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)
Opening the door after taking a deep breath, he walked into a humid warmth rich with the earthy kiss of life as familiar to him as the scent of paint and clay that was Aodhan’s studio. The banana palm in one corner groaned heavily with plump yellow fruit, while just-ripe mangoes, their skin red blushing into green, hung on another tree in the opposing corner.
Elena crouched on the floor by the mango tree, working on the underplanting. Her wings lay on the grass floor of the greenhouse in a show of midnight and dawn that rippled with bursts of wildfire, her braid reaching her lower back.
Aware that she knew he was there, he sat down next to her, his wing overlapping hers. And he began to weed and remove dry or old leaves as she’d taught him over the years.
The two of them worked on that bed for a quarter of an hour before she looked at him and said, “I will miss you.” Her voice trembled, her gaze ashine.
He closed his hand over hers, their fingers entwining. “If you don’t visit me at least ten times in the first year, I won’t talk to you for a century.”
Making a wordless sound, she leaned her head against his shoulder, her hair a glow in his vision that reminded him of Aodhan. When she spoke, however, it wasn’t with anger but with the worried love of a friend who’d been with him through multiple seasons of life. “How are you feeling about it?”
Sitting up, she looked at him with eyes of silver-gray that no mortal would ever possess. The Cascade’s mark on Elena had taken time to emerge and settle, but it was there in those eyes that were just a touch too silver to be gray, and in the wings that crackled erratically with fine threads of wildfire.
But when it came to Elena, the external didn’t matter, had never mattered. It was her heart that made her—and that heart was proudly, defiantly mortal. She’d stayed true to herself through the very alteration of her being. So would he. He would not contort himself to fit some ordained vision of what it meant to be Cadre, would not lose himself.
“I…” He took a breath, released it. “Much as I didn’t want ascension, I know it was time. It’s right—I feel it. This is who I was meant to become.”
Elena ran her fingers through his hair. “Just…stay a little bit Bluebell, won’t you?” A whisper.
“Not a little bit, Ellie.” Grinning, he rose to his feet and offered her his hand. “I plan to be all Bluebell. The Cadre will learn to deal.”
Lips curving, Elena allowed him to haul her up. “I expect great things,” she said in a voice portentous. “So, Pacific Isles?”
“Oh no. I’m taking over the territory next to the asshole.”
Elena’s eyes widened before she gripped the front of his combat tunic and hauled him close. “Don’t you dare start a war with him. I mean it, Illium.” A glare. “He’s an Ancient, and you’re still wet behind the ears. I swear I will come over there with my knives and pin you to your damn throne if I get even a hint that you’re trying to start a war.”
“A throne?” Illium made a humming sound. “I hadn’t thought about that.” He rubbed his jaw. “Maybe Aodhan will design me one that’ll go down in history as the throne of thrones.”
Elena groaned.
40
Among the many things he and Aodhan had to do to prepare for the departure to their new territory was find people to take over duties that were too personal to simply trust to those who were already in the roles—if the role even existed in what had been a territory ruled piecemeal for centuries.
That included the steward who’d be handling Illium’s “court” at the start. Later, once he was established, the same person would become critical to the smooth running of his household. His own Montgomery, in other words—because the butler handled far more for Raphael and Elena than was apparent on the surface.
“Knock, knock.”
Dulce jumped up from behind the sleek glass of her desk to run over on clear sky-high heels. Only to halt. “Wow.” She physically swayed, the motion causing the changeable fabric of her close-fitting suit to fluctuate from purple to blue to deep citrine. “That’s some power you have pulsing off you.”
“Side effect of ascension. Raphael says it’ll wear off.”
“I hope so, because I can’t hug you like this.” A pause. “Is that still allowed? You’re Cadre now.” Her eyes widened, as if the knowledge was just sinking in. “Fuuuuck.”
“You have no idea.” He grinned, relieved that Dulce was herself with him. “I have an offer for you.”
A raised eyebrow, the gemstones she wore over the curve of her left cheekbone catching the light. “You want me to set up a club in your new territory?”