The Secret
Page 87
“I do not agree with compulsion,” Daina said. “Nor do I agree with those who would throw our singers into war. That has never been our role. You risk throwing artists and teachers and healers into a war that has torn most of their families apart. Are you prepared to truly hear what those sisters have to say? It might not match your plans.”
Sari said, “Some of those healers and artists have chosen different paths because of what happened during the Rending. Are you willing to stifle their desire to join this war?”
“Have they trained?” Daina asked. “Have they spent years in the scribe houses preparing for this as our mates have?”
Malachi leaned forward. “And what if there is a mission for which healers and teachers are the most qualified, Daina? What then?”
Diana cocked her head toward him. “I know of no such mandate. But I will be interested to hear you speak, Malachi of Sakarya.”
Malachi leaned back after giving her a respectful nod. Daina was not a singer who liked others to make assumptions about her, and she would keep her own council. She reminded Malachi a great deal of his mother. He had a feeling that revealing the secret of the kareshta was the key to investing the more moderate Irina in their battle against the Fallen. After all, would women lost in the human world need warriors or healers?
Glancing over his shoulder at his mate who watched everything with perceptive eyes, he was reminded of who she had been.
Hunted. Tormented. Lonely.
Malachi guessed that most of the kareshta were much like Ava had been.
Had she needed a warrior or a healer?
She’d needed both.
Chapter Twenty-two
SHE WALKED THROUGH THE FOREST AGAIN, her feet muffled by the dead leaves on the ground, the bare branches of the trees forming a canopy overhead. She could feel her mate at her side, but she did not hear him. She heard only the sound of her own footsteps on the path.
And his.
Her blood recognized his presence now. Her power tied to his.
“Not only mine now,” Jaron said.
“I know.”
“You’ve completed your bond with the scribe.”
“Yes.”
“Are you… happy?”
Ava stopped and turned to Jaron, not understanding the expression he wore. It was the most human he had ever looked. “I am. He makes me happy. I feel complete with him.”
Jaron nodded and continued walking. “I confess,” he said as he walked, “I did not understand your connection at first. When you mourned him, it made me curious.”
“Why? Don’t angels mourn?”
“No.” His hands were clasped easily behind his back. “I suppose some of us feel a sense of… longing for what we no longer have. That is a kind of mourning.”
She knew he was talking about heaven.
“Do you think the Creator longs for you?”
Jaron paused, as if the idea surprised him. “We are His servants. We long for His presence alone.”
“Even the Fallen?”
“Especially the Fallen. But longing, if frustrated for millennia, can easily turn to rage.”
She stepped in front of Jaron, no longer afraid. “Why did you fall?”
He cocked his head, his brilliant gold eyes glowing in the darkness. “We were greedy. We were looking for something more.”
“What?”
“Connection, I think. The love humans are capable of, it was foreign to us. And fascinating. We were seduced by it, only to find that it was not what we were created for.”
“What were you made for?”
“Service.”
He moved around her and continued walking in the moonless night. The light from the stars was the only thing illuminating the path.
“That seems harsh.”
Jaron turned. “It is not for either of us to question the Creator. We see only the weaving of the tapestry, not its completion.”
“So everything has a purpose? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
Jaron bent down, pressing her cheeks between palms that were warmer than Ava expected. She lifted her gaze and met ruthless eyes.
“What I have seen, what I have shown you, is only a shadow of His mind. That was my gift. My purpose. To experience glory and show those who were less. I was… an interpreter. No human can know His mind. You would go mad.”
“So I’m lesser than you?”
“Less and more, daughter. For you have been given the gift of free will, while I only experience the desire for what I have lost.” He released her and stepped back. “I have used you, Ava. And I will continue to do so.”
She drew in a shuddering breath. “And my grandmother? How is she?”
“Surviving.” Jaron paused. “That has been her life for too long.”
“If we kill Volund, will she heal?”
“I do not know. I only know she will be released.”
“And if you return to heaven like you want?”
She saw the corner of his mouth lift. “I knew you would see it eventually.”
“Is it possible?”
“I have seen it.”
“Sometimes I see things because I want them too much,” Ava said. “How do you know what is vision and what is real?”
