Even during the years immediately after his rescue when he’d been lost in a nightmare so profound that he’d been all but dead, Illium had been a familiar and welcome presence in his life. Aodhan had stopped talking for a long time, but he’d always stayed in the room when Illium spoke to him—Illium had told Aodhan of his latest work for Raphael, spoken of his newest fleeting romance, or of things amusing and interesting that he’d thought Aodhan would enjoy.
Illium burned so bright with energy and life that it was impossible to be anything but compelled by him . . . overwhelmed by him.
Now, Aodhan stared at the single blue feather he’d painted in the hours since his shift ended. His preference was natural light, but he’d learned to work in artificial light. He’d only switched off those lights a half hour past, when early morning sunlight began to slant onto the balcony.
The dawnlight picked up the glittering silver he’d added to the filaments, the myriad tones of blue. Most people thought Illium’s feathers were a single shade of blue, but they weren’t. The shade people saw was made up of layers of others.
Aodhan knew every single one of them.
Dropping his paintbrush onto the small table he kept out here, he stared at the blue that stained his fingers. What the hell was he doing? Spine stiff, he walked into the suite’s bathing chamber to wash off the betraying color. Nothing spotted the dark brown of his pants, or the simple white of his long-sleeved tunic.
He never wore sleeveless clothing in Suyin’s court. These people didn’t know him as those in the Tower did; the occasional accidental touch happened. Nothing overt and no one had pushed against his request that they keep their distance, but they forgot. No one back home ever did.
And back home, he had people whose touch he welcomed.
Aodhan. Suyin’s mental voice was as elegant and gentle as her physical presence; it held none of the violent power of Raphael’s. Yet it was unquestionable that they were both archangels. Aodhan had never experienced a clearer indication of different types of power.
Suyin. In an act of respect for her position—and though theirs was meant to be a temporary alliance, he’d called her sire at first.
It was Suyin who’d asked him to drop the distance. “You’re the one person in my court who I can trust without worry at this point in time,” she’d said. “Be my friend, Aodhan. You know far more than I about how an archangel–second bond should work. You’ve seen it firsthand in Raphael and Dmitri’s long relationship. Teach me how that happens.”
“I can’t teach you that,” Aodhan had said, because he wouldn’t lie to her. “The sire and Dmitri were friends long before they were archangel and second.” Neither one spoke often about their initial friendship, and Aodhan had picked up enough over the years to understand it was because in that deep past lay a haunting loss.
Dmitri’d had a wife he’d loved. Children.
Every now and then, however, a sliver of their history would slip through. Once, Dmitri had joked about Raphael’s utter and total failure at plowing a field. “He wanted to help, so I let him—but I ended up laughing so hard I couldn’t even supervise. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a mud-covered angel trying to command a pair of stubborn oxen.”
So when Aodhan made his comment to Suyin, it had been a thing honest.
She’d accepted his words with grace. “I won’t have that opportunity. I must choose a second who is already in their power.” Eyes of impenetrable obsidian meeting his. “But at this moment, I need a friend even more than I need a second. Will you be that?”
Aodhan wasn’t a man to make quick friendships, had a small number for an immortal of his years. But he saw in Suyin an echo of himself. She, too, had been held captive by a cruel jailor. She, too, had been thrust into a world for which she was unprepared. But where he’d been encircled by a wall of support, Suyin had only a limited number of people on whom she could lean.
Yes, Raphael was available to her at any time and would never lead her astray, but he was also a member of the Cadre. The same with Lady Caliane. It made their interactions complicated on a level no one who hadn’t been around archangels could hope to understand.
So he’d said, “Yes, Suyin. I will be your friend.”
Today, her voice held a thrumming tension that ignited his instincts. I would talk to you. Will you join me in the wild garden?
I’ll come now.
Bring Illium if he is rested.
Aodhan’s jaw set, but he made himself walk out and knock lightly on Illium’s door. It opened moments later, a bright-eyed Illium looking at him. He’d changed out of his traveling outfit into faded old leathers of black with blue accents that left his muscled arms bare. Soft with wear and molded to his body, the outfit was genuinely ancient and one of Illium’s favorites.
“I’m starving.” A grin open and wide—and not fucking real. “Please tell me you’re about to lead me to copious amounts of food.”
“Archangel Suyin would like to speak to us,” Aodhan said, his voice coming out stiff and formal. “We can eat afterward.”
“We going off the balcony?”
“No, it’s faster to go through the stronghold.”
“Lead on.”
They walked in silence. It should’ve been comfortable, just two warriors heading down to speak to their archangel, but it was like prickles on his skin. Illium was never like this with him. So charming and lighthearted without giving away the smallest piece of himself.
Pretty and amiable and so false that Aodhan wanted to yell at him, have it out in a knockdown, drag-out fight to end all fights. And Aodhan didn’t yell or pick fights. Except it appeared, with everyone’s favorite Bluebell.
“Nice décor.” Illium pointed at a painting of a masked ball manic in its use of color, the brushstrokes going in countless serrated directions. “Good thing I didn’t see that before turning in. Imagine my dreams.”
“We haven’t had the time to worry about aesthetics,” Aodhan muttered, sounding like one of the stiff-assed old angels even to himself.
Illium didn’t roll his eyes and tease him about his abrupt descent into crotchety old age. He didn’t even scowl or make an annoyed face. He just carried on.
As if nothing Aodhan did or said mattered.
Aodhan’s hand fisted at his side, his lips parting before he clamped them shut. This wasn’t the time to confront Illium about his behavior.
Having reached the edge of the railingless mezzanine, he dropped down to the lower floor of the stronghold. As with most angelic residences, the central core of the place was open, giving him plenty of room to spread his wings to slow his descent.