“The Council?” Azrael asked.
He smiled and Azrael’s heart thundered through her chest. “Let me introduce this legion. We are the only remaining force that opposes the Council.” He swept his hand with fingers bound in silver rings. “These are my men. I once had thousands. Now...only seventy-seven remain.”
Azrael considered them as they gravely bowed their heads. All of them, rebels?
He let his heavy hand fall to his chest in a clenched fist of salute. “The Council knows of our mind. They permit us to live, only because they need us.” His purple eyes darted to find hers. “We protect the Manor. We’re the only thing between you, and the demons out there.” His long finger pointed north to a mysterious “them” of which he warned.
Azrael straightened, not appreciating Uriel’s scare tactics. “I’ve never seen a demon,” she said.
The Queen stiffened just before Uriel’s cruel laugh boomed. “You’re welcome.”
Bristled, Azrael squirmed in her seat. “And if you didn’t protect the Manor, the Council would have no use of you?”
He boomed another laugh and Meretta shrank closer to her knee. “I like this one, Ceres.” He offered a sly smile. Azrael sought the Queen’s face for reassurance. He may be an angel, but such audacity to exclude her Divine-given title?
Queen Ceres didn’t reply. Instead, she seemed oblivious of the insult and nodded for Uriel to proceed.
“The Council wants the Manor to survive. They also don’t like me or my men. Two angels with one stone. Why sacrifice loyal soldiers when disloyal ones will do?”
“I see.”
His smile dimmed as the room went silent. “Why don’t you ask what you really want to know, young Aedium?”
Azrael’s eyes narrowed as she willed the courage to do just that. “What does the Council get out of this other than ridding themselves of your men?”
His perfect face went grim. “Do you know what you are? You’re a broken angel. You needed the Manor to wean you from the Light, and only a Princess will be reintroduced to the drug. The rest?” Darkness clouded his features. “They serve their own purpose.”
Azrael ignored Meretta’s warming palm on her leg. “And what purpose would that be?”
“You see, young one, the Council has a secret. They think they can outwit the gods. They believe that Aedium hold the key to the secrets of our creation. They want to be gods themselves.”
Azrael digested the words. Such corruption from angels. They were kidnappers, slave traders, and ultimately, her true masters. “They’re experimenting on us,” Azrael said, and pushed the rage around in her chest, not sure what she should do with it. “Has anyone ever called their bluff? If they need us for experimentation, the Queen could break her deal. The Council wouldn’t stop sending the Aedium to Terra, or they’d let their chance at becoming gods die with us.”
Uriel shrugged, seemingly unimpressed with Azrael’s growing anger and confidence. “Are you willing to call that bluff? No Queen before you has been. And perhaps the Council would find a way to keep a few alive for their own needs. I wouldn’t underestimate them. For now, this is the easiest arrangement that benefits them the most.”
Meretta peered up at Azrael with a knitted brow. Azrael nodded. “Please speak, Advisor.” Azrael made sure to enunciate the title loud enough for all seventy-seven angels to hear. She was met with a wave of fidgeting wings that rattled and vibrated the air.
Meretta’s soft voice sang through the chamber with ease. “The missing Windborn are the fodder for these experiments. This is unacceptable.”
Uriel’s smile went so wide it dimpled his cheeks. “Very fine choice in Advisor, Azrael. Very fine.”
Azrael’s attraction to Uriel was fading. She snapped an angry glare to his porcelain face. “If you claim to protect us, what is the meaning of allowing these abductions?”
“It’s part of the bargain made long ago. A few Aedium returned to Celestia is not as terrible as you’re making it out to be.”
Azrael’s eyes narrowed. “Even if it’s against their will?”
Uriel shrugged. “Would you rather them die at birth? The Council permits the Hallowed in Celestia to perform the ritual that will bring Aedium to the Manor and keep them alive. In exchange, the Manors provide tax in the form of Divine Material. It’s the Council’s ultimatum. If the Manors don’t follow their terms, then there will be no children to save. The children will die in their celestial eggs.”
Azrael fidgeted. Eggs...
