His creation ended up a huge blobby mess, but she could see what he’d been trying to do. He’d gotten the proportions of Illium’s body correct as compared to his wings, and he’d even managed to make a passing facsimile of flowers. Not only that, he’d made a different color on his own, melding blue and yellow to create green.
She hadn’t shown him that . . . but she had mixed up a shade of green while he sat next to her. “Well now,” Sharine murmured after Aodhan finally got up, put down his brush, and ran off to join Illium—who’d fallen asleep in the bluebells. “I think you, little Aodhan, have a gift.”
Putting down his first painting on a thoughtful nod, she turned to add to her own painting. She’d painted Illium asleep in the flowers, now added in a sparkle-eyed child seated next to him, tapping at his cheek with a bluebell.
Two wild little children as bright as stars.
17
Today
Illium was about to land when a flickering light to the far left of the stronghold caught his attention. Since the packing was done but for the final things that’d be put in right before the beginning of the journey, he decided to investigate the light in case one of the mortals had gotten caught out and was heading home in the dark.
Maximus had told him they’d seen no signs of surviving reborn, but no one was breathing easy, not after Neha’s discovery of hidden nests along her border with China. The creatures were intelligent to some level—and the general consensus was that Lijuan must’ve left nests in reserve, to act as her seed group should she lose all her reborn in the war.
That no one had found any such seed groups in China didn’t mean the theory was worthless. Especially not after the discovery of the nexus.
“Who knows how many underground lairs that monstress had built?” Maximus had growled as he threw large pieces of furniture into the back of a truck. “And what interest does any sane archangel have in an underground lair, you tell me that, Bluebell of the bluebells!”
The big angel had picked up on Illium’s nickname from Yindi, found it hilarious to make that ridiculous play on it. When Illium retaliated by threatening to call him Bighead, he’d laughed even louder before pounding his massive fists on his chest and saying, “Me giant! Me crush you!”
So of course now Illium liked the big idiot.
But jokes aside, Maximus’s statement had been apt. Illium could stand being underground, but he didn’t like it. And that was before he got to what had been done to Aodhan, how he’d been caged away from the sun.
The light flickered out just before he reached it. Concerned, he threw a little of his power into the air. It wasn’t something he did often—a showy thing, it served no purpose but to use up energy for a short burst of light. But it was worth it this time, because it illuminated the huddled body of a young girl crouched against a tree, her lantern dark at her feet and her face twisted into a rictus of terror.
Illium’s light faded even as he landed, but he could tell the girl hadn’t moved. The world was too still. And when his eyes acclimated again to the night, he easily picked out her frightened form. She’d ducked her head onto her arms, her lank hair a curtain around a body that shook.
Shifting closer, he crouched down, his wings spread behind him. “Hello,” he said gently in the dominant tongue of this region. Immortals often knew many languages but a younger Illium had made it a specific point to learn at least one language in each of the territories of the Cadre—he’d seen it as another element of being a successful warrior.
Over time, his knowledge had grown, with each new language or dialect coming easier, as if his mind had built pathways along which the new words could travel. He wasn’t anywhere near as good as Dmitri and nothing close to Jason’s fluency in too many languages to count, but he was good enough for this.
“My name is Illium. I’m from New York’s Tower, sent here to help the new archangel.” It was a deliberate thing to make sure she knew he wasn’t of this land, and that he’d played no part in what Lijuan had done.
Her quivering seemed to stop, a wary creature who was listening.
Encouraged, he said, “Did you get separated from your family? I can escort you back to the settlement.”
Her head lifted, her eyes inky pools swimming in a pale oval face of astonishing beauty. When she spoke, it was in a whisper so low that he had to ask her to repeat herself.
“Dead,” she rasped. “My family is all dead.”
Grim as it was, at this point in history, that wasn’t an unusual thing in this territory. “I’m sorry.” That the dreadful loss of life was a national tragedy didn’t make it any less painful. “But I don’t think they’d want you out here alone. Let’s walk to the stronghold.”