Archangel's Heart
Page 95
“I’ll be there to catch you if you do, my damsel.”
“Ha ha. Funny. Not.”
Raphael’s smile was a kick to the gut.
He, too, had discarded his wet clothing, now wore a set of faded brown leathers that had stood the test of time. He carried no weapons, but if he needed one or three, she had more than enough for both of them. It was good to be a consort.
The room still held only Aodhan, Ibrahim, and the healer with the terrible scarring on his neck and face. But Aodhan stepped aside from the door at Elena and Raphael’s return. “Gian wishes to enter. I told him to wait.”
Good call, Elena thought, as an angry-faced Gian was allowed in at last.
“What is the meaning of this?” the coldly furious Luminata leader demanded, staring down Aodhan as if he was some underling who’d crumple under pressure. “I am the head of the Luminata. On whose authority do you bar me from seeing to the welfare of one of my own?”
“Mine.”
Had Elena’s hair been unbound instead of in a tight ponytail, it would’ve been pushed back from her face at the sheer force of the power pulsing off Raphael. He was glowing again, the glow hard enough to hurt mortal eyes . . . but it didn’t hurt Elena’s. Not any longer.
Near the door, Gian drew up his shoulders, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe and his face devoid of any marks that fingered him as Ibrahim’s attacker. That didn’t necessarily mean anything—Gian was old enough to have healed superficial wounds by now. And while Ibrahim would’ve fought, he would’ve also been taken by surprise. It was possible he hadn’t done any easily visible damage.
“Lumia does not fall under the Cadre’s authority,” Gian said, his eyes hard though he’d schooled his expression into Luminata calm.
“No, Gian.” Raphael’s tone told the other man to tread with care. “I had the records checked prior to the meeting. Lumia falls under no one archangel’s authority. It falls under that of all of us. That stipulation is how Lumia achieved independence.”
Elena’s mouth would’ve fallen open had she not been clenching her jaw at the sight of poor Ibrahim lying so hurt nearby. Laric had pulled a blanket over his wounded body, continued to work on him with gentle hands, but there was no hiding the extent of the damage.
Gian smiled a small smile that was so astonishingly sincere Elena would’ve believed it had she not already learned that he lied with flawless ease. If he’d been human, she’d have called him a psychopath.
As if he’d caught her thoughts, his eyes flicked to her for a single heartbeat before he said, “That is untrue.” His confidence was a peaceful thing. “Lumia is an island of self-governance, our laws and rules our own.”
“On the contrary.” Neha’s elegant voice as the Archangel of India appeared in the open doorway.
She’d changed out of her sari into something akin to warrior leathers, though her clothing was of a tough-looking dark green material that appeared new. Elena wasn’t fooled by the latter. Raphael had told her how good Neha was in combat. Just because she chose to be a lady most of the time didn’t mean she wasn’t also a deadly fighter.
“Raphael is quite correct,” Neha said, the elegant lines of her face exposed by the French braid into which she’d plaited her hair. “The stipulation is on Lumia’s founding documents.” An icy smile shot in Raphael’s direction, but no audible words.
What did she say? Elena asked Raphael mind-to-mind.
35
That it is a pity she can never forgive me for helping to murder her daughter, for I am still as intelligent and as dangerous as I ever was.
Even though Neha’s daughter, Anoushka, had been a monster who’d gone so far as to brutalize a child in her quest for power, Elena might’ve still felt sorry for Neha for losing the child she’d loved so deeply, except that she now knew how Neha had treated another child in her care.
Mahiya rarely spoke about her time in Neha’s court, but Venom and Dmitri both had contacts there and Elena had picked up enough through those two to know that Mahiya was a miracle: a woman who’d held on to her kind spirit and heart through sheer effort of will, despite a childhood not only utterly lacking in love, but filled with acts of what Elena considered flat-out torture.
“However,” Neha added, “be that as it may, I do not believe the Cadre needs to be involved in internal Luminata matters.” Her eyes went to Ibrahim’s broken body, but from her position—and taking into account how Laric was hovering protectively beside his patient, while Gian’s stiff form further blocked her line of sight—she could likely only see part of his lower half. “Especially given the ferocity of the storm outside. That should be our priority.”
“Why are you here, Neha?” Raphael asked.
“As it happens, I was simply walking the hallways.” A graceful movement that was as close as Elena had ever seen Neha come to a shrug. “I want to leave this place and find out what is happening in China. However, it appears we are trapped here for the time being, and since we are . . .”
The Archangel of India’s eyes went to Ibrahim again. “I cannot see his face, but that appears to be blood on his robe. He is injured?”
“This novice was beaten to a pulp,” Raphael said flatly. “Kicked while he was down.”