“And what are the terms?” Meretta asked, her voice a pitch higher than normal. Azrael knew her well enough to know she was frightened, but she was being brave for Azrael.
Uriel breathed out a sigh and snapped his fingers, rings clinking together at the motion. One of the angels rose, his white hair bound in a warrior’s tail. His feet slapped against the marble floor. As he grew closer, it was the face of not a man, but a boy. His white robes strained, bound tight to his muscular chest and thick brown straps crisscrossed in a large “X.” Azrael’s gaze lingered on the glowing dagger-shaped scabbards at his waist.
“The contract, boy,” Uriel said.
The angel unlatched the straps and pulled a long tube from behind his back. He popped it open and gently tugged a yellowed scroll. As he unfurled it he read, “Aedium are hereby under the protection of Uriel’s legion. Should his command endure, he will thereafter be permitted to accept any angel who wishes to join him. In return, each Manor will pay a fee of eighteen standard containers of Divine Material at maturity of each Aedium who has been given to the Manor. If said Aedium does not survive, or the Manor is unable to pay the fee, the body shall be returned to Celestia.”
Azrael’s eyes went wide as she found herself speechless.
Meretta shot to her feet and clenched her fists. “This is...how could you allow such creatures to command your people?”
Uriel’s amusement with Meretta’s bravery vanished and he shot to his feet, his wings fanning wide. The sight made Meretta and Azrael both shrink back in startled squeaks.
“Uriel,” the Queen shouted.
Uriel’s eyes were wide and dangerous as his chest heaved with labored breaths. “You would let an infant talk to me this way? I have given the lives of thousands to protect these ungrateful brats.”
The Queen’s face transformed into a calm smile, a trained façade Azrael had seen a hundred times when she was forced to deal with unruly suitors and merchants. “Let’s not get sidestepped on such matters. Let’s get to the matter of why you’ve come, Uriel.”
Uriel frowned and crossed his arms. “Why don’t you tell her about Anark, first?”
The Queen’s face went white. “I don’t think—”
An angel four seats down shot to his feet. “Sir.”
When Uriel nodded in approval, he approached the Queen. “Anark was my closest friend,” he began. “He died for you, not this Manor. His death is a shame to us all and the Princess must know of this if she is to replace you and not repeat your mistakes.”
The Queen shot Azrael a guilty glance before staring at her folded hands. Azrael had never seen anyone talk like that to the Queen. Angel or not, it was surprising that she not only allowed it, but looked shamed by his words.
“I took a lover among the angels. His name was Anark.” Meretta and Azrael both blushed hotly. The Queen raised her chin in defiance at Uriel. “The relationship was mutual. But the Council found out and—”
“They killed him,” Uriel finished.
“Just for... Why?” Azrael asked, even as her neck burned with embarrassment.
“Because a Queen has a connection to the Divine. If you are to become Queen, then your only concern is the Manor.” He shot a pointed finger at the Queen. “As she should have done, and Anark wouldn’t have had to die.”
Azrael pinched her lips and let her gaze stray to the floor. Her world had begun to revolve around Gabriel. Part of the reason she had even agreed to undergo the Acceptance was to be close to him...
She shook her head. Uriel was right in one thing; the Manor should be her only concern. The Queen had called it a sacrifice. What kind of savior would she be if she wasn’t willing to sacrifice everything, even her love?
“So, the reason we have come,” Uriel nodded, seeming to be grateful to move onto another topic. “Your next session will commence soon. The second always incites a multitude of demons’ attention. We’ll be here to make sure they don’t harm anyone, especially you.”
Azrael swallowed. Gabriel said they were coming to help me undo the servitude of the Windborn... To enact change... Where is he?
Azrael searched the sea of faces. Only violet eyes returned her confused stare. “Where’s Gabriel?”
Uriel shifted his weight as if that were obvious. “We are here, so he doesn’t need to be. Why?”
“But, he’s my mentor.”
Uriel flashed her a knowing smile. “And he’ll return once your second session is over. Don’t get too close to him, little Azrael. But, if you did want to get another killed, Gabriel is as fine a choice as any.”
Azrael blinked at him.
