Page 7 of Archangel’s Lineage
White plaster dust coated her thighs and streaked her shoulders, dulling the vibrant ebony of her skin. “I wasn’t surprised in the least. We all know how much our Qin loves parties.”
Elena had come to appreciate the dry humor of the Queen of the Nile, but snark aside, Zanaya wasn’t wrong. Elena had spotted Qin’s absence, even joked about it with Raphael. “Ten bucks says he arrives at exactly eleven a.m. on the dot tomorrow.” The Ancient might’ve stuck around after being forced awake by the Cascade, but a man who less wanted to be present in the world, Elena couldn’t imagine.
“He insults us!” Aegaeon thumped a fisted mallet of a hand on the dark brown leather of his pants, his upper half bare but for a top of metallic mesh that overlay the silver swirl on his chest.
The latter was no temporary tattoo or artwork but as much a part of him as Raphael’s Legion mark was his.
“This is a declaration of war!”
“Calm down, Aggie,” Zanaya muttered, adding fuel to the fire as only she could.
Elena battled the urge to snort out a laugh; she knew the Queen of the Nile wasn’t helping matters, but she loved how much Zanaya couldn’t stand Illium’s asswipe of a sperm donor and how she made zero effort to hide it.
“I agree with Zanaya.” Caliane rubbed at her forehead as Aegaeon’s face turned a mottled red and white, his wings starting to glow. “Qin was likely just avoiding the social aspect of things and is still in the air, unaware of the disaster. Questions only arise if he is absent at eleven.”
“This quake is the worst in my memory. Worse even than the shakes that turned what was once a mere crack in the landscape into what is now the gorge.” Alexander’s words wrenched them back to the right topic. “Those shakes were concentrated along the line of the gorge and did not cause major damage to the Refuge.”
“My memory aligns with yours,” Caliane added, then turned to Sharine. “My friend? Do you remember a time I have forgotten?”
But Illium’s mother shook her head, the pale champagne gold of her eyes a delicate brilliance in the dawnlight. “I have no remembrance of such a shake—or of art I created to memorialize those lost in the tragedy. I don’t believe we have ever suffered this type of a loss in the Refuge, but we should consult with our Historian.”
“Jessamy was able to check on that an hour ago,” Raphael said, his once-pristine black leathers now torn and scratched and his hair full of grit and tiny flecks of debris. “The Library and the Archives are mostly standing.”
“And what does she say?” Titus boomed in what Elena knew was his inside voice.
“No written record of a quake of this strength in the Refuge. She’s also been keeping track of the recent swarm of minor shakes and says that, so far, she’s found no earlier reports of similar swarms, either. She did state that she and Andromeda haven’t searched everything.”
“But she is diligent in her duties and would’ve already been aware of an event so significant if it was part of our known history,” Elijah said, to a round of nods.
“The problem,” Suyin murmured, as quiet as Titus was loud, “is that it doesn’t appear to be over.” She rubbed at her face, grazing the small beauty mark at the corner of her left eye. “We cannot say that it was a buildup of pressure that has now been released.”
“Suyin’s right.” Elijah’s golden hair was sweat-damp, dirt streaking the pale brown of his tunic. “The waters that began to boil during the destruction show no signs of cooling, and the toxic heated gasses continue to pump out of the earth.”
“My mother could’ve given us answers did she not Sleep,” Alexander said, his voice gentle in a way Elena had never before heard it. “She was an expert scholar in matters to do with the earth.”
“Yes.” Caliane’s smile was soft, a thing of memory and time. “Gzrel was brilliant in her field.”
“Do we have a current expert?” Zanaya brushed her wing over Alexander’s as she spoke, a silent caress of comfort between lovers and consorts.
There was some discussion before two names were put forward—one a senior vampiric scholar based in Japan, the other an angelic researcher in Elijah’s territory. No mortals could be considered. Not for the Refuge, the most secret—and sacred—heart of angelic territory, the place that cradled their children and hid their vulnerable bodies and hearts from the world.
It was also the place that protected every single mortal in the world by never putting temptation in their path. Because if a mortal killed an angelic child? It would be game over for every single mortal in the world, all rational thought wiped out in the face of blinding angelic fury.
Innocent or guilty, it would not matter.
Raphael’s ability to see mortals as more than disposable fireflies wouldn’t matter.
Not in the face of the keening grief of the child’s parents.
Not when angelic births were so rare that centuries could pass between each.
Her archangel would do what he could, and he had friends who’d stand with him... but over time, archangels fell in battle or went into Sleep, new archangels rose or ascended... and immortals had long memories.
Eventually, the extremists among angelkind—the ones who saw humans as cattle to be farmed—would win. A single match to light the kindling laid of arrogance and eons of unchecked power.
Humanity would never again be permitted a voice.
A shiver rippled up Elena’s spine.