Archangel's Heart

44

“If we have made mistakes,” Donael said into the dangerous quiet, “we are happy to mend our ways. If the Cadre says the Gallery should be open to all angelkind, then it will be opened.”

“That is the problem, Donael,” Astaad said, his fingers stroking his goatee. “The Luminata should have come to that conclusion themselves. What is the goal of luminescence if not wisdom?”

Elena wanted to speak so badly that she could feel the words shoving at her throat, but she’d learned a few things about angelic politics in the time since she’d become Raphael’s consort. Her voice could well work against her interests—many of the Cadre still viewed her as too mortal to understand immortal concerns.

She held her silence. For now.

“You set yourself up as rulers in my territory,” Charisemnon said, his eyes hot with a rage that had never died down. “How do you excuse this?”

Donael bowed low again. “There is no excuse.”

“Pretty words.” Michaela’s green eyes glowed as if backlit. “You are one of the oldest and most respected men here, and yet you expect us to believe you did not know of your brethren’s traitorous actions?”

“I focused too deep on my own luminescence,” Donael said, apology in every line of his body. “I let Gian and his coterie run things because it was easier than arguing and because it permitted me to walk the path without distractions.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Elena muttered under her breath, “he’s as culpable as Gian.”

Wildfire blue eyes met hers. “I agree, Guild Hunter. But we must let this run through—there are certain rules to be observed.”

“That is akin to a general leaving his troops in the care of a lower-ranked soldier,” Titus said, folding his arms across his massive chest, his muscles bulging under the cream-colored linen of his shirt. That color reflected the feathers at the inner curve of his left wing, before they darkened slowly into a golden honey shade at the primaries, the change so gradual that it was impossible to say where one color ended and the other began.

His right wing was the opposite: golden honey at the inner curve, flowing out into pure cream primaries.

“The Gallery is a custom-built construction that has survived countless earth shakes, storms, and rains,” Favashi pointed out, dismissing Donael without a word. “Should it survive this storm, there is no need to destroy it even if we erase the Luminata.”

“Agreed.” That came from every one of the Cadre.

The Luminata, meanwhile, were beginning to turn a little green—and Donael no longer looked so confident in his self-appointed role as speaker for the sect. But he spoke again. “We cannot all be blamed for the actions of the few.”

Alexander stirred. “He is correct in one respect. We should separate the ones who truly seek luminescence from the ones who are here only because Lumia provides them a safe haven from angelic law.”

“Elijah,” Raphael said. “The mortal women we discovered, we need to speak to them.”

“I will fetch them,” Hannah said and disappeared from the room in a sweep of wings, to return a bare minute later, Josette and Sahar having clearly been stashed nearby.

The two were dressed in simple but exquisite gowns that must’ve come from Hannah, their hair braided neatly. Fear made their faces stark, their movements ragged as they followed Hannah to stand between her and Elijah.

“Can you identify the Luminata who visited you?” Hannah asked without prompting.

The women trembled.

“No harm will come to you.” It was Michaela who spoke. “You have the promise of the Cadre.”

Josette’s amber eyes met Elena’s at that instant. Elena gave her a slight nod.

“Yes,” the Frenchwoman whispered. “I know the ones who came to me.” She named them one by one. “I was willing,” she added in fairness. “They said I could go afterward.”

Space appeared around certain Luminata as their brethren drew away in a whisper of robes.

Finishing her list, Josette whispered to Sahar, who nodded and, standing up straight, began to recite her own list. “Two don’t give name, say to call him ‘Master.’” Her descriptions of those two were very precise.

More spaces opened up.

In the end, the women marked twelve Luminata, not counting Gian—who appeared to have saved his sadism for Majda and Jean-Baptiste.

Faces holding no arrogance now, nothing but terror, the twelve marked men obeyed an order to join their leader, all going down on their knees, heads bowed.

“We strayed off the path,” one whispered. “Please forgive us.”

Elena recognized that rough voice. Gervais. The man who had referred to the Luminata’s victims as “sluts and toys.” Gritting her teeth, she gripped Raphael’s hand hard to keep herself from stabbing the bastard right through his lying mouth.

Blood spurted from his mouth in the next instant.

Elena jerked, wondering if she had thrown the knife. Then his eyes began to bleed, as did his ears. She didn’t know which archangel in the circle had done that, but as his body fell twitching to the floor, his brethren began to beg for mercy.

