Elena bit back a laugh, couldn’t quite manage it when Raphael leaned in to say, “I prefer women with knives.”

Laughter rippling out of her, she kissed him quick and fast, and as she drew back, she saw Favashi take in the interaction from where the Archangel of Sumeria stood with Neha. There was something sad about Favashi’s lovely face at that instant, a terrible, deep-down sadness. It was gone a heartbeat later, wiped away to be replaced by archangelic impassiveness.

“You said Favashi and Rohan were close once.”

“Very,” Raphael responded. “He would’ve stood by her side had she accepted it, but Favashi has never been satisfied. She wants the strongest, the most powerful. Alexander’s son was a powerful general but he wasn’t enough for her.”

“I think she’s regretting that choice.” Her heart hurt for the other woman. “He had a good life before Lijuan murdered him, didn’t he?”

“He had a life many a man would covet,” Raphael reassured her. “The evidence of that stands beside Alexander.”

“Yes.” Xander was young and green, but it was obvious even on short acquaintance that he’d been deeply loved and had known stability all his life. The murder of his parents hadn’t broken him. It had dented him a little, but he’d recover, especially since he had his grandfather by his side.

“Hannah,” she said, the two of them having reached the other woman and her consort. “I’m so sorry but I used you as an excuse to escape a certain conversation. Please talk to me.”

Tucking her arm through Elena’s, Hannah smiled. “You may use me as an escape from Michaela any time you wish.” Her lips twisted into a very un-Hannahlike expression. “Do you know she tried to seduce Elijah once? After we’d been together for a century!”

Elena’s jaw dropped. “No.”

“She apparently thought he’d have tired of his ‘little artist’ by then.” An arch look. “Unfortunately for her, Elijah has an astonishing appreciation for art.”

Elijah smiled a slow smile at his consort’s teasing, his golden hair shining under the lights that poured down from the chandeliers above and his wings a sweep of pure white. “It has always been about the art,” he said in a solemn tone that made his lover’s eyes dance. “I am Hannah’s most devoted patron.”

“Talking of art,” Hannah said after wrinkling her nose at Elijah in a way that was far too adorable, “come see this.” The other woman led her to a section of the Atrium hidden behind a hanging wall.

“Wow.” Breath rushing out of her, Elena just stared.

The artwork was another mosaic but it was far more intricate than the one she’d been staring at earlier. Each tiny square had been perfectly fitted to create the stunning image of an angel midfall, a spear through his heart that came out on the other side of his body. His wings were pure white splattered with the red of his blood, his hair a deep brown, his closed eyes making his eye color impossible to see.

Still . . . “Looks like Gian except for the wings.”

“I had not seen that, but yes, you are right. Perhaps he was the model for the artist?”

“Maybe,” she said, thinking of the conversation she’d overhead, of the “betrayal” the two other Luminata had referenced. Arrow through the heart wasn’t exactly a subtle image—and what did it say that Gian had allowed this to stay up here for who knows how long? “It’s a strange thing to have here. Aren’t the Luminata all about inner peace?”

“Immortals are never so simple, Ellie. The potential for violence lives in the most powerful of us always. We have too much power for it to be otherwise.”

Elena thought of all the deaths she’d seen since becoming an angel, compared it to the violence she’d experienced in her previous life, found herself nodding. Immortals took violence to the next level. “There’s a signature in that corner.”

“Where?” Hannah frowned. “Oh, how did you see that? It’s minuscule.”

“I don’t know. My eye just went to it.” She tried to bring the signature into focus but it was too high up in the mosaic to make out. “A shy artist.”

“Like Aodhan. He often hides his signature.”

They stayed in front of the mosaic for some time, taking in the intricate details as Elena tried to find a clue in the art. She saw nothing she hadn’t already seen, but then Gian came to stand beside her and she realized he must’ve been watching her again. It wasn’t as if she and Hannah were easily visible from the main section of the Atrium.

“This piece speaks to you?”

Elena said the expected thing. “Yes.” She turned to look at Gian, steeling herself to be the focus of his disturbingly intent gaze . . . and still had to clench her stomach to keep from betraying her surprise at how close he stood.

His wings were almost touching hers, a breach of etiquette that could be deadly for him. Because while Gian was powerful, Raphael was an archangel. And Gian wasn’t one of his Seven, whom he trusted to be so familiar with his consort. Elena wasn’t as sensitive about her wings as normal angels, but this was inappropriate enough that she wanted to reach for her knife, put it at his throat, and tell him to back off.

Taking a small step away from him instead, using the excuse of including Hannah in their conversation, she said, “Do you know the artist?”

“A mortal collective. Dead many centuries now.”