Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 121854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Delighted that nonconfrontational Menerva was so annoyed on his behalf, he took her hand, pressed a kiss to it. “It’s all right, Menerva. The people who matter understand.”
A flicker of light in his peripheral vision, Aodhan having moved to an open area to swing his nephew around in circles that had the boy screaming with laughter and saying, “Faster, Uncle!” while Imalia pressed her hands over her eyes as if she couldn’t watch. The boy’s dark-haired father stood beside her, one hand on her back, the other fisted in the air as he cheered on their son.
Yes, Illium loved his life.
Most of all, he loved the man who lit it up with his starlight.
Today
37
It was clear that Montgomery had no idea how to treat Illium post-ascension. With his dark hair cut short and precise and his crisp black suit paired with a white shirt, Raphael’s butler was the consummate professional. But today, when he opened the door, his face went to break out into a smile…then it was as if he glitched, froze.
“I’m still me, Montgomery,” Illium said through a sharp stab of loss, because this would happen over and over again in the coming days and weeks. Despite his own words, he wasn’t the same any longer, and all his relationships except for the one with Aodhan would change. It was inevitable.
“Can you ask Sivya to please make me a tray? No one told me that ascension makes you hungry enough to gnaw off your own foot.” It was no lie; his body was burning energy at a rate that had led to Aodhan literally shoving food into his hands.
“I can see you losing weight in front of me,” he’d said with a scowl. “Eat.”
Illium had eaten, but was still hungry.
“The—” He caught himself, corrected. “Raphael says it eases up after the first day or so, but I’d rather not be skin and bones at the meeting.”
Montgomery’s face softened. “Of course, Archangel Illium.”
The address felt like a scratch on an old-fashioned record machine, an original of which Illium had kept and babied for over a century until it finally fell apart. “My thanks, Montgomery.”
“Will your second be joining us?”
That question—that assumption—put his heart back together, erasing the bruise caused by their initial interaction. “No.” Illium winced. “He’s muttering and gathering up all the paintings I didn’t manage to destroy when I erupted out of his studio. Shadow is muttering along with him as she pads about, sneezing in the dust.”
She’d given Illium a jaundiced look, but had accepted his strokes after a careful sniff to ensure he was still the same person who’d fed her that morning. At which point, she’d begun to complain vocally to him about all the strangeness.
Illium got it; he was still reeling, too.
Now, he spread a hand over his heart. “I’ve promised to hand-build Aodhan’s next studio. No promises on straight lines, though.”
Montgomery’s lips twitched, all the tension gone from his body. “I’m sure Sivya will have already prepared food for you.” A smile that held deepest love for his wife’s sweet, giving spirit. “I’ll bring it to the meeting chamber. As you’re the one who supervised its placement, I know I need not give you any instructions.”
“I’d be insulted if you dared.” With that light retort, Illium made his way into the house with an ease he’d never feel when it came to the home of any other archangel.
But this home that had stood for centuries after being rebuilt after the War of the Death Cascade was as welcoming to him as his and Aodhan’s own home. It wasn’t only because the extraordinary artwork of a skylight through which sunshine entered the central core was Aodhan’s work, each tiny element done by hand—and repaired personally by him when needed. Or that the chandelier of crystal rain that hung below had been made by his mother.
Or even that the greenery that thrived everywhere held Ellie’s loving touch.
It was the life he’d lived within these walls, the conversations he’d had, the laughter he’d shared, the games he’d played.
He’d spent time teasing Sivya in the kitchens until she’d put him to work cutting vegetables and making dough, and had joined in on Aodhan and Elena’s continuing movie dates—though five centuries ago, he’d been banned from any commentary until the movie ended.
He’d sat with the sire in his study, the two of them going over Tower business—or just talking as they shared a bottle of mead. Because before becoming Archangel and First General, they’d been family. Would always be family.
As well he’d spent night after night around the large dining table with the rest of the Seven, at home in the home of his archangel and the woman who’d become one of Illium’s closest friends.
The door to the secure comms room he’d helped install opened to his palm print. Heartache, bittersweet and poignant, was a weight on his chest. Shoving it to a distant corner, where it would stay until after this meeting of predators, he walked down the smooth black steps lit up by soft lighting in the walls themselves.