He winced inwardly, wondering at the level of insult she’d taken. “I’ve just come in from battle,” he said. “The reborn have taken strong hold in this landscape. Charisemnon, that pestilent piece of . . . er, rotted meat,” he substituted instead of “excrement,” “worked with Lijuan to create a stronger, more intelligent strain before he died.”
“Yes, I have heard many such reports on my journey here,” she said in a voice so rich with texture it felt like a tactile caress. Titus had a weakness for music and art and she was the embodiment of both. Too bad she was also the Hummingbird and the entire angelic world would be insulted beyond repair should he invite her to share his blankets.
He was insulted beyond repair on her behalf at his own base thoughts. The Hummingbird had long risen above all that, and he was—what was the word one of his sisters had used a few centuries ago?—yes, he was a cad for even thinking of her in such a carnal way.
“I saw much during my flight,” she said. “I would share that information with you. I think you and your people haven’t had a chance to fully survey the rural edges of Charisemnon’s territory.”
Titus gave a small nod. “I’d be grateful for any new information.” He didn’t expect much in terms of martial details, for the Hummingbird had probably focused on the artistic merit of various things, but still, perhaps she’d picked up a relevant piece or two of information by accident. “I welcome you to my court, Lady Hummingbird.”
A tightness to her face, but her voice remained pure velvet as she said, “It will become tiresome if we are both constantly formal with one another. Please call me Sharine, and if you do not disagree, I shall call you Titus.”
Titus almost scowled before he caught himself, his shoulders bunching. It didn’t feel right to call her anything but Lady Hummingbird, but he’d make the attempt since that was her preference. As for himself, she could call him whatever she liked. The Hummingbird had such rights.
“As you prefer, La—Sharine.” He shook out the tension in his shoulders. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll lead you to my citadel. We’ll sit and have a meal together, though I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until after I bathe.” He wanted to slap himself—what did he think he was doing, talking about bathing to a woman so genteel and refined?
“That is as well,” she murmured as they fell into flight side by side. “I’m dusty from my long journey and will need to clean up, too.”
Exhaling because that had worked out better than he’d expected, he said, “We expected you two days ago.” He’d been concerned enough when she hadn’t arrived some days after leaving Lumia that he’d contacted Raphael to ask if Illium had heard from his mother. “Your son assured me that you were safe and on the way else I would’ve dispatched my people to look for you.”
“I should’ve sent word.” A gracious apology in her tone. “I decided to take several detours to check on the status of settlements on either side of my main route. I saw some disturbing things and didn’t wish to rush here when I could bring you useful information instead.”
Grooves forming in his forehead, Titus glanced sideways at the Hummingbird before quickly looking away. He didn’t want her to catch him staring at her, but this woman was not behaving at all like the Hummingbird of whom he’d heard. Everyone in angelkind knew the great and gifted artist spent more time in a world of her own making than she did the real one.
The woman currently speaking to him, however, sounded more like one of his intelligence agents. Cool. Calm. Collected. The only significant difference was the richness of her voice, the tones filled with a depth of emotion. But, strange behavior or not, it could not be an imposter.
There was only one individual in all of angelkind who possessed wings of indigo brushed with light and eyes of a shade so pale and golden that they were like captured pieces of the first rays of dawn. This was most assuredly the Hummingbird.
“I haven’t seen so much activity my entire flight here,” she said as they flew closer to the citadel.
Narja bustled around that fortress of stone and light, his people choosing to live close to their archangel. It was a source of pride for Titus, that the people he ruled came toward him instead of going outward. Even the ones based in other parts of the territory tended to cluster around the senior angels in the area. It was quite different from the way his dead enemy’s land was laid out—Charisemnon’s people had not hugged close to their leadership.
“Anyone not able-bodied enough to help with the reborn scourge is assisting with the rebuild,” Titus said with considerable pride. “Whether that means holding a paintbrush in the hour they’re permitted out of the infirmary, or acting as teachers of craft even if their own limbs are shattered.
“My city took considerable damage in the war, close as it is to the border.” Scarlet fire burned his blood at the memory of how he’d permitted Charisemnon too close. His snake of an enemy had worn the mask of an ally, choosing cunning over honor. Death was too good for him, but it was all the satisfaction Titus would ever get.
“I didn’t realize your city had so much glass and steel. It reminds me of my son’s home but for the lack of towers that scrape the sky.”
“Narja stands up against any of New York’s temptations,” he said, chest puffing up. “We boast far more green spaces for one, and as for the towers—that’s a consequence of being a border city. The higher the building, the bigger the target.” As a result, the city’s buildings were constructed to not provide easy sightlines to the enemy, as the roads were designed to be confusing to the eye from above.
Noticing the Hummingbird’s wing muscles had begun to droop, he subtly lowered his speed. “My only regret is that you do not see my city in its full glory.” He had physically helped build the citadel that was the center of it, had even dug a garden or two that would normally be brilliant with color.
“It’s a place with heart, that I can tell regardless.” Angling her body to take in another part of his city, she said, “Are you aware that your ability to move the earth has created massive cracks in the earth that continue to creep farther inward? At one village, I was told that the gorge approaching them has advanced by half a foot per day—such a speed has them scrambling to relocate.”
He scowled, for he didn’t like to think of mortals afraid and alone because of the outcome of an immortal war. It was brutal reality when archangels fought, but he’d never been at peace with such a consequence; his mother had taught him that the strong protected the weak.
“My scholars have been studying the advance and they tell me it should stop soon, as the energy in the earth runs out.” His Cascade power to cause earth tremors had helped him defeat his enemy, but as with all archangelic gifts to be born out of that unpredictable confluence of time and power, it had more than one facet.