Archangel's Resurrection (Guild Hunter #15)(111)

No one had any objection to that. If Zanaya had to guess, she’d say it was relief that rippled through the Cadre. It certainly appeared so from the cheerful conversation that broke out among the group. Are we, do you think, she asked Alexander, in a time of peace?

Eyes of pure silver met hers. A precarious one. I would venture Qin is kicking himself for not vanishing the instant you appeared on the scene. We may yet drop from nine to eight.

Zanaya flicked a glance at the archangel who’d remained silent throughout the meeting. Perish the thought. Ruling with eight is exhausting—the vampires keep talking themselves into uprisings and stupid angels start to believe they can steal and hoard territory. Never fear, I will risk life and limb and the condemnation of your Sleeping housekeeper to attempt the fire ritual in order to cleanse the cosmos of your wayward thought.

He ducked his head slightly to hide his smile, while the others of the Cadre finished up their happy discussion. Well, but for Qin. He was never happy. And in truth, she wasn’t so hard of heart that she didn’t pity him his separation from Cassandra. I hope Qin finds his happy ending one day, lover. What anguish it must be, to be alive in a world in which your beloved can’t exist without going quite, quite mad.

A white owl landed on Qin’s shoulder at that moment, fluffing its feathers before it settled. The creature’s eyes were a vivid gold.





60


Alexander flew back to Zanaya five days after the meeting about Neha. Arriving in the gray light of dawn, he looked through the open balcony doors of his grandson’s room to ensure himself Xander was in no distress—a worry without need, but he couldn’t help it.

“Grandfather.” Not only was Xander not in distress, he was walking around the room dressed only in the silken pants he’d taken to wearing in bed so he wouldn’t blush when Zanaya came to visit him.

His joy at seeing Alexander was unfettered and open.

“I thought the healers told you no exercise.”

Wincing, Xander took another step. “Don’t tell me you agree with them?”

Since Alexander was no hypocrite, he gave his grandson his arm . . . and gently tugged the boy’s tousled head close to press a kiss to his hair. “You are a beating piece of my heart, Xander. Never forget that.”

“I love you, too, Grandfather,” Xander said with the ease of a stripling who’d never had to question the love of his family.

Deciding to assist his grandson with his small rebellion, Alexander helped him into a jacket to protect his ravaged body from the cold morning air, then the two of them walked out to the balcony and down the small set of steps that led to a garden that thrived in the sandy soil of the region, the earth in which the plants buried their roots a blend of brown and orange.

Around them, leaves shimmered with dew, the flowers already open to the morning light, and the mist that curled up off the ground a delicate accent. The local peafowls, squat of form and with iridescent feathers of blue and green and black, tiny crests on their equally tiny heads, wandered the neat pathways, while in the distance came the trumpet of an elephant.

He imagined he could scent Zanaya in this space—though perhaps it wasn’t his imagination. This was her home, after all. His home, too. Theirs.

A place they made wherever they chose to be together.

“She’s amazing, Lady Zanaya,” Xander said when they paused so Alexander’s injured grandson could catch his breath.

Ah, the boy was half in love with her already. “You’ll get no argument from me, Grandson. I’ve loved only one woman in all my existence, and her name is Zanaya.”

Xander shot him a look, the gray-brown of his eyes kissed by dawn light. “I’ve never seen you this way, Grandfather.”

“Sweaty from a long flight?”

“Young.” The word was soft. “When you laugh with her, smile with her—if I didn’t know you for an Ancient, I’d never guess it. Papa was like that with Mama.”

It stopped Alexander’s heart each time his grandson used those affectionate terms to refer to Rohan and Citrine. To know that his son and Rohan’s mate had loved their son so well that this boy would forever carry them in his heart? It meant an amount indefinable.

“We’ve not often spoken of your mother,” he said, sorrow in his heart for the absence of his own memories of Citrine.

Xander lit up as he talked of his mother. “She was clever, but gentle and calm with it, while Papa was a fighter to the bone—he wasn’t hotheaded, but he was . . . big. In his emotions, in how he spoke, in what he wanted out of life.”

“Yes, Rohan was always a child bold.”

“It wasn’t until I was well past a hundred that I saw that Mama had her own power—and it came from being at peace. True peace, Grandfather, I’ve come to realize, is a rare commodity. Not many, mortal or immortal, ever achieve it. But my mother had it all my life. As if . . . as if she could hear the breath of the universe and was attuned to it.”

“I think,” Alexander said roughly when he could speak again, “you have more than a little of your mother in you, Xander. I see Citrine clearly now.”

A deepening of Xander’s smile. “She liked you, did you know that?” When Alexander shook his head, Xander said, “She used to tell me stories about my legendary grandfather, and she taught me that my father was such a good papa because you’d been a good papa to him.”