Archangel's Resurrection (Guild Hunter #15)(108)

It’s all right, lover, she said mind-to-mind. I will heal. Today, we are charged with a task terrible and necessary.

Aloud she said, “Antonicus is ready to go,” as the archangel who’d died in front of their eyes only to be forced awake as a monster managed to hold his feet, though his chest was a bleeding maw, his face cracked rivulets of death.

Antonicus had been arrogant and oft an ass, but he’d done his duty as an archangel. He didn’t deserve to be humiliated at the end, his entire history reduced to this creature that was no longer Antonicus even if some part of his mind yet existed within. But she would give peace to that final flicker of the being who’d once been an archangel.

“Alexander, you and I must vow to never reveal this Antonicus to the others,” she said. “His history will end the day he flew into the black fog. With courage and heart. We will say we have no other knowledge of his whereabouts. Soon enough, he will become legend, the Sleeper lost.”

Alexander gave a curt nod even as Antonicus’s mien turned grateful—and proud. His shoulders squared as much as possible, his expression resolved.

“We were never friends, you and I,” Alexander said to the dying archangel, “but you were a great archangel. Good journey beyond the veil.”

Antonicus didn’t reply, his face twisting again as he fought to retain the last pieces of himself as inside her, the screams grew ever louder. Lover, this must be a private act. He is too proud to accept you as witness.

Alexander took to the sky without argument.

And a pale gray beam of dawnlight hit the decaying flesh of Antonicus’s face.

“You are no one’s slave, Antonicus, no one’s servant.” She made her words hard, absolute. “You are an archangel. And you have chosen your ending.” Then she unleashed her power.

He didn’t fight back. Couldn’t fight back.

Her midnight fire, a thing not of heat but of the cold heart of night, engulfed him. His face was a torment of pain as he died, but inside her head, she heard the clarity of words spoken in the voice of an archangel respected and honorable—and at peace: Thank you.

It was over quickly.

That told her more than anything how little of Antonicus had remained inside that rotted shell. Archangels didn’t die easy. What had turned to ash in front of her had been as much an automaton as the reborn who’d crawled to her through the grass.

Tears still rolled down her face at such an end to a life glorious.

Unwilling to just leave his ashes there, she created a small whirlwind that sucked up the remains. Then she rose into the sky with the whirlwind beside her. Alexander, who—as she’d expected—had waited close enough to assist should the situation turn, joined her, and they flew together until they were deep over the sunlit waters of the ocean.

There they halted, the whirlwind in front of them.

There was no need for more words, but she felt she must say them. “Archangel Antonicus died a decade ago. But what remains here, we give to the water, in the hope that this being, too, will find the same freedom.”

Alexander took her hand in his as she released the whirlwind, and the ashes dropped gently onto glittering blue. “We made a mistake that night on Neha’s border fort, didn’t we, Zani?”

Throat yet thick, she shook her head. “No, we couldn’t consign him to death when he might have a chance at life. This way . . . he made the choice. He asked for death.”

Alexander’s fingers clenched on hers. “Do you think the others who Sleep will rise as he did?”

“I would say no for Astaad and Michaela—they were injured in battle against Lijuan, and while that comes with dangers of its own, Antonicus flew into the death fog. You told me Favashi sickened after being in China?”

“Yes, Lijuan left an unknown trap for her.”

“So, she is the one most at risk. But she has also spent the longest in Cassandra’s embrace thus far—and she looked nothing akin to Antonicus when she woke before the war. Chances are high she’s safe, but we won’t know until she does awaken.” Zanaya could no longer see any hint of ash, the last echoes of an Ancient life gone without a trace. “I have a piece of Lijuan’s gift with the dead.”

Alexander cupped her face, his skin golden in the sun’s rays. “You are a woman of heart, consort-mine. You give mercy. You don’t use.”

Simple words that had a profound effect on her understanding of who she was now—an archangel who could draw the lingering dead to her, give them true peace. “Yes. I accept this charge and this honor.” Never again would she fear the infected dead or the reborn that remained in the world—for they were creatures trapped and screaming.

With each one that she gave mercy, she brought a little more light into this yet-healing world.

“Hold me, General,” she said and, wrapping her arms around his waist, laid her heart on his chest. “And I will hold you. Both of us were wounded this morn.”

Alexander’s indrawn breath was a painful thing as he wrapped his arms tight around her where they hovered above the water, two archangels who trusted each other enough to lay down all their weapons, lower all their shields, reveal all their wounds.

High above them, a solitary white owl soared until it vanished into the clouds.





59


Xander was very much of his grandfather’s bloodline, Zanaya thought not for the first time as she ducked her head in to check on Alexander’s grandson. While Sharine and the squadron with her had taken him first to Titus’s nearest stronghold, the healers had authorized a transfer to Zanaya’s fortress once Xander had stabilized.