Archangel's War

42

Elena took a deep breath. The orange-red of the Moroccan landscape was a familiar embrace, the sun kissing it with warmth even in winter. She’d wondered if her response to this land would change now that she knew the horrors that had befallen her grandparents here, but no, it continued to feel a little like home. The lilt of people’s voices, the scents in the air, the grit between her teeth as the sand got in, none of it was alien.

“Does it hurt you to be here?” Illium asked while they were stretching out their bodies after disembarking from the plane.

“No. My strongest sense of Morocco is love.” Raw and deep and constant. “Jean-Baptiste’s love for Majda and hers for him. Majda’s desperate love for her daughter.” This was where Elena’s history had begun. “How are you doing?”

His eyes shimmered even more golden under the light of this place full of mountains and sky. “I worry for my mother’s heart. It is so fragile, Ellie.” Muscles hard as rock, he said, “I long-ago ceased to have any hopes of my father, but she’s been waiting for him all this time.”

He spread out his wings. “I would delay this forever, but I can’t. My mother deserves to know.”

The village was just stirring after the languid time following lunch when they reached it, the merchants reopening their stalls and shops, while neighbors stood talking with steaming cups in hand. Mint tea perhaps. Or coffee so strong it was a kick to the system. But the most welcome sight was in the distance, on the flat roof of a dual-level house not dissimilar to others in the village except that its balconies had no railings.

Light broke on the glittering hue of the angel’s hair—as if each strand was encrusted with diamonds. It caressed the warmth of his skin. Such flawless pale skin, but one with an inner glow that made it clear he was flesh and blood, not a statue. And his wings . . . each filament of each feather appeared a jeweled construction.

To look at him was to think of light and beauty and a sense of innate distance.

All were true.

“Aodhan.” Illium’s voice was choked. “What’s he doing here?”

Not answering, Elena flew toward Aodhan with a smile. She landed first because Illium was lagging—on purpose. Elena could never outpace him, not on any planet. “Sparkle.” She held out her hands.

Aodhan was okay with her touch now, but she never took it for granted. Today, he didn’t scowl at her for using that nickname, just closed his hands over hers while meeting her gaze with the extraordinary beauty of his own. A black pupil with shards of crystalline blue-green breaking outward from it. “How is he?”

“Angry,” she said as Illium took his time descending. “Worried about the Hummingbird.”

Illium landed beside Elena before Aodhan could reply. His face, with its clean lines and warm gold skin, was set, unwelcoming. “Why are you here? You should be in the Refuge helping Galen and Naasir.” He held his body with such fierce control that it hurt Elena to witness.

Aodhan walked over to his best friend without a word, hauled him into an embrace, one of his hands cradling the back of Illium’s head, his other arm locked around Illium’s shoulders. As if he had never shunned touch, never turned away from even the angel he most trusted.

Illium remained stiff, his wings folded tight to his back, but Aodhan was having none of it. He wrapped Illium up in his own wings and Elena was close enough to hear him say, “I am here for you,” in a tone as unbending as stone.

But Illium hadn’t thawed in the least when Aodhan released him. “I have to speak to my mother before—”

The Hummingbird walked out through the wide doorway onto the roof, her hair a river of gold-tipped black down her back and her wings a startling indigo dusted with shimmers of a shade so pale it was kin to sunlight.

The champagne of her eyes softened into pure sunshine when she caught sight of Illium. “I believed I was imagining my heart’s ache; it only ever does so when I am close to you. My baby.” She glided across the roof, the airy lightness of her pale yellow gown a silent testament to her grace.

At only five feet tall, she was the smallest person on this roof, but she was radiant.

Reaching Illium, she raised a delicate hand to his cheek. He bent instinctively to make it easier for her, this tall and strong angel who towered over his mother. “Yes, it’s you.” Joy so deep it cut at Elena.

After a moment, she turned toward Aodhan with a smile as luminous and happy. “And my borrowed baby.”

Elena held her breath but Aodhan bent his head the same way Illium had done. Elena saw no tension in his body, no indication of discomfort with the Hummingbird’s touch. Illium’s mother looked at him with the same maternal love she’d done Illium.

