Archangel's Resurrection (Guild Hunter #15)(72)

He’d retrieve it the instant he was back in his territory.

For now, he answered Zanaya’s question about his laughter: I attempted to insult Titus by comparing him to a sore on a dung beetle’s foot. He found it most amusing.

A slight tilt of her head, Zanaya’s gaze flicking to Titus’s face as her lips curved. He will be a good neighbor, I think. The deep violet of her one-shouldered shift sparkled and glittered in the torchlight.

You, my Zani, are far more likely to be the neighbor who picks fights.

I’ll remind you I never had problems at my border except when my neighbors lost their damned minds. I am perfectly rational when it comes to ruling my territory.

It’s only with you that I’m irrational.

The unspoken words lingered in the air, true enough for both of them.





36


Neha swept into the room at that moment, her skin a dusky brown and her wings a crisp white but for threads of cobalt in the primaries. She’d lined her brown eyes with kohl, but was elsewise in her warrior avatar today. No sari with threads of gold and silver but old and beaten leathers of darkest green that hugged her form. A kukri blade, its curve a wicked sharpness, hung at her hip.

She wore her black hair swept off her face in a sleek bun at her nape and for a startling moment of time, she looked both painfully young—and terribly old, her shoulders bowed by age and grief. But the moment passed as fast as it had appeared, and she was simply the Queen of India, a woman of grace and power.

Caliane was already in the room, chatting to Elijah. The Archangel of South America had recovered fully from the injuries he’d sustained at Lijuan’s hands, his wings a flawless white and his hair a richer gold than Alexander’s more sun-baked strands.

I hear that Elijah has the longest-lasting relationship in the Cadre. Zanaya’s voice in his head, followed by a mental sniff. We beat that paltry record eons ago.

She’d always been competitive. Does it count if we were then apart for tens of thousands of years, Zani?

Their eyes met again, eons between them. Eons of shouts and fights. Eons of laughter and delight. Eons of history. So much history that it had threatened to shatter them under the weight of it.

Alexander could’ve kicked himself for reminding her of their failure when he’d just gotten her back. Titus says his sister cleansed this fort with old angelic fire rituals, the chants of a mortal who heals places, and the art of small children, he found himself saying. Now it’s fresh and new again. Perhaps we should ask for the instructions for the ritual.

Zanaya’s lips twitched, the heaviness retreating. Lover, I’m not sure we should be adding fire to our arsenal. Remember that time I decided to be romantic and fill your room with pretty glass lamps? I do hope your housekeeper from that time Sleeps forevermore. I still owe him a hundred yards of curtains, several carpets, hours of manual labor, and of course, my unending apologies. If I never have to face his gravely disappointed face again, it will be far too soon.

His stomach muscles hurt from containing his laughter.

Another stir at the door and Qin, tall and slender, his wings all the colors of an aurora, and his shoulder-length hair obsidian water, flowed into the room. No one knew his age, but since he’d had a relationship with Cassandra, he had to be the oldest of the current Cadre. Yet it was Caliane who was officially given that honor—because Qin was . . . faded. One foot in this world, one foot in the world where his beloved lay Sleeping.

I’ve heard he’s been moping since he woke, Zanaya said.

Alexander gave her a speaking look. Truly, Zani. Have you no heart? The man mourns the lover who can never be with him. Cassandra, with her visions that drove her to claw out her own eyes, couldn’t exist in the living world. I lost you but for a mere moment in time in comparison and I felt as if I would break forever. His breath caught even now. I understand why he is the way he is.

Zanaya’s dark eyes held his, passionate and intent. But you did your job, Alexander. You never allowed your people to feel a lack. He’s an archangel, too. He needs to do his duty and not be a depressed wraith who floats around like a maiden in a moldering castle.

Alexander fought off an outward wince. Truth be told, and despite his new understanding, he’d had the odd uncharitable thought toward Qin, too. The archangel did his duty, but only just. The territory he’d taken over was doing fine. But fine wasn’t good enough for either Alexander or Zanaya. Their territories had always sung, always beaten with a fierce heart, their peoples proud to shout their fidelity to their archangel.

The same could be said of the territory of Raphael, youngest of the archangels.

The Archangel of New York walked in just then with Suyin, the newest of the archangels. Alexander caught Zanaya’s mental inhale, understood it. She might’ve seen Suyin on the screen, and Alexander had told her that Suyin was Lijuan’s niece, but to see the new archangel in person had an entirely different impact. For with her hair of ice-white and skin the same, Suyin bore an eerie similarity to her dead aunt—except for the warm darkness of her eyes, and the beauty mark under one eye. Though her wings were mainly white, her bronze primaries and the vibrant energy in her eyes saved her from appearing a being without color.

Today, she wore bronze leathers that echoed the shade of her primary feathers.

Raphael, by contrast, wore black pants of a tough fabric Alexander often utilized, and a sleeveless tunic in the same color—the tunic was strapped to his body by multiple panels of fabric that ended in dull metal buckles. The hilt of a sword thrust over his shoulder . . . and on the fourth finger of his left hand was a ring of amber dark.