Archangel's Light (Guild Hunter #14)(79)

Shrugging off a renewed surge of irritation, Aodhan joined Illium, and they both took a seat. “Eat,” he said to Jinhai, and picked up a slice of bread, on which he began to pile on cheese, sliced meat, more.

Jinhai watched warily for a second, then scurried over to join them. His table manners were impeccable. Perhaps not a surprise. Prior to her descent into obsession, Lijuan had been an archangel of great learning and culture, her cruelty informed by intelligence. She’d buried her son in that cavern—but she’d also provided him with clothing, lessons, language.

“Eat slowly,” Illium directed when the boy began to shovel food into his mouth. “Otherwise, you’ll just throw it all back up.”

Jinhai had frozen at Illium’s first words, but when that was all he said, the child kept on eating—but at a more reasonable pace.

Aodhan touched his mind to Illium’s. He seems too easily scared to have done what was done to the villagers. At least some of them would’ve tried to fight back.

Leaning back in his chair, Illium rubbed at his face. Sparkle, I want him to be innocent . . . but those people lived in a world where they believed Lijuan a goddess. How do you think they’d have reacted to an apparently scared, starving young angel with broken wings? Especially one who is so clearly the son of their goddess?

He held up his hand before Aodhan could reply. Even if the village was set up as Jinhai’s kitchen and the home of his guards, I don’t think all the residents were aware of his existence. I’d say, at most, they had knowledge of a nearby prison where some neighbors went to work, and that was it—and we know Lijuan inspired devotion. The guards entrusted with the knowledge would’ve held it close.

Aodhan’s hand clenched on the glass of water he’d just poured, for Illium’s thinking aligned with his own. There was no reason for Lijuan to have entrusted an entire village with this secret; the more people who knew, the higher the chance of an accidental leak.

The others would’ve considered his sudden appearance a boon, a sign of Lijuan’s triumphant return. Aodhan glanced once more at the boy. You think he’s capable of being so cunning?

Illium’s face twisted. I have no fucking idea what the hell is going on. Rising, he went back into the kitchen, returned with a bottle of mead and two new glasses that he filled, one for him, one for Aodhan.

“Not for you yet,” he said to Jinhai. “Mead is a rite of passage after you reach your majority.”

The boy said nothing, more interested in his food.

While the honey wine was a rite of passage, it did nothing to angelic systems. The taste, however, was a pleasant one familiar from their youth. This dark morn, it threatened to send Aodhan back to a party long ago, when he and Illium had both been lanky young angels finding their feet. It was during that party that he’d had his first sensual experience that had gone beyond kissing; it had been a thing of blushes and delight and exploratory touches of skin on skin in the secret hollow behind a large rock.

Aodhan had recently seen that warrior, for he was now part of one of Caliane’s squadrons, and they’d both smiled at the youthful memory that had aged well. The warrior was now much in love with one of Caliane’s angelic maidens, and had colored with happiness when he spoke of her.

Aodhan had felt a wave of profound joy for the other man, for he’d helped Aodhan in his darkest hour without ever knowing it. The memory of their long-ago shared joy, and others akin to it—of intimate touch that was welcome, of riotous hugs and embraces from Illium, loving pats on the cheek from Eh-ma, even his parents’ absentminded strokes of his hair—he’d repeated them over and over in his mind during his captivity as a reminder that not all touch was unwanted. Not all touch made his skin crawl. Not all touch was a violation.

It hadn’t worked to ward off the psychic scars, not for two centuries. But he’d had the memories with him in that time of pain and horror, and he’d had them as a foundation on which to stand when he began to heal at last.

Jinhai, on the other hand . . .

No fond memories of blushing youthful kisses or fumbled explorations for him, no memories of joy at all. Of course, it was all relative.

It might be that Lijuan’s visits had been the most joyful thing in his existence.

I hate her more each time I look at him.

Illium’s eyes met his. Yes. I knew she was a monster, but this . . .

Jinhai kept on eating.

Every so often, however, he’d glance at the window. Three times, he got up, stuck his hand through the one Illium had left cracked open, then returned to the table. By the time he leaned back in his chair, he’d eaten his way through what was in actuality a small amount of food for an angel of his age—immortal childhood growth required fuel, so young angels tended to eat.

Still, he appeared satiated. He’d just cracked his mouth in a huge yawn when the watch on Illium’s wrist made a noise that had him jerking to attention.

Looking down, Illium tapped a finger on the screen a few times, then took off the device. “Here.” He held it out to Jinhai. “You want it?”

The boy hesitated.

Illium grinned—that wicked, playful grin that charmed the world and made Aodhan shake his head in affection. “Let me show you something.” He tapped the screen once to bring up an image of blocks. When he tapped it again, the blocks fell apart. “Use your fingers to move them back into place.”