Raven's Strike (Raven #2)(99)

When she pulled back, he wiped her cheeks with his hands. "You need to forgive them," he told her. "They are long dead, and your anger harms only you. Forgive them for dying and leaving you behind. Forgive Hinnum, if it was he, who loved you too much to allow you death to salve your pain."

Hennea felt raw. "You are a child," she whispered. "How can you know such things?"

The step she took away from him was more of a stumble than the firm distance-setting stride she'd intended, but it served its purpose. His touch was too unsettling, too necessary.

He smiled. "Some truths are truths, no matter who says them. My father knows a lot of them. 'Forgiveness benefits you more than those you forgive' is one of his favorites."

The smile faded, and his eyes darkened. "You lost so much," he said, and she couldn't tell who spoke, Jes or the Guardian. "Is there nothing you found afterward? Were no gifts given to you?"

She stared at him, trying to maintain her dignity; but he waited patiently, a smile lurking just below the surface of his eyes.

"You," she said.

He smiled again and closed the distance between them. As he pulled her into a hug that was more exuberant than sensual, he whispered, "Next time you want to look dignified, you might tie your blouse closed first."

He laughed when she pushed against him with an indignant huff. "Come," he said. "I know of a place that'll be more comfortable for what I have in mind than this marble floor. I did a bit of exploring before we noticed the face on the statue was yours - the black color threw us off."

"You just weren't looking at the face," she said, and he threw back his head and gave one of his joy-ridden crows of amusement.

"Jealous of a statue?" he asked, and picked her up. "A man likes something softer and warmer than marble - no matter how beautiful."

She let him carry her up the stairs of the dais and through the half-hidden door beyond. He took her through the halls and into a room built around a serene pool. The afternoon light reflected off the water from hidden skylights, giving the walls a dappled appearance.

"I remember that this was always my favorite room," she said, as he laid her on one of the thick mats that covered the ground.

The Guardian buried his face under her hair, between her neck and shoulder, and inhaled. "I love your scent," he growled.

"Wait," she said, pulling away from him.

He let her go, though his hands clenched, and he grimaced.

"I have to tell you," she said. "I have to tell Jes."

"Jes is listening," rumbled the Guardian, rolling until he was on his belly, his face hidden in his arms. "That is the best we can do right now."

Hennea sat up and rubbed his back, then pulled her hand back because it was distracting to touch him and feel him shaking with passion under her fingers - and she needed him to understand just what she was before he made such a commitment to her.

"There were six of us in the days of Colossae. Raven, Eagle, Owl, Cormorant, Lark, and Falcon. We kept the world safe by the balance of our powers."

She folded her legs and made herself small as she organized her newfound memories and composed a story that would make sense to Jes without losing itself in useless details.

"Colossae was my city, and I loved her. I loved the wizards who lived in her. They asked me for power, and I gave it to them."

The Guardian turned onto his side so he could watch her. His body was relaxing slowly from the tension of passion.

"The only thing I loved more than my city was my Consort. We were created for each other. There was balance between us: Eagle for Raven, Owl for Cormorant, and Lark for Hunter. Then my wizards, using the power I gave them, killed my Eagle."

"How?" The Guardian's breathing had picked up, but not from passion.

"Like the Path took the Order from its bearer, the greedy wizards stole the Eagle's power. They died in the doing, but it killed my beloved, too."

He turned his gaze to the pool of water, his face neutral, she could not read what he thought.

"The power we held was immortal, Jes, but we learned that we were not immune to the Stalker's gift. We lived, the six of us, to keep the greater gods in check. Our world is old and brittle; if the power of the Weaver and the Stalker were loosed upon it now, it would shatter like an old, dry pot. We maintained the balance that kept the gods bound."

"One of you died." It was Jes who spoke now, though she could feel the Guardian's presence in the chill that raised goose bumps on her arms.

She nodded. "When the war god was murdered, the Elder gods stirred. People died all over the world. The old god's power is involuntary, like the dread that always hangs about the Guardian whether he wills it or not: the Weaver creates, and the Stalker destroys, they have no choice. It's what they are. They came to us, those of us who still lived, and asked us to help them restore the balance."

"To sacrifice Colossae."

"The bindings that kept the Elder gods in check were failing, day by day, because there was no balanced outlet for their power. We had two problems to fix. We needed to create a new binding and a new balance. Colossae's sacrifice was necessary to create the binding - as long as she stands frozen, so will the gods be bound."

"But one of the gods was dead, so there could be no balance."