Raphael felt a reluctant liking for the Ancient. She might delight in stirring the pot, but she also saw with more clarity and less arrogance than most of the Cadre.

“Why would the Cascade do this?” Michaela’s cheekbones sliced against her skin. “Why give us a way to defeat Lijuan?”

“Because the Cascade wants chaos,” Raphael said, repeating words the Legion had dredged from the depths of memory so old that it began before the birth of mortals. “There is no chaos in only one power.”

He gestured to the frozen image of a blanked-out China. “A being who can do this, who can hide a landscape as vast as China, is no longer an archangel. She is beyond that, and we will need all our strength to defeat her should she prove a threat.”

“What do you mean, prove a threat!” Charisemnon brought his fist down on the ornate table in front of him, veins pulsing at his temples and splotches of red on his neck. “Do you not see what she is doing?”

“She is the goddess of her own territory,” Neha reminded him, her tone frigid. “As long as she remains in that territory, we cannot and will not touch her.”

“To do so would be to breach the laws that keep peace in the world,” Astaad said. “We do not interfere in territory that belongs to another.”

Elijah looked to Neha. “Do you have any further news of China?”

“Death.” Neha’s answer rang in the silence. “Anything that flies into that fog dies.” The jeweled green viper on her shoulder twined itself sinuously around her upper arm. Touching her fingers to its triangular-shaped head, she said, “We did not have to sacrifice any creatures—Lady Caliane and I both witnessed disoriented animals wander in and die.”

“This is so.” His mother’s voice was somber. “Thus, the talk of making war on Lijuan is moot for the moment. We cannot enter that dark fog.”

“We are archangels!” Antonicus pushed out his chest, his wings spread. “We cannot be brought down by fog. What feebleness has permeated the Cadre that you act akin to scared prey?”

“Raphael.” A tic in Neha’s jaw, her gaze hard as stone. “Do you have any recordings of what occurred in your territory when Lijuan made war on you? I do not think our awakened brethren will believe us until we show them evidence of—”

“This is foolishness!” Antonicus’s wings glowed. “I do not need to see more of your moving images. I will end this once and for all. I am going to China.”

“You have no invitation,” Caliane reminded him with commendable calm. “Entering another archangel’s territory without permission is a breach of protocol.”

“Once I find this Lijuan, I will make my apologies.” He unsheathed his sword. “And if she is a threat, I will neutralize her.”

Raphael and the others of the current Cadre attempted to talk the egotistical Ancient out of a project that could have no good ending, but he was adamant.

“In that case,” Raphael said when it became clear that Antonicus would not see reason, “will you agree to wear a device that records and transmits images back to us? We must know what is happening within the fog.”

Antonicus flicked a hand. “As long as it does not interfere with my ability to use my weapons.” Pure contempt in the look he gave the Cadre. “I must have a day to rest after my premature waking. I will make the attempt directly afterward.”

“We must all bear witness,” Caliane murmured. “Neha, I would ask permission for the Cadre and the awakened ones to gather on your border to watch Antonicus’s flight into the fog.”

“I will be gracious.” Neha was very much the Queen of India at that moment. “You are to leave immediately after Antonicus’s attempt, unless there is reason for another meeting of the Cadre. If so, we will hold that meeting at the border fort.”

“Agreed,” said every archangel in the space.

All twelve of them.

Add Lijuan and there were thirteen archangels in the world, five of them Ancients.

War was a certainty.

42

Elena took a deep breath. The orange-red of the Moroccan landscape was a familiar embrace, the sun kissing it with warmth even in winter. She’d wondered if her response to this land would change now that she knew the horrors that had befallen her grandparents here, but no, it continued to feel a little like home. The lilt of people’s voices, the scents in the air, the grit between her teeth as the sand got in, none of it was alien.

“Does it hurt you to be here?” Illium asked while they were stretching out their bodies after disembarking from the plane.

“No. My strongest sense of Morocco is love.” Raw and deep and constant. “Jean-Baptiste’s love for Majda and hers for him. Majda’s desperate love for her daughter.” This was where Elena’s history had begun. “How are you doing?”

His eyes shimmered even more golden under the light of this place full of mountains and sky. “I worry for my mother’s heart. It is so fragile, Ellie.” Muscles hard as rock, he said, “I long-ago ceased to have any hopes of my father, but she’s been waiting for him all this time.”

