Archangel's Resurrection (Guild Hunter #15)(38)

“If this is a new style of art, lover,” she muttered, curling her lip, “I have no faith in the current state of civilization.”

A chuckle before he could remember that he was meant to be angry with her. “It’s a communications system,” he explained. “I can’t tell you how it works. I leave that knowledge to the young. All I know is that it’s useful.”

Intrigued, Zanaya went outside to what Alexander referred to as the “control room” and watched a vampire named Richmond push buttons and touch what he told her were called “screens.” His voice was crisp and clean and held the precise rhythm of a language unknown to her—but the language he used when he spoke to her was the old angelic tongue, which—per angelic law—had to remain unchanged in certain key aspects.

New vocabulary could be introduced to include new things in the world, but the old had to stay and the underlying structure of the language itself had to remain the same as when it had first been spoken. An event that had taken place so long ago that no one in Zanaya’s lifetime had had any knowledge of it. Any natural evolution was forcefully crushed or pushed in the direction of the offshoot of the angelic tongue used in everyday life.

This one language, clunky though it might sound to any new generation that had to study it in childhood, had to remain a constant across eons.

Nothing else would work in a world of immortals who Slept.

All members of an archangel’s innermost circle were tutored in it, so she hadn’t been surprised when Richmond proved fluent.

“All is ready, sire,” he said eventually into a small black button at his collar, and he had the politeness to continue using the archaic language Zanaya understood. “I will leave now with your permission.”

Zanaya jerked when Alexander’s voice came from directly in front of her . . . though he was inside the windowless room with the flat black panels. “Go,” he said. “Keemat will take care of any new emergencies for the duration of this meeting—contact her if anything arises.”

Keemat, she’d come to know, was his most senior general but for Valerius. The latter—a loyal, honorable, and intelligent, if occasionally stodgy, angel—had been with Alexander in Zanaya’s time, too, and today stood as his third. Oddly enough, given their differing personalities and views on battle tactics, Valerius and Zanaya had ever enjoyed each other’s company. She looked forward to breaking bread with him once again.

Alexander, it seemed, had no second at this time as Valerius was firm in his stance that he wasn’t the right person for the task. In truth, if he was much as he’d been before her Sleep, then she agreed with him. Alexander’s third was many things, but gifted in the subtlety required of a second? No, that was not Valerius.

“Sire.” The vampire, Richmond, rose before turning to bow deeply to Zanaya. “Lady Zanaya. Please excuse me. I’m not permitted to witness a meeting of the Cadre.”

Realizing she was in his way, she stepped out of his path. “It’s better that you not listen in, young one.” Zanaya smiled then made a face at the thought of the pompous bombast to come. “You may lose all your illusions about your illustrious rulers.”

A blink, a blush of color under the dark gold of his skin. Followed by the faintest smile. “I’m glad to have the chance to live in a world where you are awake, my lady.”

The scamp was gone a moment later, closing the heavy doors firmly behind himself.

“Zani!”

Rolling her eyes at that impatient call, she slipped back into the room with the black screens. They were, however, no longer blank. Each showed a turning hourglass with writing beneath that her mind processed as a countdown, though she couldn’t understand the language.

It wouldn’t be much longer till she did, however.

Angelic brains old enough to trigger the Sleep state also absorbed new languages at a speed that couldn’t be explained in any rational way. Which was why the archaic nature of the old tongue didn’t matter; it was only used to ease the transition from Sleep to a wakeful existence.

The first screen cleared, to reveal a face. Followed by another screen, and another until each was filled by the visage of a member of the Cadre.





20


Zanaya sucked in a breath when she saw not one but two sets of eyes of a blue so distinctive it was a signature. Caliane has a son? she asked Alexander.

Yes. His father was Nadiel—who ruled and died while you Slept. An echo of pain in his voice, an indication of a bad end for this Nadiel who had won Caliane. Raphael is the son of two archangels.

It was instinct to want to touch his wing, his arm, offer comfort for a hurt the parameters of which she didn’t know, but this wasn’t the time or place. Alexander wouldn’t want to acknowledge any vulnerability in such company. Instead, she attempted to distract him. I want to stare. That would be rude, but I can’t help it.

The merest hint of a twitch of his lips. I think you’re safe to indulge. Everyone is staring at one another.

So they are. After all, it wasn’t every day that so many Ancients woke up and shook off the cobwebs. Then the discussion began and she came to the sour realization that several of these old ones should’ve stayed in their cobwebby bunkers.

You’re not helping matters, Alexander muttered into her mind when she made another sly comment designed to irritate.