“He epitomizes one group of those drawn to Suyin and to the task of rebuilding China,” Aodhan said, his tone thoughtful. “The adventurers and explorers, you could say. Others are old immortals hungry for a challenge. Arzaleya, for one, requested leave from Lady Caliane to switch courts.”
“Amanat’s probably too staid for her.” General Arzaleya had stayed awake while Caliane Slept, a loyal soldier who’d watched over her lady’s interests. “That’s a coup for Suyin. I think I remember hearing that Uram once courted her to be his second.”
“Yes, the general stands as Suyin’s third. She’s blindingly clever and old enough to be a steadying presence. As for the rest of the main court, I’m ninety-nine percent certain I’ve succeeded in digging out any Lijuan sympathizers, and none of the rest of the Cadre appear to have tried to insert spies into the court.”
“Not worth it,” Illium said with a shrug. “They know Suyin is the least well positioned of them all to be a threat.” Archangels could be brutal in their practicality.
“Yes—but I expected them to try to insert people just to know what was happening here.”
“Not enough to risk a mutiny.” When Aodhan shot him a questioning look, Illium filled him in. “Seems a lot of older angels still aren’t sure China is safe—not after Lijuan’s death fog.” A veil of black that had swallowed up life after life, their screams locked inside her power. “They’d rebel if asked to come here.”
An incline of Aodhan’s head, his hair glittering bright despite the pale gray clouds that had moved in over the past few minutes. Illium’s hand ached from the force he had to expend to keep from reaching out, pushing back a wayward strand of that hair so rare and precious that children in the Refuge hunted for fallen strands of it whenever Aodhan visited.
Then Aodhan’s gaze shifted forward. “The archangel.”
7
Suyin stood at the end of the pathway, under a tree that bloomed a riotous scarlet that colored the otherwise clear water of the stream below. Thankfully, it bore no similarity to the time the Hudson had turned blood red, the fallen blooms appearing nothing more than a natural garland on the water.
Suyin was a tall and slender woman dressed in leathers of dark brown that were surprisingly well-worn for a woman famed as an architect, and depicted in ancient paintings only in gowns flowing and delicate. The unbound white silk of her hair reached to the center of her back, a shimmering mirror.
Her wings, too, were snow-white but for the iridescent bronze of her primary feathers, and, when she turned to face them, her eyes gleamed a rich brown that was all but onyx. Those eyes tilted sharply upward at the corners, the cut-glass lines of her cheekbones striking accents that highlighted the near-painful beauty of her.
No flaws marked the cool ice of her skin—but for the beauty mark on the far edge of her left eye. And that was no flaw at all. She was a stunning woman by any measure, but all Illium saw when he looked at her was Lijuan.
It was an unfair, visceral reaction, one fueled by his jealousy at how close she’d become with Aodhan while the other man kept Illium at bay. But that was his problem, not hers. She could no more help her familial resemblance to her aunt than Illium could help having an asshole for a father.
As for the rest . . . No, not her fault.
Aodhan was the one who’d chosen to leave Illium in the past.
Suyin smiled, gentle and with too much weight in her eyes. “Ah, Illium. It has been too long.”
“Archangel Suyin,” he said, going down into a full bow on one knee, his wings flared and held in exactly the correct position for high angelic etiquette. She deserved his respect and he would not stint it.
Showoff.
His muscles spasmed at that crystalline sound in his head. Aodhan’s mental voice was akin to the refractions of light that was his physical form. Illium hadn’t heard that voice in his head since the war . . . and he hadn’t been ready for how it would smash through the walls he’d tried to erect.
Just because you failed bow training, don’t blame me. It was instinct to respond with the old insult that had never been an insult—they both knew Aodhan was graceful beyond compare and his lack of bowing skills had nothing to do with ability.
I didn’t fail, was the response as familiar as the air in Illium’s lungs. I never tried to pass.
Chest aching, Illium never wanted to stop this exchange. It was so effortless with Aodhan, so natural, a thing they’d been doing since they both developed the ability one after the other. Aodhan was technically younger than him, but the few years that separated them meant nothing in the context of an immortal lifetime. They’d developed near identically in strength and power.
“At times,” the healer Keir had once mused, “I deliberate on if you’re so similar in power because you’ve been friends since childhood, and have somehow influenced each other’s development. Or is it the other way around?”
A smile on that young-old face with its dusky skin and pretty features. “That you were drawn to one another as children because of your innate core of power. Like calling to like.”
Illium didn’t know and didn’t care. Power had nothing to do with their friendship. It had been forged through a hundred thousand small acts of loyalty, of kindness, of adventure—and even of punishment taken for each other’s crimes.
No one, not even Illium’s mother, had believed that Aodhan ever came up with their antics. In fairness to Illium’s mother, Aodhan hadn’t come up with ninety percent of them. But the remaining ten percent had included several of their most glorious acts—for which Illium had been branded as the ringleader, despite Aodhan protesting that he was the one in charge.
No doubt because Aodhan had always been right beside Illium, confessing to all the things he hadn’t masterminded. And vice versa. Never had they allowed each other to fall alone. And no matter what, Illium wouldn’t do that now, either.
Even if it hurt to have Aodhan’s voice in his head, Aodhan’s presence beside him when he knew Aodhan was in the midst of walking away from all that lay between them, he’d give Aodhan what he needed.
That was what it meant to be a friend.
Illium would do this one last thing for his friend before he no longer had the right to use that word to describe their relationship.
“It is good to have you here, Illium,” Archangel Suyin said as he rose to his feet and folded back his wings. “I have gathered a small court, but given the dearth of strong angels in the world, after the war . . . well, my territory is not a first choice for many.”
“You’re gaining a reputation as a strong and fair archangel.” Illium dared the personal comment only because Suyin was a warrior beside whom he’d fought in battle. And though she’d ascended, she didn’t yet have around her the cold burn of power held so long that it was in the blood. “Your court will grow.”