“Why do you draw a line between them? One is the same as the other with enough will.” He turned. Looked at her. “And the power to make it so.”
“Oh God,” she breathed out, stopping in the pathway.
Sari said, “Some of those healers and artists have chosen different paths because of what happened during the Rending. Are you willing to stifle their desire to join this war?”
“Have they trained?” Daina asked. “Have they spent years in the scribe houses preparing for this as our mates have?”
Malachi leaned forward. “And what if there is a mission for which healers and teachers are the most qualified, Daina? What then?”
Diana cocked her head toward him. “I know of no such mandate. But I will be interested to hear you speak, Malachi of Sakarya.”
Malachi leaned back after giving her a respectful nod. Daina was not a singer who liked others to make assumptions about her, and she would keep her own council. She reminded Malachi a great deal of his mother. He had a feeling that revealing the secret of the kareshta was the key to investing the more moderate Irina in their battle against the Fallen. After all, would women lost in the human world need warriors or healers?
Glancing over his shoulder at his mate who watched everything with perceptive eyes, he was reminded of who she had been.
Hunted. Tormented. Lonely.
Malachi guessed that most of the kareshta were much like Ava had been.
Had she needed a warrior or a healer?
She’d needed both.
Chapter Twenty-two
SHE WALKED THROUGH THE FOREST AGAIN, her feet muffled by the dead leaves on the ground, the bare branches of the trees forming a canopy overhead. She could feel her mate at her side, but she did not hear him. She heard only the sound of her own footsteps on the path.
And his.
Her blood recognized his presence now. Her power tied to his.
“Not only mine now,” Jaron said.
“I know.”
“You’ve completed your bond with the scribe.”
“Yes.”
“Are you… happy?”
Ava stopped and turned to Jaron, not understanding the expression he wore. It was the most human he had ever looked. “I am. He makes me happy. I feel complete with him.”
Jaron nodded and continued walking. “I confess,” he said as he walked, “I did not understand your connection at first. When you mourned him, it made me curious.”
“Why? Don’t angels mourn?”
“No.” His hands were clasped easily behind his back. “I suppose some of us feel a sense of… longing for what we no longer have. That is a kind of mourning.”
She knew he was talking about heaven.
“Do you think the Creator longs for you?”
Jaron paused, as if the idea surprised him. “We are His servants. We long for His presence alone.”
“Even the Fallen?”
“Especially the Fallen. But longing, if frustrated for millennia, can easily turn to rage.”
She stepped in front of Jaron, no longer afraid. “Why did you fall?”
He cocked his head, his brilliant gold eyes glowing in the darkness. “We were greedy. We were looking for something more.”
“What?”
“Connection, I think. The love humans are capable of, it was foreign to us. And fascinating. We were seduced by it, only to find that it was not what we were created for.”
“What were you made for?”
“Service.”
He moved around her and continued walking in the moonless night. The light from the stars was the only thing illuminating the path.
“That seems harsh.”
Jaron turned. “It is not for either of us to question the Creator. We see only the weaving of the tapestry, not its completion.”
“So everything has a purpose? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
Jaron bent down, pressing her cheeks between palms that were warmer than Ava expected. She lifted her gaze and met ruthless eyes.
“What I have seen, what I have shown you, is only a shadow of His mind. That was my gift. My purpose. To experience glory and show those who were less. I was… an interpreter. No human can know His mind. You would go mad.”
“So I’m lesser than you?”
“Less and more, daughter. For you have been given the gift of free will, while I only experience the desire for what I have lost.” He released her and stepped back. “I have used you, Ava. And I will continue to do so.”
She drew in a shuddering breath. “And my grandmother? How is she?”
“Surviving.” Jaron paused. “That has been her life for too long.”
“If we kill Volund, will she heal?”
“I do not know. I only know she will be released.”
“And if you return to heaven like you want?”
She saw the corner of his mouth lift. “I knew you would see it eventually.”
“Is it possible?”
“I have seen it.”
“Sometimes I see things because I want them too much,” Ava said. “How do you know what is vision and what is real?”
“Why do you draw a line between them? One is the same as the other with enough will.” He turned. Looked at her. “And the power to make it so.”
“Oh God,” she breathed out, stopping in the pathway.
