Archangel's Resurrection (Guild Hunter #15)(70)

He loved every part of her.

Their first kiss was soft, sweeter than anyone might imagine. Their second kiss tasted of the berries she’d eaten while he’d scavenged for more in the nearby bush. And for a treasured beat, they could just be Alexander and Zani, two lovers who had nowhere to be and nothing much to do.

Then the sun emerged to caress the world in warmth and there were no more berries.

“So,” Zanaya said, “let’s go see Titus so I can discuss territorial matters with him, face-to-face.”



* * *



*

Alexander had little time alone with Zanaya over the next twenty-four hours—at which point they prepared to walk into a meeting of the Cadre.

A physical meeting.

The Cadre hadn’t met in person for years; there’d been no need, no urgency, and every archangel in the world was content to stay in and stabilize territories badly impacted by the war. Even those who’d paid less of a physical price had a traumatized populace that had witnessed nightmare after nightmare in Lijuan’s war.

This modern world with all its devices capable of communication . . . no, there wasn’t one corner of the planet that hadn’t stood witness to what Lijuan had done. Beginning with the careless mountain of flesh where her people had dumped their wounded fighters, and ending with thousands of decaying bodies strewn across Manhattan.

So no, none of them had seen any need to waste time on meeting in person.

Zanaya’s resurrection, however, had set the Cadre abuzz. Everyone wanted to lay their eyes on her.

“Our compatriots,” Zanaya had said with acerbic humor, “want to see with their own eyes that I haven’t returned a shriveled-up mummy—nor an insane reborn frothing at the mouth.”

Alexander had been forced to admit the truth. “I’d be the same,” he’d said with a groan. “We are base creatures at heart.”

But then Zanaya had laughed, one of those deeply infectious laughs that came straight from her core. “So would I, lover. I was turned into a mummy! Had I witnessed that, I wouldn’t believe in my resurrection, either.”

So it was that they were to meet, the location a sprawling fort in Northern Africa. In the courtyard of which Alexander now stood with Titus, the space expansive and planted with multiple trees heavy with fruit or vibrant with blooms.

“It used to belong to that donkey’s excrement, Charisemnon.” Titus, the deep mahogany hue of his skin aglow under the sunshine, spit on the ground after uttering the dead archangel’s name. “But Euphenia dislikes waste and remembered this place as a haven of beauty and art before Charisemnon stunk it up, so she took charge of having it cleaned and otherwise cleansed. Sharine tells me ancient angelic fire rituals were involved. Phenie also asked a respected mortal healer of places to do his chants and ceremonies.”

“Sometimes, the old ways are the best.” Alexander couldn’t argue with Euphenia’s methods when the result was this bright and vital space that carried no echo of Charisemnon’s foul mores.

“Well.” Titus looked around. “It does have a good air to it, I must admit. I was skeptical when Phenie said she could wipe out that pus boil’s stink, but I do believe she has succeeded. There’s a freshness to it now, as if it’s waiting for its new master.”

Titus grinned as they walked inside the main building. “Perhaps it’s because—along with her other measures—my sister sent an open invitation to mortal children in the local city. She gave her small visitors paints and sticks of color, and set them free within the fort. Their task was to color the walls with their art. For which activity they were rewarded with much cake and chocolates and the like.”

Intrigued, Alexander looked at the stunning wall hangings all around, the walls otherwise pristine. “Where are their creations? Surely Euphenia wouldn’t permit her ingenious method of banishing bad energy to be erased?” Alexander knew Titus’s eldest sister too well to believe that.

Grin even brighter, Titus lifted the lower part of one heavy wall hanging . . . to reveal an image of flowers drawn in a child’s careful hand. “Hidden all over the fort—Phenie says they are a gift of joy for the residents to discover.”

Alexander crouched down to trace his fingers over the painstakingly created petals. “Zanaya will love this.”

A pause before Titus said, “My friend, I hope you’ll excuse some plain speaking.” Dropping the edge he’d lifted, the big angel shifted on his feet, uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Speak, Titus.” Alexander rose from his crouched position, he and Titus of a height so that when their eyes met, it was contact direct and unflinching. “We’ve never been formal.” Not even when Titus had been a boy.

Alexander had lived long enough to know that some people simply resonated with one another. Age mattered naught beyond a certain point. A friend was a friend.

“I don’t know Zanaya beyond our fleeting meeting during the war. But I know of her—though but for the odd comment you let slip, you’ve always been close-lipped on the topic, some of the old ones in my court were around when you two were together.”

Alexander nodded, aware that a larger-than-usual number of older angels had woken over the last decade. Per Jessamy’s research, it was likely to be a lingering effect of the Cascade, ripples of disturbance spreading in time. “And what you heard worries you?”