Archangel's Light (Guild Hunter #14)(38)

Because he hadn’t ever implied that Illium was a cage, much less used the words Illium was trying to put into his mouth.

He remembered exactly what he’d said: I’m no longer a broken doll who needs to be protected from those who might play roughly with me.

Then later, when he’d tracked Illium down as he sat alone on one of the powerful columns that arched over Brooklyn Bridge: I don’t need to be tied to your apron strings any longer. I don’t need to be babied and kept safe from myself.

He’d been frustrated but no longer furious as he’d been at dinner. He’d needed his best friend to understand what he was trying to tell him, to see Aodhan as he was then and not as he’d once been.

But Illium, hurt by his earlier words, had been in no mood to listen.

If he could go back in time to that night, would he say the same? No. The apron strings comment had been out of line and Aodhan owned that. As for the rest . . . He wouldn’t use the term “broken doll” for that brought up a memory so ugly it should be forever forgotten. But the rest? The meaning behind it? Yes, he’d speak of that again. It had needed to be said.





22



Yesterday

Illium had just finished his sword training with Raphael—the archangel made him use a stubby wooden sword even though Illium had told him that he wouldn’t accidentally stab him or himself, but it was still the best fun. He hardly ever got to train with Raphael; he was an archangel, had lots of important business, and was often in his territory far, far away.

Mostly, Illium trained under people Raphael had chosen for the task.

But Raphael was the one who’d taught him his first skills—he’d spent an entire month with Illium for that, had even asked permission from Teacher Jessamy to take him out of school for it!

It had been amazing.

And even though he couldn’t spend so many days with Illium often, he always made time for a session or sometimes even two whenever he was in the Refuge. Today, he’d been waiting at the house when Illium flew home from school; he’d been seated at Illium’s mother’s table while she sketched him. In front of him had been a plate of cookies, and a glass of milk.

Illium’s eyes had gotten round. He knew that was little angel food. He still liked it, but Raphael was an archangel. But Raphael was never mean to Illium’s mother. Not ever. Not even when she did things that weren’t quite right. Today, he’d drunk the milk, and eaten the cookies before he took Illium out for the training session.

Once, when Illium had said thank you to Raphael for being so nice to Illium’s mother, Raphael had stopped walking and crouched down so they were eye to eye. It stopped Illium’s breath to be that close to Raphael—his eyes were like blue fire and Illium could feel a pressure against his skin, like he could in the air right before a storm.

That day, Raphael had said, “You need never say such to me, Illium.” He’d cupped one side of Illium’s head, his fingers brushing Illium’s hair. “Lady Sharine has every claim on my loyalty, love, and care. She was a mother to me when I needed one most. Whenever she calls, I will come.”

Illium hadn’t understood all of the emotion in Raphael’s voice or face, but he’d understood that his mother had a history with the archangel. Maybe one day, he’d be old enough that they’d tell him about it. It was annoying being a little angel—but at least he wasn’t any longer considered a baby.

“Ugh,” he said as he struggled up the steep climb. He could’ve flown home, but Raphael always said that he couldn’t only be strong in the air—to be a truly well-rounded warrior, he had to be strong on the ground, too. Because otherwise, what would he do if his wings got wounded in battle and he fell to the earth?

Illium had no plans of being useless if he ended up groundbound. So he made it a point to walk as much as he flew. Sometimes, when the ground wasn’t this uneven, with craggy edges and sharp rocks, he even ran. But today, Raphael had made him do a hard training, and the ground was all broken up, so he was huffed by the time he made it to the top of the incline.

When a burst of light landed beside him, he bent down with his hands on his knees, his sword strapped safely to his back, and gasped. “Sorry. Training.”

Aodhan didn’t say anything, standing in quiet next to Illium until Illium could breathe properly again. He could see half of Aodhan’s legs and part of Aodhan’s wings from his bent-over position. His friend was wearing brown sandals, and his favorite old pants that had started out white but were now kind of a dull light brown, with small rips in them. His wings glittered like the stones in Lady Ariha’s necklace.

Light shattered off Aodhan, was drawn to him.

Though Illium was used to it, it was still kind of difficult to look at him in the bright sunshine. Playfully pushing his friend into the shade of a nearby tree when he could stand straight again, he said, “I think I see stars.”

It was an old joke between them, from a time when Illium had fallen and hit his head and thought he was seeing stars when really, it was just Aodhan leaning over him with the sun sparking off his hair.

The two of them found it hilarious.

But today, Aodhan didn’t laugh. His face was still and tight. Illium immediately stopped joking around. “What happened?”

Aodhan kicked at a piece of rock. “Can we go flying?”