Xi started walking again. “Immortality equals arrogance for many.”

Andromeda wondered that he didn’t see the irony of his own statement. Lijuan was unquestionably the most arrogant of all the archangels. She believed herself a goddess and perhaps she was: a goddess should be able to give life, and Lijuan had created a whole new entity.

Simply because the reborn were ugly mockeries of life didn’t change the fact that Lijuan had the ability to alter the very nature of mortals and immortals both.

This time when Andromeda entered the throne room, the guards closed the doors behind her, cutting off all evidence of the outside world. Watching Andromeda and Xi walk toward her, Lijuan glanced at Xi, clearly speaking to him as an archangel could with those she chose.

Whatever his report, it seemed to satisfy the Archangel of China.

Andromeda had braced herself for Lijuan’s attention, but the touch of those bloody eyes still caused her primitive, survival-driven hindbrain to attempt to take over.

“Now, scholar,” Lijuan said. “You’ve had a night to sleep on your decision. Will you share your knowledge of Alexander?”

Unspoken was the silent threat that if she didn’t, she’d suffer a fate similar to that of the unfortunate angel in the courtyard. “My Lady,” she said, “it is difficult for me to break my vows when it comes to those who Sleep, but I believe you are right. The Sleeping ones need to wake to help steady the world.”

“Tell us,” Lijuan said.

Cold perspiration threatening to break out over her skin, Andromeda lowered her gaze, as if in deference. “All my research suggests that he would trust his Sleep to Titus.” The friendship between the Ancient and an angel who had once been a child in Alexander’s court was legendary.

Lijuan’s eyes grew sharp. “Yes.”

Andromeda pushed on. “The difficulty is in pinpointing the exact location.” Titus controlled the sprawling landscape of southern Africa, the line that separated his lands from Charisemnon’s cutting the continent in half. “However, after reading through all known records of their friendship, I believe he must lie beneath or within Mount Kilimanjaro.”

Lijuan smiled right as her face took on that impossible, haunting beauty. And for a moment, she was piercingly young. “I remember the stories of what those two did on Kilimanjaro’s peaks.” Her laughter was light, carefree. “A young and headstrong Titus once challenged Alexander to a climbing contest and beat him. At which point, they challenged one another to climb down in the dark.”

Andromeda was astonished at the warmth in Lijuan’s tone. It was as if she was a different woman. And the history that was her memory . . . Andromeda would’ve been no kind of historian if she hadn’t been drawn by it. “Did you know Titus as a youth, my Lady?”

“Yes. Always obstinate that one, but with such a huge heart that none could hold a grudge against him.” Smile fading, youth fading, Lijuan herself faded and came back into focus in a way that seemed more . . . blurry than before. “I can see Alexander choosing to Sleep under the mountain he well loved, in the lands of a friend he trusted.”

“Alexander was known for his attachment to his people,” Xi said into the whispering quiet that had fallen. “And he left behind a son who even now resides in his palace.”

“Rohan was an overconfident infant.” Lijuan’s features turned skeletal, the maggots crawling in her eye sockets making Andromeda’s stomach turn. “Instead of alerting the Cadre after Alexander chose to Sleep, he attempted to hold his father’s territory, almost caused a vampiric bloodbath.”

“Regardless,” Xi said, “he was deeply trusted by his father.”

Lijuan gave a small nod. “Scholar, what say you on this?”

Biting her lip and hoping her voice wouldn’t break and betray her, Andromeda shook her head. “I considered Alexander’s attachment to his people and to his son,” she said, “but as you yourself noted, he was a great tactician. I do not think he would make such an obvious choice.”

“Emotions can blind,” Lijuan said, before glancing at Xi. “However, it could also be said that Alexander would not place his son in danger by going to Sleep below his palace.”

Xi inclined his head in acceptance of the point before saying, “It could also be a double-bluff.” He glanced at Andromeda. “Friendship alone isn’t why you believe it’s Kilimanjaro.”

“No.” Andromeda told them of the scrolls she’d read, the stories she’d found in the Archives, even requested a piece of paper and mapped out Alexander’s possible location on the mountain. “A bare year before his disappearance, Alexander was seen on this exact spot by another angel, and yet it was later discovered that Titus knew nothing of the visit.” Andromeda had been so excited when she’d discovered that piece of what had then been an intellectual mystery.

“I follow you,” Xi said, examining her hand-drawn map. “No archangel would cross over into another’s territory without permission unless the need was critical. And to not tell his friend, it suggests an attempt to protect Titus from the weight of the knowledge.”

Andromeda’s pulse pounded. “Yes, exactly.”

“Head to Kilimanjaro,” Lijuan ordered Xi. “I will decide our next course of action once you either find Alexander, or clear the region.” Blood-drenched eyes held Andromeda’s again. “While Xi is gone, you will write down every other possibility, no matter how small.”