Archangel's Resurrection (Guild Hunter #15)(11)

Waiting only until he wouldn’t have to fight the backdraft of the general’s flight, Alexander rose into the air—and went exactly where he’d said he would, no matter the nausea that burned his throat and scalded his gut. The general knew how to strategize an attack far better than Alexander; Alexander wouldn’t ruin the operation by being a child who couldn’t listen to necessary orders.

His chest squeezed.



* * *



*

Later, much later, while his father rested in the infirmary, his mother—unharmed on the outside but broken inside—took Alexander’s hand in her trembling one. “I’m sorry you were put in that position, my darling boy.” Tears rolled down her face. “I never thought Phiron would stoop to such horror.”

Alexander felt as if he’d aged a hundred years in the hours past. So he didn’t berate his mother for not facing up to the cold, hard truth. He just put his arm around her and said, “It’s all right, Mama. It’s not your fault.” That was as true as the fact that his parents preferred to be blind to the darkness in the world.

“It’s all right,” he said again as his mother cried as if her heart was broken. “I was born for this. To protect. To fight for what’s right.”

And to understand that power mattered.

Else people could crush and belittle and humiliate you.

No. Never again.

To keep that vow, he needed to gain so much power that no one would dare treat him and his as prey. A goal toward which he’d already begun to walk—General Akhia-Solay had made it clear that, fledgling or not, Alexander was now under his command.

Good.





7


Alexander was already a seasoned member of a junior squadron under Akhia-Solay when he graduated to adulthood at a hundred years of age. Callie, having hit the century milestone before him, was also well established—as an angelic courier for another court. Not Rumaia’s, for Callie was too clever not to see the fetid corrosion of that court.

No, she flew under the banner of Archangel Sha-yi, she who was old enough to be termed an Ancient, and who had eyes so deep and wise that even Alexander found himself unsettled around her.

“You’re not in a squadron?” he’d asked when Callie first told him of her position.

“Every fledgling warrior that joins my sire’s court must first serve a decade as a courier alongside our usual physical training,” she’d explained. “It’s to ensure that we know all flight paths inside out, and have scouted our own emergency landing sites when it comes to the longer flights over water.”

Struck by the importance of both pieces of knowledge, Alexander made sure to volunteer as a courier for his court when the call went out. And he didn’t only take from Callie—he shared his knowledge with her too, so that their information was pooled, and they both became better, stronger.

“You have so much ambition that, when we were younger, I expected you to hoard all you learned,” Callie said to him many years down the road. “Why do you share?”

Alexander had to think about that. “Perhaps because I have a brother and parents who’ve always shared what they know with me?” He rubbed his jaw. “And . . . I think it’s also because when I look around at the most powerful among our kind, I see teams. Very few archangels and senior angels are true loners. Having bonds of trust on which you can rely is an important aspect of long-term power.”

Caliane looked at him with those eyes so blue they outshone the rare gems coveted by mortals and immortals both. “Sometimes, Alex, you scare me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re just gentler in how you wear your ambition, Callie. Neither one of us will be content to remain mere foot soldiers. We’ll be generals.”

He was proven both right and wrong.

He was the one who became a general, while Caliane became second to Sha-yi. They argued over it over a mug of mead now and then, whether he’d been right or not. He pointed out that being second was an even higher position than being a general, and she pointed out that she still wasn’t a general.

Along the way, he made other friends, built other bonds of trust. But in all of this, he remained unbound by the heart, a powerful man who took lovers when the urge struck, and who treated them with kindness, but felt no desire to tie himself down.

Then fate laughed at him.





8


Zanaya had never been face-to-face with an archangel. Hardly unusual. Many young angels never came in contact with an archangel unless they had one in the family, or they ran into them by accident while the archangel was visiting the Refuge. Most of the time, the members of the Cadre lived in their territories, while angelic young grew up safe in the protective arms of the Refuge.

Zanaya, however, hadn’t even had that opportunity. She was one of the rare children who’d been raised away from the angelic homeland. That was also the reason why she knew no other angels her age as she walked into service as a trainee in the forces of Archangel Inj’ra. At least, thanks to her mentor, Mivoniel, she wasn’t coming in as a complete novice.

She’d thought she was prepared for this, but as she entered the barracks, where she was to live with ten other young angels, she had no idea what to do. They’d all grown up together in the Refuge, were sharing jokes or conversation while she pretended to be busy putting away her clothes and boots in the old trunk at the foot of her bedroll—which she’d already laid out. More busy work, more things to keep her from looking like she was lonely.