The person in his hold continued to twist, the long strands of their fine white hair obscuring their features. It was only when Illium emerged and took charge of restraining their captive that Aodhan was able to see enough to—
He sucked in a breath.
This person wore Lijuan’s face . . . on a male body. Slightly harder angles, but the same pearl-gray eyes, the same white skin, the same proportion to the features. “Was Archangel Lijuan your mother?” he asked the boy—because it was a boy. Young. Maybe fourteen in human years, which would put him at about seventy or so in angelic terms.
The boy spat at him.
Avoiding the spittle with a small movement because he’d been expecting an assault of some kind—the boy was a creature trapped and scared—Aodhan spoke to Illium. “Let’s take him to the stronghold, get him out of the cold.” Everything else could wait.
Illium shook his head. “We can’t fly him if he doesn’t cooperate. He’ll cause a crash.”
A sudden quivering motionlessness to the boy. Aodhan realized Illium had continued to speak in Lijuan’s favored tongue—and the child had understood. His eyes went to those stunted wings, the rage within him a cold, coiled thing born of a dark, wet coffin of iron.
“We’ll take you into the sky,” he said in a voice firm and unbending. “But we can’t if you keep struggling.”
The boy remained motionless. Almost as if he was holding his breath.
Aodhan half expected Illium to question whether they could trust the child’s abrupt good behavior, but he said, “I’ll carry him.” White lines around his mouth, but his hands gentle on the boy’s wrists.
That was what the world had never understood: Aodhan might be the artist, but it was warrior-born Illium who had the softer, more vulnerable heart. He’d come down on the side of the victim—always.
It’s all right, Aodhan murmured into his friend’s mind. If I can’t stand the touch of a broken, wounded child, then I shouldn’t be in the position I’m in.
Illium’s lashes flicked up, his gaze searching and protective—but then he stepped back, releasing the child. I’ll fly below you in case he panics at being in the sky and you have to drop him.
Aodhan had no intention of dropping his passenger, but he knew Illium was right. If the boy began to claw at him . . . Aodhan still wouldn’t drop him. Illium had to know that. But Illium was also a rescuer. He couldn’t help it, his huge heart his greatest weakness and biggest strength both. But . . . he’d stepped back.
Frowning inwardly, Aodhan returned his attention to the boy. “I’m going to take you in my arms so I can carry you.”
No response, but though no one was holding him now, the boy didn’t move.
“You start twisting while in the air, we land and walk the rest of the way.”
Nothing, the boy a sculpture with hair of moonlight. Deciding there was only one way to find out what would happen, Aodhan bent and scooped the child into his arms, one arm under his knees, the other behind his back. He’s not as light as he looks. Nothing of a weight to trouble Aodhan, but worth noting. He’s eaten enough not to starve.
Illium shook his head in a firm negative, refuting Aodhan’s implication about the child’s presence in the hamlet. Aodhan wished he could be as certain. But he knew how madness slid into your brain in the cold dark. He wasn’t sure he’d be sane today if he’d spent even a day longer in that iron coffin.
This boy had grown up inside just such a coffin, for all that his had been a room.
Flaring out his wings, Aodhan looked down at the boy. Those strikingly familiar eyes flicked to him before jerking away. Unable to feel anything but a protective sympathy, Aodhan left his questions aside and took flight into the falling snow.
The boy went rigid in his arms.
Aodhan made sure his grip was secure, then flew on at a far slower pace than that of which he was capable; if this child born with wings had never touched the sky, then this was a wonder for him, and Aodhan would not cut it short.
Wild blue below him, Illium silent about his leisurely pace.
That heart of his. Rescuing kittens, befriending mortals . . . protecting Aodhan.
At times, Aodhan wondered how Illium could survive immortality with such a vulnerable heart. At the same time, he knew that very heart was why Illium would always be the best friend he’d ever have. To the people he loved, Bluebell gave everything. Too much. Until there was nothing left for himself. Honestly, the man needed a keeper, one willing to put Illium first.