Now, he told Suyin of Illium’s arrival.
Oh, Aodhan, I send you my apologies. Raphael did tell me he planned to send another one of his Seven to China to support you in your myriad tasks. It slipped my mind.
It is no matter, Aodhan said, well aware how much she was handling, and even though Illium’s sudden appearance had thrown his world off its axis. Of all the people Raphael could’ve sent . . .
He inhaled, exhaled.
They landed at almost the same time, on a large flat balcony outside the wing of the stronghold that held Aodhan’s small suite. He’d chosen it because it was private and offered him access to the sky at any time.
A rustle behind him as Illium folded in the distinctive silver-touched blue of his wings.
Aodhan turned, braced for the impact of the friend who was part of his very being, and yet who’d become a stranger to him in recent times. His eyes went first to those very wings. Elena’d had to amputate them during battle, to save Illium’s life, and though they’d all known they’d grow back, it had hurt to see Illium devoid of the dazzling feathers that were his trademark.
“Your wings?” he asked, though it was a foolish question; Illium had flown all the way to China on those wings.
“No problems,” the other man confirmed. “Though I probably should’ve stopped more than I did—that’s why I’m so stiff and tired.” After flaring out his wings in a wide stretch, he closed them with the slow control of a honed warrior.
The night wind riffled the blue-tipped black of his hair at the same moment, the strands overlong and falling over his eyes. Those eyes were aged gold, his eyelashes the same blue tipped black. None of it was artifice. Illium had been born with those eyes, those eyelashes, that hair, his skin a sun-kissed golden hue from childhood.
His wings, however, had once been pure blue.
A severe punishment while he was a youth had altered their course. It happened that way at times. Aodhan had once had an art model with feathers of pristine white who’d endured a catastrophic fall that ripped off large parts of her wings. The damage had been so severe the healers had decided she’d be better off regrowing her entire wing structure.
Her wings had come back a pale lavender.
And none of that had anything to do with Illium. Aodhan was avoiding facing this head on—and he’d never avoided anything with Illium.
Child, be honest. You were the one who flew so far.
Again, the voice of Lady Sharine haunted him. She knew him too well, did Eh-ma. “Come,” he said. “I’ll show you to your quarters.” There was an empty suite directly opposite his. Thanks to Aodhan’s efforts, and self-driven interest from strong angels and vampires who wanted to take on the challenge of a new court, Suyin now had a stronger standing team. It was, however, still small enough that the stronghold was at nowhere near capacity.
Illium, this angel who was always talking, said nothing, falling silently in step beside him. He was also careful to maintain space so their wings didn’t so much as brush.
Aodhan’s hand curled into a fist at his side.
Touch had been used to torture him once. Now, he craved it . . . but only from a scarce few. Illium was at the top of the list.
But that wasn’t a topic he could bring up, not with this Illium. “Where are your things?” The other angel was carrying only a small pack designed to fit against his spine, between his wings.
“Should arrive by plane within the next couple of days. I have enough with me to get by until then. Just show me the laundry and give me a scrubbing brush.” The amused comment was pure Illium, and yet it wasn’t. That veil of distance, it lingered.
Striding inside the cool stone of the stronghold, Aodhan walked to the closest door to the left and pushed it open. “This is yours. I’m over there.” He pointed across the wide hallway big enough for three angels to stand abreast without coming in contact with each other.
The amount of space and light within the stronghold was one of the undeclared reasons Suyin had chosen it for her interim base.
Because she, too, had once been a prisoner.
They’d never spoken of their confinements to each other, and he wasn’t sure she even knew anything of what had happened to him, but they had the quiet understanding of people who’d survived similar pain.
The irony that this light-filled citadel had proved to be a place of the worst evil was nothing unexpected in a land stamped by Lijuan’s mark, but it had caused Suyin to speed up her plans for the future. “For in this nexus of darkness, Aodhan,” she’d said, “I cannot stay and my people cannot heal.”
Another voice merged with the memory of hers.
“I see you decorated in my favorite color.” Illium’s lips twitched.
The room was pink and white.
Aodhan shrugged. “Mine’s yellow and white. We think this wing was reserved for certain high-ranking courtiers.” Lijuan’d had a large number of soldiers in her court, but like many angels, she’d also had a coterie of what Illium had been known to call “the pretties”—angels and vampires whose sole task was to be decorative.
All of them were dead.
Lijuan had spared no one in her quest for power.
Only their colorful, delicate rooms remained. Broken blooms, no life to them.
“Pink is supposed to be restful,” Illium said, and stepped inside. “I need to get clean.”
Then he shut the door in Aodhan’s face.
* * *
* * *
Illium collapsed with his back against the closed door, his heart thumping like a metronome on speed and sweat breaking out along his spine. It felt as if his skin was about to burst, his muscles so tense they were going to pop.
To see Aodhan after so long and not touch him?
It was agony.
But something in Illium had snapped over the past few months. He’d taken heed of his mother’s advice and supported Aodhan while his friend was in this place far from home. Hell, not taking care of Aodhan was harder for him than otherwise. He’d been watching over him for centuries.
But there had to be active participation for a friendship to continue.
And while Aodhan always responded with thanks to any care packages Illium sent, and replied to his messages, their conversations had been stilted, forced. Aodhan had only once reached out to Illium on his own. That had been when Illium’s mother got together with Titus.
Aodhan had wanted to check in, see how he was doing with the news.
A whole year, and he’d been worth the effort of reaching out to a single measly time? Enough. Illium was done with this. He knew Aodhan as no one else did. His friend was a warrior who’d stand his ground against any enemy, but he’d never been a confrontational person when it came to his personal life.