Archangel's Sun (Guild Hunter #13)(82)

Wrenching his mind back to the present by literally shoving his other thoughts aside until he had the time to process them without panic, Titus considered Ozias’s theory with care. He was loath to credit his enemy with anything, but Charisemnon had never been a fool. “If he did this, it was an act of subtle genius.” The words pained him. “You had spies at the border yet you heard nothing of it.”

“That’s exactly it, sire.” Ozias shook her head. “No one would’ve thought to bother me with news of more construction. Even an underground structure isn’t unusual on the border—we have our own bunkers.” That last piece of information was directed at Sharine.

“Such cunning,” Sharine murmured, her wing brushing Titus’s . . . because he’d shifted closer.

Titus folded his arms. “If your supposition is correct, Ozias, I can’t believe that dog’s shat of an archangel fooled me.”

“You speak for me, too, sire.” Ozias had a strange look on her face—a mixture of pained admiration and horrible embarrassment, but she recovered valiantly. “If I were Archangel Charisemnon, I wouldn’t have kept the construction a secret.

“I would’ve even allowed the resulting building to be used for various border garrison purposes, then slowly shifted people out, except perhaps for a trusted few. Done gently enough, no one would think anything of it.”

“Especially,” Titus said, “if the building atop the underground structure was damaged again and never properly rebuilt.”

Ozias nodded. “Charisemnon could’ve told his people to abandon that oft-hit area and put their energies into constructing a building away from such a dangerous location.”

Titus clenched his jaw, a nerve jumping along his jawline. “It aggravates me intensely that you’re most likely right.”

“I’m afraid you cannot be as aggravated as I am. It’s a brilliant strategy. I’m angry that I didn’t think of something similar myself. We could’ve tunneled to attack the other side for one.”

Titus shook his head. “That would’ve only worked once or twice before they began to do the same in retaliation and we ended up back where we began.” He put his hands on his hips. “Go back to your foster brother.”

His spymaster stared at him, unblinking. “Sire, you know full well I’m incapable of returning to my brother without first discovering if our theory is correct.”

Sharine’s laughter was gentle, a sound that pleased the ear and had Ozias turning to look at her in a way that was . . . Not intrigued. More than that. Fascinated and with an edge of wonder. Because this was the Hummingbird and Titus realized that most people had never seen her so alive, so vibrant, with no fog in her.

If she’d been lovely and ethereal before, she was now dazzling in her brightness, a small and brilliant sun. “That’s something my son would say,” she said to Ozias. “I can just imagine Illium standing where you are now, his hands on his hips and his wings twitching with impatience.”

Ozias, some thousand years older than Illium, smiled again and it was deeper, more real, revealing the beauty she turned to dull invisibility with such skill. “I tried to recruit your son once,” she said.

“I know he’d never leave Raphael.” Sharine shot Titus and his spymaster both a dark look. “And I believed that you were friends with Raphael.”

Titus chuckled. “It’s a game.” A most satisfying one. “Every so often, one of us makes an offer to a member of the other’s court that should be irresistible—but it’s a point of pride with us that none of our high-level people have ever taken up those offers.”

Even as Sharine shook her head, lips fighting a smile, he added, “For those who are younger, such movement can be beneficial. I teach them to be warriors and they return highly trained to Raphael when he makes a counteroffer. The pup, in turn, teaches my people how to thrive in a world that is constantly changing, and they return home with knowledge that stops my court from slipping into the dark ages.”

The two of them were quite content with this silent and never acknowledged exchange. As Titus and Alexander were content with their far more open and always friendly game of one-upmanship. Though neither one of them had had the chance to challenge each other to a daring escapade since Alexander’s waking.

“Now, we fly,” he said. “Let us discover if we’re attributing too much intelligence to my enemy, or if he did indeed get one over on me.”

“Wait, I must leave this journal in the study.” Sharine turned on her heel to run quickly inside, her wings a shock of color in this dreary place.

Ozias looked at him once she was gone, the brown of her eyes unusually soft. “Lady Sharine isn’t who I believed her to be . . . but she remains a treasure, a star captured in a small frame.”

Scowl heavy, Titus folded his arms. “Are you telling me to leave her be?” He had every certainty that Ozias had noted exactly how close he’d stood to Sharine, seen the brush of their wings, spotted the faint dampness of her tunic, and put it together with Titus’s yet-drying hair and the damp patches on his pants.

No smile, her expression deadpan. “On the contrary, sire. I’m saying we should steal her for ourselves so we can conspire to protect her from those who’d attempt her harm.”