She’d tapped him gently—so, so gently—on the back of his head. “Let your mother speak.”
He’d grinned and hugged her instead. The champagne of her laughter had covered them in sparkling joy. “Scamp.”
Afterward, she’d said, “Let us not argue. We’ll leave you out of it. But the way Aegaeon treated me . . . I will not talk to you of my relationship with him. No child should hear such things.”
“Ma, I know he had a harem—”
“Illium.”
He’d shut up. As a child, he’d known he was in big, fat trouble when she brought out that particular tone. Turned out it worked just as well now that he was an adult. “Sorry.”
“So you should be. Let your mother have a few illusions.”
“I’ve erased the memory from my mind.” He’d mimed washing his brain.
Her renewed laughter had been a familiar thing and yet not. It had been such a long time since she’d laughed so much and with such brilliant clarity to her that his breath caught on every single occasion.
“My inner fragility—those cracks I couldn’t see,” she’d said after the laughter, “they made me vulnerable to Aegaeon’s brand of charm. I felt . . . important, felt seen. Me, Sharine, not the revered Hummingbird. And because he was an archangel, I had no fear that my past losses would repeat themselves.”
Slender fingers brushing back his hair with maternal tenderness. “Do you see, Illium? I made a choice out of a deep-rooted fear that I’d never faced. I hid from my pain, and so a woman willing to accept crumbs from an archangel’s table is what I became. Don’t do what I did. Don’t hide. Don’t pretend. Confront what hurts you, know the shape and form of it so you can conquer it.”
Her words rang in his head as he entered the stronghold. Once under shelter, he took a few seconds to shake off the clinging snow, then strode into the warmth of the living area with the awareness of a dread truth heavy on his shoulders.
44
Jinhai wasn’t holding on to Aodhan, his eyes no longer trained on the snowy landscape. He sat on the sofa in front of the fire, intent on a string game that Aodhan must have taught him.
The two of them had played the same game as children, weaving shapes in the string with their movements. Aodhan had always made the most creative patterns, but Illium had been faster. Balance, he thought. Yin and yang. No strong one and weak one. No protector and protected.
Aodhan’s eyes went straight to Illium when he walked in the door. “Anything?”
Shaking his head, Illium grabbed a chair and carried it to in front of the fire. He sat so he faced Jinhai, but not so close that he was intruding into the boy’s space—more as if he was simply drying his wings. Angel feathers had a natural oil that couldn’t be felt to the touch, but that helped them repel water. It wasn’t foolproof, however.
That time Illium had crashed into the Hudson, Raphael had told him his wings had become waterlogged. Mostly due to injuries that had disrupted the normal rhythms of his body. Today, it wasn’t about that. The heat just felt good against his chilled body. His position also made him less threatening.
“Here.” Aodhan, who’d disappeared into the kitchen, returned to put a cup of hot mead in his hands. “I threw it on the stove to warm after you left.”
The first sip was nectar in his blood. “Thanks.” He sighed. “It’s good.” After taking a few more sips, he leaned forward, the drink held loosely between his hands—and reached for Aodhan’s mind. Adi, I need to ask Jinhai a few questions. I have a theory. Could be ass-backward wrong, but I won’t know until I ask.
Aodhan moved to sit on the arm of the sofa on Jinhai’s far side, in a pose that appeared more protective than guard-like. You think he’s behind the carnage at the hamlet. His jaw was a tense line.
Illium looked at his friend, met the clear blue-green so hauntingly beautiful. Yes.
A quiet exhale from Aodhan, his features tight. Ask. If he ignores you, I’ll nudge him along.
But when Illium shifted his attention to Jinhai and said, “Will you tell me about Quon?” the boy smiled.
“Quon protects me.” Putting aside the string, Jinhai hugged his legs to his chest with arms too skinny to fight off even a moderately strong adult—mortal or immortal. “Quon plays with me.”
“You like Quon?”
An enthusiastic nod. “He’s strong. Not like me. Quon can talk to Mother.” His face fell. “I just hide. I get scared and I hide, but he’s never scared.”