Archangel's Sun (Guild Hunter #13)(69)

Yes, she had a faint limp, and it was obvious she’d lost weight recently, but that meant nothing to a trained fighter. Limp or not, Kiama still moved with deadly grace, and was no doubt a dervish in battle.

“No, we do one-week stretches. My squadron will then go back to fight alongside the sire while another squadron takes the chance to rest. Truly, Lady Sharine, I would’ve defied the sire himself had he tried to bury me at this post.” She indicated her leg. “As it is, a week will be just enough to recover from my injury—one of the reborn almost took off my leg.”

Sharine understood warrior pride well enough not to offer to help when Kiama went to the heavy metal doors of the stronghold. Even here, in this battle stronghold, the door wasn’t just practical—it was carved with scenes of battle, with Charisemnon in full glory. Dust fell off those carvings in a musty shower, the metal groaning as Kiama began to flip the levers to gain them access.

A curious cat, black as night, wandered over to watch as Kiama lifted the final lever. The door seemed to shake and sigh, more dust falling to coat Kiama’s hair.

Proof enough that no one had been here since Titus’s people shuttered it. It hadn’t been a long period of time in immortal terms, but this environment was unforgiving. And nature was no gentle mistress.

Kiama pushed open the left door, the painful screech of the heavy metal making the tiny hairs on Sharine’s arms quiver in warning.

The cat hissed and stalked off.

“Well,” she said, “should the reborn wish to make a dramatic entrance, now would be the time.”

Kiama, sword already in hand, spoke stiffly. “If you do not mind my impertinence, my lady, it’s too soon for such humor.”

Abashed, Sharine apologized at once, then admitted the truth. “I’m speaking out of turn because I feel a visceral fear though there is no need of it.”

Expression tight, Kiama nodded. “I helped clear this stronghold of any and all threats and I feel the same. Evil has seeped into the walls of this place. Darkness lives here.”

Such a simple, powerful statement that rang with emotion. “You saw some of it?” she asked gently.

“I was part of Charisemnon’s court two hundred years ago.” Turning her head, she spat on the external cobblestones. “It was a loyalty of my family, to serve the same archangel. My mother and my father both stayed loyal to Charisemnon even as they saw him changing and becoming something far different from the archangel to whom they’d first pledged their swords.”

“I wish you’d speak freely,” Sharine said when Kiama abruptly flattened her lips and stopped talking. “I’ve been lost from the world for many years and my knowledge of such things is limited. I will never use what you say to slander you to your family or to others.”

A careful look, the warrior weighing her up. Sharine liked Titus even more so for having another such self-assured woman in his forces. She also felt a sense of deep pride when Kiama nodded, accepting Sharine’s word . . . accepting that she had honor.

“Charisemnon was always a man who liked power, liked beauty,” the young commander said, “but things began to twist inside him at some point. He started to cross lines that shouldn’t be crossed—especially by an archangel who has power over the lives of all who look to him.”

The two of them stepped inside, Kiama’s eyes alert even as she continued her story. “I couldn’t stand it and refused to follow orders if those orders were to take young women from their homes, or to enforce punishment for the lack of a tithe from the poor. I fought with my mother and father over it—and in the end I left. It was that or end up executed.”

Moving to the left, Kiama touched her fingers to a switch that filled the entrance hall with a soft light that added to the daylight coming through the windows. From beyond the open doors came a whisper of wings at the same moment, the warrior from Kiama’s squadron arriving to stand guard.

“My parents died in defense of him, that creature of filth and degradation,” Kiama said in a voice cold and hard. “I will hate him to the end of my days for stealing what time I had left with those I loved most.”

As a woman who’d been betrayed and who held her own anger close, Sharine understood. But as a mother, she was torn. That same maternal instinct compelled her to speak. “I know that should something like that ever happen to me, I wouldn’t want my son to live his life nurturing hate in his heart. Hate poisons, as much as a lust for power or envy.”

Commander Kiama looked at her, eyes flashing. “With every respect, my lady, my emotions are my own.”

Sharine smiled. “Yes, child. But I’m a mother—I’m afraid we can’t help trying to make things better.”

Kiama looked at her for a long moment before surrendering to a slight upward tug of her lips. “Even when we were on opposing sides of the line, my mother would send me messages ordering me to make sure that I was looking after any injuries, and that I was eating well.”

Sharine laughed, but left it at that. The other woman’s hate and anger were new yet, the wound fresh. It’d take her time to come to terms with the loss, and to make a decision about how she wanted to live her life. She did, however, have one other thing to say. “I hope you’ll allow me one more moment.”

When Kiama gave a small nod, she said, “Hate can be a poison, but turn it into an anger that fires you from within, and it becomes a strength.” She exhaled. “My anger has become my resolve.” It wasn’t about being revenged on Aegaeon any longer; she looked back and saw him as unworthy of such attention, of any further space in her head. This anger drove her to be the best she could be—for herself and for her son.