturally to his hand. Illium had produced enthusiastic blotches on canvas—and Aodhan had tangled his wings more than once while attempting fancy flying tricks.
They’d laughed hysterically at each other’s failures, but it had been a laughter without malice, the kind of laughter shared between fast friends. Soon enough, they’d understood that their abilities were divergent and couldn’t be shared—and so had switched to supporting each other’s efforts.
Aodhan had turned up to all of Illium’s flying contests and races, and Illium had attended every showing of Aodhan’s art—where he’d once talked up a painting with such enthusiasm that it had ended up being bought by an angel of old who’d once shared a bottle of honey wine with Gadriel himself.
In the distance, the dot of blue halted, hovered.
What do you see? Aodhan asked.
Something we need to explore—but I don’t think we should do it in darkness.
Aodhan frowned. Phone flashlights?
You really were paying attention when I gave you phone lectures. Yes, that should work for a while.
I’ll finish the sweep on this side, then join you. There was no point in leaving things half-done when that might mean their mouse fled through the hole.
But he found nothing, and twenty minutes later, was hovering beside Illium, night on the horizon. There was just enough light to reveal the face of a short, squat pillar that looked a bit “off.” It took him a minute to work out why. “There’s no moss or other greenery growing in a pattern that looks like the outline of a door.”
“Good to know I’m not seeing things,” Illium murmured. “I think our hopes of a human psycho were premature and are about to be dashed.” He withdrew his sword from the sheath on his back, the sound a quiet slide.
Aodhan left his dual blades on his back, and they landed together in silence as night fell in a pitch-black curtain. Though he’d mentioned the phones, he wreathed his hand in light instead. That part of his ability had always been brighter than Illium’s for one simple reason—any light near Aodhan was multiplied many times over by his skin, his hair, even his eyes.
It was why he so often wore long sleeves even when around people who never made a mistake and forgot his aversion to touch. The coverage made him a little less like a streak of white fire in the sky. But today, he’d pushed up his sleeves as he landed, and so the light bounced off the skin of his arms to throw a glow around them.
“Way better than a phone flashlight.” Illium grinned before crouching down; the kitten, who’d climbed up to sit on his shoulder, stayed quiet. “Signs of recent movement.”
The dirt was rucked up, the small plants crushed.
“Could be an animal,” Illium added as he rose to his feet, “but I don’t think so, not with the door to nightmares right there.”
“I’ve always liked how you think positive.”
A snort of laughter that actually sounded real, sounded like Aodhan’s Illium. “Sparkle, there’s thinking positive, and then there’s suicidal mania. I have the sword, I go first.”