I shall destroy the ship and its crew, Aegaeon said after the last pickup.
There’s no need, Neha replied. I wiped their memories. They know only that they have been ordered by their archangel to return to base and renew their supplies. Better to leave no ripple here, not even the small one caused by the loss of a trawler.
Raphael knew his hunter would be horrified by Neha’s unilateral choice, but those mortals could now live out their lives in safety. This secret was too huge, too deadly.
It had been decided they would embargo the entire area of the grave for fifty miles in every direction. No ships or flyers. As a final act, they would brand the crypt with each of their sigils.
No one in the world was suicidal enough to take on the entire Cadre.
Elijah, whose territory was nearest the ice island, would have his most trusted squadron fly regular patrols over that area, ensure Antonicus stayed undisturbed. Titus was farther, but he would also send out irregular patrols to make certain no one became complacent and decided to encroach on the graveyard.
With so many of them, the crypt was built by nightfall. They burned their sigils into the metal walls in silence. After his ascension, Raphael had chosen a simple marker for his name in the angelic tongue as his sigil, but he’d altered that to include Elena in the months after they fell, while he waited for her to wake.
The marker for his name now twined around a dagger.
Aegaeon sneered. “You broadcast your heart’s weakness.”
“The world knows well what I feel for my Elena, and I would not hide it.” His words held cold judgment, but Aegaeon was too drunk on his own belief in himself to sense it.
Caliane was the last one to burn in her sigil. “It is done.”
Eleven archangels rose up in silence from a grave that should not exist.
Cassandra’s voice rang in Raphael’s head, an echo from the final moments before he’d released the power that had shattered the chrysalis.
The future aligns. Paths are chosen. Death comes.
Such death, child of flames.
Goddess of Nightmare. Wraith without a shadow. Rising into her Reign of Death.
Wings of silver. Wings of blue.
Mortal heart. Broken dreams.
Shatter. Shatter. Shatter.
A sundering.
A grave.
I see the end. I see . . .
Was this the grave Cassandra had foretold? Or would there be more? How many of the Cadre and the awakened ones would be alive by the time this ended?
45
Elena hugged the Hummingbird, inhaling the gentle love that was her scent. “Are you sure you want us to go?” she asked after drawing back. “We can stay longer.”
“Ah, child.” The Hummingbird smiled. “I feel you missing my boy who did not come from my womb. I am quite capable of being left to my own devices.” She glanced at Illium, who stood on the far edge of the roof having a low-voiced conversation with Aodhan.
He didn’t look happy but he didn’t shrug off Aodhan’s touch when the other angel closed his hand over Illium’s nape. His wings opened and closed restlessly, his jaw set in a rigid line.
“Care for him.” The Hummingbird’s voice was a melody of sorrow that tangled Elena’s heart in melancholy chains. “My boy’s heart loves too much and it hurts too much when it is broken.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him. Raphael’s ordered Aodhan home, too.” She returned her attention to the Hummingbird. “I never realized how strong you were, Lady Sharine, and I’m sorry for that. This week has taught me to never again underestimate you.”
“You are flattering me, but I will accept it.” A sparkle infiltrating the sadness, she dusted something off Elena’s shoulder. “Thank you for indulging my need to get my anger out with knives. I know I am no warrior. I am also not who I once was . . . and my son, he has had a ghost for a mother for too long. It is enough.”
The Hummingbird’s beautiful pale eyes, champagne held up to moonlight, yet had an ethereal quality, as if she saw beyond the veil, but in her voice was determination. “I never thought I would thank Aegaeon for anything, but I will thank him for the roar of rage that woke me up from my own long Sleep.”
While the Hummingbird went to speak to Illium and Aodhan, Elena looked out over the village and thought of how different it felt from when she’d last been here—people still flinched when they spotted wings, but they recovered quickly and many offered hesitant smiles.
If she walked with the Hummingbird, there was no flinch, only joy and adoration. Children ran to Lady Sharine with flowers clutched in their tiny, pudgy hands, while adults bowed down low when she passed, though she was not an angel to demand such things. She would take the children’s sticky hands in hers and walk with them as she spoke to their parents. At times, she would touch the shoulder of a villager who had bowed, and ask them about their day.
The people of this village bowed not because they feared her, but because they loved her.
The Hummingbird’s warrior squadrons were treated with respect and awe. She had chosen each warrior herself, from among the armies of the Cadre, and not one angel or vampire chosen had demurred at serving for a time in what was considered an unexciting post devoid of risk or danger.
Fear hadn’t yet totally evaporated from the village, but it was no longer a noxious miasma in the air and she thought if she returned in another six months, it might be to clear air. These people were learning that they could trust angelkind not to be cruel and capricious and ugly of heart.
Such cruel angels existed in the world, always would, but not here. Not anymore.
“Ellie, it’s time.” Illium’s face was sullen, an expression she’d never before seen on him.
The Hummingbird cupped his face in her hands. “Will you not smile at your mother before you go?” When Illium continued to look surly, his mother leaned in close. “I promise you I will not be a ghost again—you do not need to worry. Do not forget that despite all his power, I won the race.”
Illium’s eyes widened. “You remember?” A rough question.
“I am waking, my sweet boy.” Tugging down his head, she kissed him on the forehead before rolling something off her wrist. “Wear this and remember who I once was. I will become her again.”
Illium held out his hand on a hard swallow, and his mother got the stretchy bracelet over his larger hand and onto his wrist. The wooden beads were far more separated out on his wrist, but it looked like the strap was strong and would hold.
Illium hugged his mother, wrapping her up in his wings and holding on for a long time, his face tight in a paroxysm of hope. Afterward, he said, “You’ll call if you need me?”