Archangel's Enigma (Guild Hunter)(24)

Flowers in subtle shades bloomed in large planters situated around the courtyard, and she could see not only soldiers of both sexes moving about, but also maidens dressed in delicate silk cheongsams and ethereal gowns. There were pretty male courtiers, too, wearing embroidered silks and fashionable tunics.

Water glinted through one passageway out of the courtyard, along with flashes of green. A pond, Andromeda realized. Perhaps a garden created around that source of water. That had to be the true courtyard where Lijuan might walk amongst her courtiers. This was the more practical external one, and even it was paved with stones that glittered with flecks of sparkling minerals.

The parts of the roof she could see from here had sinuous dragons along the edges, while painstakingly carved stone bridges connected one section of the citadel to another. Those bridges endowed on the surely sprawling edifice an appearance of fragility. Impressive, given that it was hewn out of stone and could probably withstand a long-term siege.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “I expected a more military-like structure.”

“This is our lady’s home,” Xi said, a touch of censure in his tone, his posture military straight. “She has always loved and nurtured artists, though she has never flaunted it like Michaela. This citadel was designed by a gifted architect long ago.”

“Ah.” She ran her fingers over the stone, her bones aching from the sense of history embedded in the silky smoothness under her touch. As if so many hands had touched this stone over so many millennia, it had been worn down to its purest essence. “Suyin?” she asked in wonder.

A small incline of Xi’s head. “She was born of Lady Lijuan’s sister.”

Andromeda felt her heart sigh. To be allowed to view, to touch one of Suyin’s lost masterworks . . . It almost made her forget her circumstances. Craning her neck, she wished she could see the citadel from above—not for escape this time, but because her scholar’s heart was aflutter at the idea of exploring what may well be the largest structure Suyin ever designed.

Xi allowed her time to admire the parts she could glimpse before nodding at her to walk with him into the citadel.

“The world lost a great artist on Suyin’s death,” Andromeda said, her hands itching for a sketchpad and a pencil.

“Yes.”

Even as she continued to glory in the grace and splendor that shouted Suyin’s touch—as embodied in the palace the architect had designed for Alexander—she was recalling the sad and mysterious circumstances of the other woman’s death. “Since Suyin’s body was never found, I’ve always hoped that perhaps her suicide note was a feint intended to allow her to go to Sleep on her own terms.”

Xi’s wings brushed hers on a tight corner. “My apologies,” he said, immediately putting an inch between them. “I wasn’t alive at the time Suyin created this citadel, but my lady may have further insights. We go to see her now.”

Andromeda’s blood chilled, wonder erased by ice-cold fear.





10


Swallowing to wet her dry throat, she said, “Is it possible for me to refresh myself prior to meeting the archangel? She is not known for her kindness to those who offend her.” An undeniable truth. “I would rather go in looking my best.”

“A wise and intelligent choice.” Xi’s near-black eyes skimmed her dusty form, but there was nothing derogatory in the glance.

No, it was more like a general taking stock of one of his men.

“You have fifteen minutes,” he said. “I will speak to my lady in the interim and tell her I have given you time to recover.” He made a small gesture and a short, sturdy-looking Chinese vampire appeared out of the woodwork to bow deeply toward him.

Andromeda’s heart slammed hard against her rib cage. She hadn’t seen the black-garbed vampire, hadn’t even suspected he was hovering. She’d have to be far more alert if she intended to make it out of here. Following the vampire down the corridor, then another and another and another, she realized he was either deliberately taking her on a circuitous and confusing route, or this citadel was a maze. It didn’t matter—a scholar’s mind was her greatest weapon and Andromeda had long ago learned ways to memorize and retrieve information.

Reaching the room at last, the vampire waved her in. “I will wait for you, honored guest,” he said in one of the major dialects spoken in Lijuan’s territory, then began almost immediately to repeat the words in French.

Andromeda held up a hand. “I understand.” Like most angels, even the youngest, she spoke multiple languages. However, as a scholar who wished to work at Jessamy’s side, she was expected to learn every single one that might be used by mortals and immortals both, including those languages that had fallen slowly out of favor.

For how can a Historian keep a true record if she doesn’t hear and understand all of the voices, even the quietest?

Jessamy’s words the day she’d explained the importance of language studies to a young Andromeda who was a novice at scholarship but who wanted so desperately to learn. Andromeda’s current retention rate was fifty-eight percent and included all the major world languages, as well as about a third of the minor ones.

Also remaining on her list were the subdialects, as well as certain languages spoken only in isolated pockets of the world, and the “dead” tongues. Of course that percentage would never hit a hundred—language was a living organism that changed from day to day, year to year, century to century.