Aodhan wasn’t concerned about a martial assault—no one wanted China, not when Lijuan’s malevolent shadow loomed large yet. The general consensus was that the territory wouldn’t be fully “safe” for at least a millennium, perhaps more. However, the rest of the Cadre could make things difficult for Suyin if they judged her unworthy of her ascension.
It wasn’t only the archangels, either.
Jason had passed on the tidbit that a few of the older angels had begun to mutter that her ascension had been a thing of war, an emergency measure that would’ve never kicked in were it a normal time.
That it wasn’t a normal time even now seemed to escape them.
The world was still down one archangel, and while Elijah had healed enough to have made an appearance at the last Cadre meeting, Aodhan—attending out of sight at Suyin’s invitation—had seen that he was far from his usual self. It was no wonder he’d turned down a physical meeting in favor of one held via technology.
Elijah wasn’t the only one marked by battle scars. Neha had turned reclusive and—per Jason—her senior court had begun to whisper that she craved Sleep; it wasn’t a future at which either her people or Aodhan looked on in pleasure. Whatever her faults, Neha had always been one of the most stable of the Cadre.
Added to that, Michaela hadn’t returned and neither had Favashi or Astaad or any of the others who’d fallen. As for Qin, he had half a foot in Sleep, half in the waking world.
Where was the intruder?
Power wreathed his hand as he considered whether to light up the sky, but that would be a waste of energy and would frighten an already scared populace. It’d take a very long time for the people of this land to sleep easy. Most were probably still awake at this late hour, haunted by nightmares of grief and pain.
Then he saw it.
A glow.
Such as that emitted by the wings of archangels who were powering up to strike.
He should’ve alerted Suyin at once, but something made him hesitate, frown. He knew those wings. The shape of them, how the bearer held them in flight, it was all familiar on the deepest level.
But it wasn’t Raphael, wasn’t Aodhan’s sire.
He sucked in a breath.
Because he knew one other person whose wings glowed at times. An angel who it was whispered would one day ascend.
His heart a huge ache, he altered speed to fly hard and fast toward that faint glow. With every beat, it grew brighter . . . before flickering out like a candle that had been snuffed out between uncaring fingers. But Aodhan was close enough to see.
He came to a hover across from the angel from whose blue wings the night had stolen all color, turning them obsidian. “Illium.” The single word came out rough, gritty. “What are you doing here?”
4
“Nice to see you, too,” Illium said with a smile that was false, didn’t reach his eyes. Then he dipped into a flamboyant aerial bow. “At your service, Second to Archangel Suyin.”
Aodhan barely heard words shaped to sound playful, but that held nothing of true emotion. He was fighting every muscle in his body not to slam into Illium and wrap him up in his arms and in his wings.
It had been so long since he’d had such intimate contact with another sentient being.
So long since he’d touched Illium.
His heart strained, threatening to burst. “Illium.” It came out harsher than he’d intended.
Illium’s smile didn’t fade, still that undemanding and playful thing he pulled out for strangers and acquaintances. If you didn’t know him, you’d think it real, think him amused and present.
To Aodhan, it was an insult.
“You going to keep me up here all night?” Eyes unreadable in the darkness, Illium reached up to massage one shoulder. “It’s been a long flight and I could do with landing.”
Aodhan narrowed his eyes; he wasn’t sure what was going on with his friend, but he’d get to the bottom of it. Of the two of them, everyone always said Illium was the more stubborn—no, not everyone. Eh-ma had more than once pointed out that Aodhan could hold his own on that battleground.
“Follow me.” It caused him physical pain to turn away from Illium and lead him to the far left corner of the stronghold.
He used his mental speech ability to warn the close sentries of their approach. He’d always been good at mental speech, but he’d grown stronger over the past year, after using it so much with people of far less power. In New York, he’d most often spoken this way with Raphael and others of the Seven. Bonded as they were by blood, it hadn’t stretched him.