“A distasteful act.” Neha pursed her lips. “We may as well discover who was behind it.”
“Ha ha. Funny. Not.”
Raphael’s smile was a kick to the gut.
He, too, had discarded his wet clothing, now wore a set of faded brown leathers that had stood the test of time. He carried no weapons, but if he needed one or three, she had more than enough for both of them. It was good to be a consort.
The room still held only Aodhan, Ibrahim, and the healer with the terrible scarring on his neck and face. But Aodhan stepped aside from the door at Elena and Raphael’s return. “Gian wishes to enter. I told him to wait.”
Good call, Elena thought, as an angry-faced Gian was allowed in at last.
“What is the meaning of this?” the coldly furious Luminata leader demanded, staring down Aodhan as if he was some underling who’d crumple under pressure. “I am the head of the Luminata. On whose authority do you bar me from seeing to the welfare of one of my own?”
“Mine.”
Had Elena’s hair been unbound instead of in a tight ponytail, it would’ve been pushed back from her face at the sheer force of the power pulsing off Raphael. He was glowing again, the glow hard enough to hurt mortal eyes . . . but it didn’t hurt Elena’s. Not any longer.
Near the door, Gian drew up his shoulders, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe and his face devoid of any marks that fingered him as Ibrahim’s attacker. That didn’t necessarily mean anything—Gian was old enough to have healed superficial wounds by now. And while Ibrahim would’ve fought, he would’ve also been taken by surprise. It was possible he hadn’t done any easily visible damage.
“Lumia does not fall under the Cadre’s authority,” Gian said, his eyes hard though he’d schooled his expression into Luminata calm.
“No, Gian.” Raphael’s tone told the other man to tread with care. “I had the records checked prior to the meeting. Lumia falls under no one archangel’s authority. It falls under that of all of us. That stipulation is how Lumia achieved independence.”
Elena’s mouth would’ve fallen open had she not been clenching her jaw at the sight of poor Ibrahim lying so hurt nearby. Laric had pulled a blanket over his wounded body, continued to work on him with gentle hands, but there was no hiding the extent of the damage.
Gian smiled a small smile that was so astonishingly sincere Elena would’ve believed it had she not already learned that he lied with flawless ease. If he’d been human, she’d have called him a psychopath.
As if he’d caught her thoughts, his eyes flicked to her for a single heartbeat before he said, “That is untrue.” His confidence was a peaceful thing. “Lumia is an island of self-governance, our laws and rules our own.”
“On the contrary.” Neha’s elegant voice as the Archangel of India appeared in the open doorway.
She’d changed out of her sari into something akin to warrior leathers, though her clothing was of a tough-looking dark green material that appeared new. Elena wasn’t fooled by the latter. Raphael had told her how good Neha was in combat. Just because she chose to be a lady most of the time didn’t mean she wasn’t also a deadly fighter.
“Raphael is quite correct,” Neha said, the elegant lines of her face exposed by the French braid into which she’d plaited her hair. “The stipulation is on Lumia’s founding documents.” An icy smile shot in Raphael’s direction, but no audible words.
What did she say? Elena asked Raphael mind-to-mind.
35
That it is a pity she can never forgive me for helping to murder her daughter, for I am still as intelligent and as dangerous as I ever was.
Even though Neha’s daughter, Anoushka, had been a monster who’d gone so far as to brutalize a child in her quest for power, Elena might’ve still felt sorry for Neha for losing the child she’d loved so deeply, except that she now knew how Neha had treated another child in her care.
Mahiya rarely spoke about her time in Neha’s court, but Venom and Dmitri both had contacts there and Elena had picked up enough through those two to know that Mahiya was a miracle: a woman who’d held on to her kind spirit and heart through sheer effort of will, despite a childhood not only utterly lacking in love, but filled with acts of what Elena considered flat-out torture.
“However,” Neha added, “be that as it may, I do not believe the Cadre needs to be involved in internal Luminata matters.” Her eyes went to Ibrahim’s broken body, but from her position—and taking into account how Laric was hovering protectively beside his patient, while Gian’s stiff form further blocked her line of sight—she could likely only see part of his lower half. “Especially given the ferocity of the storm outside. That should be our priority.”
“Why are you here, Neha?” Raphael asked.
“As it happens, I was simply walking the hallways.” A graceful movement that was as close as Elena had ever seen Neha come to a shrug. “I want to leave this place and find out what is happening in China. However, it appears we are trapped here for the time being, and since we are . . .”
The Archangel of India’s eyes went to Ibrahim again. “I cannot see his face, but that appears to be blood on his robe. He is injured?”
“This novice was beaten to a pulp,” Raphael said flatly. “Kicked while he was down.”
“A distasteful act.” Neha pursed her lips. “We may as well discover who was behind it.”