“Silence!” Alexander’s voice filled the air, cutting off all other sound. “I do not care for mortal concerns except in my own territory,” he said, “but I care that vampires were Made without permission, that immortals were murdered, and that the Luminata believe themselves beyond all oversight. That ends today.”

“First,” Caliane murmured, “we must dig out every piece of the rot. Thirteen alone could not have done this.” She began to sing, a haunting, beautiful song that brought tears to Elena’s eyes and had Majda and Jean-Baptiste clinging to each other.

The most interesting affect, however, was on the Luminata.

A number seemed compelled to drag themselves to join their marked brethren, some literally crawling there on their hands and knees as they fought the pull, their faces distorted into a mask of horror as Caliane stripped away their free will.

For the first time, Elena couldn’t bring herself to care. These men had stolen others’ free will; the punishment suited the crime.

Caliane stopped singing when the group in the center had grown to twenty-seven and no other Luminata crawled forward. “These are the ones who abused and murdered mortals, and who killed the vampires and angels who would not look the other way.” She flicked out a hand and twenty-six bodies, including Gervais’s yet-twitching form, turned to ash under the searing white of her power.

Gian stared unblinking at where his brethren had knelt.

“You may not care about mortal concerns outside your lands, Alex,” Caliane murmured, “but I have always believed that we rule only if we prove ourselves rulers.”

Heart thunder in her ears, Elena swallowed to wet a dry throat. Jesus, Raphael. Your mother doesn’t play games.

She is too old for it. Pure ruthlessness in his tone. And her song does not lie.

Oh, I’m not sorry the bastards are dead.

“There is a second layer of rot,” Elijah said into the stunned silence.

“Yes. The ones that knew and did nothing, though they did not participate.” The Archangel of India looked around at the Cadre. “We must make certain decisions.”

Whatever happened next, it wasn’t vocalized, but Elena could feel the violent energy in the air as the Cadre spoke mind to mind. It was Caliane who pronounced the judgment. “The Cadre is agreed. Lumia will continue to exist, as will the Luminata.”

No one shuddered in relief, well aware the hammer was yet to fall.

“Only Luminata who have joined the sect in the past fifty years are permitted to remain—we judge that these novices are apt to be untainted by corruption and offer the best hope for Lumia’s future. The rest are exiled forever from Lumia.”

Donael fell to his knees, his face crumpling into near-tears. “Mercy, my lady.”

Caliane’s eyes held no pity. “If you are a true seeker, you do not need Lumia. You will find luminescence on a rocky mountaintop or on sandy soil or in a ragged hut in the forest. You do not need the comforts of this place.”

It was a harsh judgment.

“There is no appeal,” Charisemnon added, his tone unbending.

“And,” Alexander said, “Lumia will now be under direct Cadre oversight, watched over by a group formed of angels and vampires from each of our territories. The private guard will be disbanded.”

“As for the charge given to the Luminata to call the Cadre to meet,” Neha said, “you still hold this charge for it is unlikely the issue will come up again in the near future. By the time it does, it is the Cadre’s hope that the Luminata will be back on the right path.”

Raphael, the townspeople. We made a promise.

Trust me, Elena-mine.

Always. With not just her life, but the lives of all those she loved.

There were a number of other comments by the Cadre. It was as things appeared to be winding down that Raphael spoke. “We cannot leave the situation with the town as it is.”

“Not all of us have a soft spot for mortals,” Michaela said with silken venomousness.

Thank God, Elena thought to herself. Michaela had been acting a little too likable. Good to know she was still a bitch.

“It is a town only of mortals.”

That fact caused several frowns.

“An imbalance that could spread.” Alexander looked at Caliane.

His fellow Ancient nodded. “Such an imbalance has led to mass bloodshed in the past. When you isolate a group of prey, it is an invitation to a certain class of vampires.”

“You are the one who saw the problem,” Astaad said to Raphael. “Do you see a solution?”

“That the vampires and angels who are to guard and oversee Lumia make their homes in town. There is no need for them to stay in the barracks—whatever rules the Luminata created of late, it was never custom that the guards also take vows of celibacy.”

Alexander laughed, the sound echoing inside the Atrium. “I know for a fact none of my warriors would’ve ever volunteered for guard duty had that been a requirement.”

“Charisemnon,” Raphael said, “do you particularly desire to rule the town? It will mean extra work for you in comparison to the rest of us.”

Clever, Raphael. He’d just made it so if Charisemnon took over the town, he’d have his attention divided when Titus was massing on his border.