He spread out his wings. “I would delay this forever, but I can’t. My mother deserves to know.”

The village was just stirring after the languid time following lunch when they reached it, the merchants reopening their stalls and shops, while neighbors stood talking with steaming cups in hand. Mint tea perhaps. Or coffee so strong it was a kick to the system. But the most welcome sight was in the distance, on the flat roof of a dual-level house not dissimilar to others in the village except that its balconies had no railings.

Light broke on the glittering hue of the angel’s hair—as if each strand was encrusted with diamonds. It caressed the warmth of his skin. Such flawless pale skin, but one with an inner glow that made it clear he was flesh and blood, not a statue. And his wings . . . each filament of each feather appeared a jeweled construction.

To look at him was to think of light and beauty and a sense of innate distance.

All were true.

“Aodhan.” Illium’s voice was choked. “What’s he doing here?”

Not answering, Elena flew toward Aodhan with a smile. She landed first because Illium was lagging—on purpose. Elena could never outpace him, not on any planet. “Sparkle.” She held out her hands.

Aodhan was okay with her touch now, but she never took it for granted. Today, he didn’t scowl at her for using that nickname, just closed his hands over hers while meeting her gaze with the extraordinary beauty of his own. A black pupil with shards of crystalline blue-green breaking outward from it. “How is he?”

“Angry,” she said as Illium took his time descending. “Worried about the Hummingbird.”

Illium landed beside Elena before Aodhan could reply. His face, with its clean lines and warm gold skin, was set, unwelcoming. “Why are you here? You should be in the Refuge helping Galen and Naasir.” He held his body with such fierce control that it hurt Elena to witness.

Aodhan walked over to his best friend without a word, hauled him into an embrace, one of his hands cradling the back of Illium’s head, his other arm locked around Illium’s shoulders. As if he had never shunned touch, never turned away from even the angel he most trusted.

Illium remained stiff, his wings folded tight to his back, but Aodhan was having none of it. He wrapped Illium up in his own wings and Elena was close enough to hear him say, “I am here for you,” in a tone as unbending as stone.

But Illium hadn’t thawed in the least when Aodhan released him. “I have to speak to my mother before—”

The Hummingbird walked out through the wide doorway onto the roof, her hair a river of gold-tipped black down her back and her wings a startling indigo dusted with shimmers of a shade so pale it was kin to sunlight.

The champagne of her eyes softened into pure sunshine when she caught sight of Illium. “I believed I was imagining my heart’s ache; it only ever does so when I am close to you. My baby.” She glided across the roof, the airy lightness of her pale yellow gown a silent testament to her grace.

At only five feet tall, she was the smallest person on this roof, but she was radiant.

Reaching Illium, she raised a delicate hand to his cheek. He bent instinctively to make it easier for her, this tall and strong angel who towered over his mother. “Yes, it’s you.” Joy so deep it cut at Elena.

After a moment, she turned toward Aodhan with a smile as luminous and happy. “And my borrowed baby.”

Elena held her breath but Aodhan bent his head the same way Illium had done. Elena saw no tension in his body, no indication of discomfort with the Hummingbird’s touch. Illium’s mother looked at him with the same maternal love she’d done Illium.

“Is he getting you in trouble again?” A smile that was starlight. “Always, I knew he was the instigator. But you would never admit it, adamant that you receive equal punishment. My babies, grown so strong and tall.”

Elena frowned; there was something different about the Hummingbird today. She was speaking of the past in past tense. It wasn’t a given with this lovely woman. Her sense of time had fractured long ago, and often, she switched back and forth, sometimes believing that Illium was a child, other times acknowledging the man he’d become. Today, despite her use of the word baby, she seemed very aware that she was talking to two grown men.

Aodhan’s smile was a thing that stopped Elena’s heart. “You must believe me, Eh-ma, I was the instigator three times out of ten, but no one ever thought to point the finger at me.”

When Elena glanced questioningly at Illium while the Hummingbird laughed, he said, “It means ‘second mother’ or ‘mother who is my friend’s mother but also mine.’ It is more than respect. It is affection and love.” His eyes shone wet for a second before he blinked the moisture away. “The years he spent isolating himself, she was the only one permitted to visit him whenever she wished. They’d paint together for hours.”