“Is he getting you in trouble again?” A smile that was starlight. “Always, I knew he was the instigator. But you would never admit it, adamant that you receive equal punishment. My babies, grown so strong and tall.”

Elena frowned; there was something different about the Hummingbird today. She was speaking of the past in past tense. It wasn’t a given with this lovely woman. Her sense of time had fractured long ago, and often, she switched back and forth, sometimes believing that Illium was a child, other times acknowledging the man he’d become. Today, despite her use of the word baby, she seemed very aware that she was talking to two grown men.

Aodhan’s smile was a thing that stopped Elena’s heart. “You must believe me, Eh-ma, I was the instigator three times out of ten, but no one ever thought to point the finger at me.”

When Elena glanced questioningly at Illium while the Hummingbird laughed, he said, “It means ‘second mother’ or ‘mother who is my friend’s mother but also mine.’ It is more than respect. It is affection and love.” His eyes shone wet for a second before he blinked the moisture away. “The years he spent isolating himself, she was the only one permitted to visit him whenever she wished. They’d paint together for hours.”

“I can believe it.” Love glowed in the moment framed in front of her. “Do you have the same relationship with his parents?”

Illium shook his head. “They aren’t as old as my mother, but they always felt older. Kind and loving, but sedate. Not the type to go out at midnight with two little boys and watch a winged race through the Refuge, or to teach them how to dance to the beat of a bass drum.”

The Hummingbird moved from Aodhan to Elena. “And you have come, too, my Raphael’s love.” A voice so warm it twined itself around Elena like a hug. “Is he well?”

“Yes, Lady Sharine,” she said, using the name Illium’s mother had given her on their first meeting. “He thinks of you often.”

The Hummingbird kissed Elena on the cheek—because Elena, too, had bent her head to make it easier for the diminutive angel to reach her. Her scent was soft and warm and it caused Elena’s eyes to go all hot. Marguerite had preferred gardenias, but below that had been the same unconditional love.

“I will come again to your city of metal and glass and noise and color.”

Stepping back, the Hummingbird took them all in with an acute eye. This was definitely not the angel Elena had first met in New York. This Sharine was anchored to the world and confident in her strength. That she showed her strength gently made no difference.

“Now, my children,” she said in a tone that was the epitome of steel encased in velvet, “tell me why you are here.”

Bones hard against skin, Illium said, “Mother, the Cascade is waking Sleepers before their time.”

The Hummingbird’s face became a living monument, unmoving and unreadable.

Stepping closer, his wings agitated, Illium said, “Father is awake.”

Silence reined. The desert seemed to go still in its whispering roll. The bright, active sounds of the people in the streets disappeared. The angelic warriors who’d been running a training exercise in the distance faded from view.

Only Illium and the Hummingbird existed, their pain a tableau.

Panic scrabbled inside Elena, and when she caught Aodhan’s gaze, she saw the same dread in him. Fault lines already existed inside the Hummingbird. If this blow shattered them open again, it’d break her—and destroy Illium. His anger would eat him from the inside out, killing the heart of their wild Bluebell.

Then something extraordinary happened.

The Hummingbird drew up her shoulders, pinned her son with an unblinking gaze, and said, “This is why that poor squadron leader has been pretending to be so heartbroken he can’t function for most of a day?” She did not sound impressed. In fact, she sounded like a mom who expected them to explain themselves. Right now.

“Er.” Elena had never seen Illium so without words. Reaching back, he scratched at his nape. “I wanted to be here,” he said at last.

A softening in his mother’s expression. “Always watching after me, my son strong and beautiful. When I should be the one looking after you.” Her hand on his cheek again, so gentle. “Will you forgive me this, Illium?”

“There is nothing to forgive.” He turned into the touch of her hand, a son who loved his mother.

“There is much, but we will talk of that later. For now, Elena will teach me how to throw knives.”

It was Elena’s turn to be struck mute. “My lady Sharine?” she finally managed.

“I am not mad.” She shook out her skirts, her voice as haunting and beautiful as ever. “I wish to learn to throw knives so I can sink those knives into Aegaeon’s worthless chest should he dare show his face here.”

Illium’s jaw dropped. Aodhan appeared to have lost the ability to speak.

Elena grinned and bent in a deep bow. “It will be my pleasure.”