“No.” Charisemnon waved a hand. “The oversight committee can handle the town.”

“You must cede your rights to it,” Elijah said, picking up the baton with a smoothness that said he’d guessed exactly what Raphael was doing. “Else, we will be accused of stealing your lands.”

“Since when did you become such a stickler, Eli?” Charisemnon’s tone made Elena blink—because it was clear the two men had been friends once upon a time. “Very well, I cede any ruling rights to the township, as per the borders marked on the map kept in the Refuge.”

“It will not be a part of Lumia,” Raphael said. “That must be clear. There must never be a repeat of an effective fiefdom.”

“Agreed.” Every single archangelic voice seemed to say that at the same time, their combined power so violent it made Elena’s lungs hurt as her body struggled to take in enough oxygen for a couple of seconds.

“Our people will live in and rule the township,” Favashi completed. “We will have to come up with a group that we trust.” A frown. “It would be better if someone with wisdom and age was at the center.”

“Sire.” Aodhan’s quiet voice. “If I may suggest the Hummingbird.”

That, Elena was not expecting. Illium’s mother was astonishingly gifted and had a sense of goodness about her that was haunting, but she was also fractured deep within. “Are you sure?” she murmured. “I’ve always thought she needs routine.” The Hummingbird had come more often to New York since the time Illium fell from the sky, but even then, she tended to stick to the people and places she knew.

“She does,” Raphael said, a frown on his face. “Why do you suggest this, Aodhan? You know she will not leave the Refuge beyond a certain period.”

“The Hummingbird also has a compulsion to help others,” Aodhan said. “And she does not need to be always at the township—she can return to the Refuge several times a year. Healing the people of the town will give her a purpose.”

Something unspoken passed between Aodhan and Raphael at that instant, and Elena knew she was missing something, but she didn’t ask. When Illium wanted her to know, he’d tell her. Until then, she’d keep her counsel. But she wanted to add something. “If you suggest her, make sure she has support staff.”

A nod, before Raphael turned to the Cadre. His suggestion was met with shock . . . then slow and thoughtful agreement. In the end, it was decided to offer the task to her, and tell her that she could bring anyone she wished with her. Though she was technically part of Raphael’s territory, no one appeared to have any concerns that she’d be partisan.

“The Hummingbird lives in her own world,” Neha murmured. “She will not play politics.”

That seemed to be it. The Cadre left one by one, after first ordering the exiled Luminata to gather their belongings in readiness for departure as soon as the storm passed. Neha took charge of Ibrahim, asking General Hiran, Valerius, and Xander to bring the injured man to her suite. Laric went with his patient.

Caliane was the last to leave. Touching her hand to Raphael’s, she said, “Do not let death define you, my son.”

“Gian’s crime was against you,” Raphael said to Elena’s grandparents after his mother had exited the room, leaving the six of them alone. “You have the right to decide his punishment.”

Elena saw rage fill the eyes of her grandfather, saw his fangs flash. But when he would’ve stalked toward Gian, Majda placed a single hand on his chest and shook her head. “We are not him,” she whispered to Jean-Baptiste. “The archangel’s advice was not for our grandchild’s husband, it was for us. We are not him. We do not torture. We do not get drunk on ugliness and violence.” Her voice shook. “We love. That is who we are.”

Jean-Baptiste trembled, but forced his eyes off Gian’s cringing body. “Archangel,” he said roughly, his gaze locked with his wife’s. “I would ask a great favor. Imprisonment, not death.” He shook his head at Majda when she parted her lips. “We are not him, but he also does not deserve to die quickly. That is too much mercy.”

“Imprisonment. It is done.” Raphael looked at Gian. “You will not fly free for the same amount of time you imprisoned each of your victims, the terms to run consecutively. At which point, they will decide if you deserve the mercy of death.”

Gian screamed. “No! I am the Luminata! I am—”

Flicking a faint touch of power toward him, Raphael sent him into unconsciousness. “Aodhan, carry him to an empty room and lock him there for the duration. Stand guard. We will take him with us and he’ll serve his imprisonment under the same sky where Majda and Jean-Baptiste’s blood flies free.”

Thunder boomed above them, but when Elena looked up to the miraculously whole glass dome of the Atrium, she saw no flashes of lightning in the turbulent black sky. The storm was passing. Raphael would leave for China in a matter of hours . . . would fly into the territory of the Archangel of Death.