Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 118699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Caliane’s expression was thoughtful. “Yes, I see that now I look back. Your territory was a jewel in the world’s crown. I’m only sorry that Charisemnon did so much damage to the part of it he ruled during his reign.”
The pull came again at the back of Zanaya’s brain, and she could’ve almost sworn she heard a whisper. The tiny hairs on her arms rising, she flicked her eyes this way and that, but the maze garden and courtyard beyond were empty but for her fellow archangels. The staff and others had been dismissed for the duration of the meeting.
Gut tense, she nonetheless kept her expression calm and continued on in her conversation with Caliane. Afterward, she spoke to others in the Cadre, including with Raphael. The young archangel with his sun-kissed skin, vivid blue eyes, black hair, and wings of white with a metallic glitter to them—a true white-gold—was much the same as during the war, but for the extraordinary mark on his right temple.
Then as now, it reminded her of a mythical dragon, but though the lines were as defined, it appeared . . . flatter to her gaze. As if it had lost its vibrancy. A sign of the end of the Cascade? But that wasn’t what she wanted to ask him. “How is your consort?” she said, still fascinated by the fact he’d fallen in love with a mortal—and turned her into an angel.
Raphael’s lips curved a touch. “She says that when you last woke, you looked at her like a new and interesting bug.”
Zanaya was not often rendered speechless, but her jaw dropped at that statement. Then she laughed, delighted with both this archangel who’d dared say that to her face—and with his consort. “Alas, I must plead guilty to that. She is the first being of her kind I’ve seen in all my existence.”
Mortals had never registered on her consciousness as anything but fleeting sparks in the darkness. She’d appreciated the art they created, the work they did to maintain the world, but she had trouble bonding with them—she couldn’t get past the fact that they’d be gone just as she was settling into a friendship.
“I’ll attempt not to examine her with such rude intensity the next time we meet,” she promised, ignoring the increased stretching at the back of her mind. It was disturbing but not uncomfortable. “Your territory has recovered from the war?”
“In most senses,” Raphael said. “One strip of Manhattan remains scorched and dark, with no sign of new life.” A grimness to his jawline. “Suyin is right—her aunt was a power. She left her mark on the world in more ways than one.” Those eyes so intense in shade as to be impossible pinned Zanaya to the spot. “You shouldn’t be awake and whole, Lady Zanaya. We all know that.”
So, it appeared Caliane’s handsome son was far more forthright than his diplomatic mother. “Do you believe me one of her reborn?” The idea of being one of those monstrous things that shouldn’t exist made her stomach churn.
“No. A reborn couldn’t hold this conversation with me. But, given the nature of your injury, you’ve healed too fast. We must know the answer as to why.”
Never one to shy away from harsh reality, Zanaya said, “Your immunity to her ability. Did you retain anything of it in the aftermath?” Cascade gifts were oft violent, but what they left behind tended to be a gentler kiss of power.
He looked at her with unflinching intensity, his hair blue-black in the sunshine. “Why do you ask?”
Well aware he had no reason to trust her with what abilities he did or did not have, she held out her hand. “Touch me if you will, Raphael. I would like to know if you sense her in me.”
A pause as if she’d startled him, but then he gave a curt nod and closed his hand over hers. They both flinched at the discomfort of their archangel-to-archangel contact. She released a breath through clenched teeth. “It’s never been this painful.”
In most cases, it was a niggling unease that, if left to grow, could turn into violence and anger, pitch predator against predator. Wars had been started by archangels driven to violence by this most primal urge, an urge so vicious and brutal that it took teeth-gritted will paired with millennia of experience to fight it.
With her and Alexander, however, the effect had been dull from the start, and it’d worn down even further over time. They only really got into trouble if they spent too much time together—more than a month of constant contact would do it, but it had to be constant. Spending every night in each other’s arms and being in close proximity throughout the day. Given their duties as archangels, that was a scenario that rarely came into play.