Wild blue below him, Illium silent about his leisurely pace.
That heart of his. Rescuing kittens, befriending mortals . . . protecting Aodhan.
At times, Aodhan wondered how Illium could survive immortality with such a vulnerable heart. At the same time, he knew that very heart was why Illium would always be the best friend he’d ever have. To the people he loved, Bluebell gave everything. Too much. Until there was nothing left for himself. Honestly, the man needed a keeper, one willing to put Illium first.
A small sharp sound from the boy, but when Aodhan looked down, it was to see no panic on his thin face, only a twisted kind of pain entwined with wonder. Aodhan understood, spoke to assuage his agony.
“Angelic wings can recover even after being fully removed.” From all outward appearances, the boy didn’t have a congenital issue, as with Jessamy. His wings were simply weak from lack of use, and clipped. Aodhan had seen the scars on the wingtips that indicated a partial amputation, the removal of all hope of flight.
The boy met his gaze, pearl-gray eyes flat and distrustful.
“Illium—the blue-winged angel below—lost his wings in battle not long ago. I have images of him without wings.” Aodhan would’ve hated those images, hated the idea of his Bluebell being grounded, had Illium not been posing in a flamboyant cape and matching top hat, a glittering walking stick in hand.
The pictures had made Aodhan grin even when he’d been furious at Illium. In those photos, he’d seen more courage than most would ever understand. Not only had Illium been recovering from grievous wounds at the time, he’d been reeling from the reappearance of his asshole of a father. And still, he’d refused to be anyone but Illium.
Wild, open of heart, and quick of wit.
Snow fell on the boy’s face, but he didn’t brush off the flakes, his eyes trained on Aodhan. It reminded Aodhan of how young Sameon, one of the little angels at the Refuge, looked at him at times. With the rapt attention of a child being told a tale.
So Aodhan kept on speaking.
“You’re hundreds of years younger than Illium. As a result, your recovery will take longer.” False hope could be more damaging than harsh truth. At the start of his captivity, Aodhan had clung to the hope that he could build up his strength and escape. Then his captors had brutalized him. Again and again.
It had broken a piece of him in the end.
“You’ll also have to build up your strength in the aftermath,” he said. “Even Illium had to do that,” he pointed out as they overflew the hamlet.
The boy’s head twisted without warning, his gaze trained downward. Small, mewling sounds erupted from his throat, one hand trying to reach downward.
A chill breath on Aodhan’s neck. Illium, do you see what he’s doing?
The blue-winged angel looked up, a dusting of snow on his hair and lashes. Shit. He knows the settlement and he wants what’s down there.
Stomach churning, Aodhan flew on. In his arms, the boy twisted to stare back at the settlement until the curtain of snow blanked it from view. Small, heartbreaking sounds of loss escaped his mouth—sounds that were eerie and unsettling, given for what he seemed to mourn.
The lights of the stronghold came into focus right as the snow picked up in ferocity; he saw movement in the east wing, efficient silhouettes against the windows. I’ve told Li Wei to keep her people in the east wing and make sure the kitten remains with them.
He landed, keeping his wings outstretched to protect the boy from the heavy precipitation. Li Wei says Kai was in the kitchen preparing food for us. I’ve told her she can remain, but that she is not to leave the area until we give her the all-clear. It won’t be difficult to keep the child away from her.
He’d expected a strong reaction from Illium on the subject of Kai’s safety, but, shoving his snow-dusted hair back from his face, Illium just nodded. His attention was on the child.
Who screamed and began to twist and claw for freedom the instant Aodhan stepped inside the walls of the stronghold. Crushing him tight to his own body, Aodhan walked quickly into the spacious, high-ceilinged living space that Suyin had used to gather with her people.
He put the panicked boy down by the huge wall of windows that overlooked the front courtyard where they’d landed. “You’re not trapped underground.” He kept his hands on those bony shoulders. “You can get out at any time.” That wasn’t quite true, not given what they suspected he’d done, but it was true enough in that this place was no coffin cut off from light.
Illium was already unlatching one of the windows.
The child shot a suspicious look Aodhan’s way before darting over to the window and sticking his hand outside. He jerked it back after a few seconds, stared at the snow on his palm. Did the same thing three more times before he exhaled.
With the breath went the primal fear in his expression.
And when Aodhan asked him his name, he answered in a sweet, clear voice. “Zhou Jinhai.”
* * *
* * *
Illium ducked into the kitchen while Aodhan stood beside the boy and spoke in a calm tone that seemed to near-hypnotize Jinhai.
Kai beamed at him from behind the large stone bench on which she was putting together a tray. “I haven’t had a chance to make a more substantial meal,” she began, but Illium shook his head.
“This is fine for now.” His neck prickled at the idea of leaving Aodhan out there alone with the boy. Because, though a child Jinhai might be—and while Illium wanted to find him innocent—he had to accept that there was a high chance of him being a deadly threat.
After picking up the tray, he said, “You can head back to the rest of the staff.” It’d be easier if he and Aodhan didn’t have to worry about her. “Smoke?”
“I left her with Li Wei.” A smile in her eyes, Kai touched the knot of her apron. “I don’t mind staying here.”
“Thank you, but we really need to focus on the situation.” His entire body strained to be back beside Aodhan. “It could be dangerous for you to be nearby—we’ll have to divide our attention.”
It seemed to take her forever to remove her apron. “Perhaps after we are at the coastal citadel,” she said, putting it on the counter, “you will have time to share a mug of mead with me?” There it was, that sweet boldness that reminded him so much of Kaia.
But where such an invitation from his long-dead lover would’ve caused him to blush and acquiesce, all he felt today was a wave of irritation. He’d given her a clear overview of the security situation, yet she continued to try to flirt. That didn’t, however, give him leave to be harsh with her—not when she’d only made the invitation because he’d flirted with her first. Not much. But enough.