Uriel bowed. “When the sun rises, you shall undergo your next session. We will be here to protect you. Focus only on your trial, and take comfort that you’re not alone.” He kept his hand clasped to his chest and his wings folded against his back. It was a bow of reverence.
At his dismissal, the other angels rose from their seats and headed to the back of the audience chamber. Along the wall rows of silvered armor hung in wide racks. Golden swords gleamed and long slender shields with beaten bronze stood erect among the display.
But as the angels gathered the armor and the weapons, Azrael realized it was not a display at all. It was an armory.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Hallowed's Table
AZRAEL managed to get Uriel alone. It took all of her bravery to stand in the same room with him without Meretta at her side. She didn’t like the way he had looked at Meretta, or the Queen for that matter. She would speak with him alone.
“Gabriel told me he brought you here to change the way things are. Didn’t he speak with you?” she asked. Her nerves wouldn’t let her relax, and she trailed her fingers along the wall, hoping courage would come with its warmth.
“Yes... He told me of your wishes.” He scoffed. “The reason I made Ceres tell you of Anark was to show you why there’s nothing you can do. The Council didn’t care if Ceres took Anark to her bed. But that’s not all she did. She filled his head with ideas to usurp the Council... To change the way things are. To undo the Contract.”
Azrael frowned. “But you said—”
“It wasn’t really your Queen’s fault. But I blame her, nonetheless.”
Azrael lost her grip on her resolve and slumped into a velvet chair. “So if the Council didn’t care they were together, why do you warn me to stay away from Gabriel?”
Uriel’s wings fanned in and out with gentle swipes. “Because, Azrael, you’ve already filled his head with ideas. He’s not careful. He’s dodged the Council for centuries and managed to stay at the edge of their mercy. But if you push him, he will cross that line for you. As much as I’m at odds with him...” He put his head in his hands as he lowered onto the stool.
Azrael inched closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and was careful to avoid his wings. Uriel looked down at her and smiled. “Gabriel told me how beautiful you are.”
Azrael blushed and pulled her hand away. He reached over and took it back, wrapping his warm fingers around hers. “If you were with me, then the Council would never suspect Gabriel. He could at least try...”
Azrael shot to her feet. “Excuse me?”
He laughed. “Azrael, it’s only practical. If we had a relationship, even a superficial one, wouldn’t the Council be so focused on us that Gabriel could move unhindered?” He stood and wrapped his hands around her arms. “Think about it, Azrael.”
He leaned down, his soft lips planting a kiss on her cheek. He lingered and his silvered hair brushed against her face. When he pulled away, he smiled and left her alone. Azrael let out the breath she’d been holding.
Everything about him told her Uriel was wrong and Gabriel was right. How could she ever agree to such an arrangement? She desperately wanted to talk to Gabriel.
But Azrael’s next session of the Acceptance was tomorrow. It would have to wait.
And tomorrow came all too fast. Azrael sat stiff in her bed, Meretta asleep only inches away. Today demanded the next session of the Acceptance take place. Dread pounded in her skull like tiny bees, and she wished fretfully that she could roll over and sleep through the trial to come.
Sinking deeper into her sheets, she sought comfort from the warmth of the puffy bed. She pulled at her silk robes to look at the Acceptance section she had already completed. The black outlines traveled up her spine and beyond her line of sight across her shoulders. But the Divine Material was there, low on her back in magnificent swirls. Its warm glow and staggering beauty left her feeling like any cost was worth its completion.
But, as she stepped out of the bed, she felt sick remembering all too well the cost she had to endure. She forced herself to get dressed, not daring to wake Meretta on the adjacent mattress. She knew every session could mean her death. Azrael could never say goodbye.
Azrael didn’t remember the way to the Hallowed’s room, so she decided to get some last minute studying done as she waited for the Queen. She ended up rereading the accounts of Alexandria’s Turn. Healers had written of the best salves used to rejuvenate the infant wings. Azrael fantasized what it would feel like to have wings of her own.
Azrael reread the passages that focused on the extrusion of Alexandria’s wings. They grew under her skin the moment her Acceptance had been completed. First they were tiny lumps, and then they were large sores. The detailed descriptions of the bruising and the pain made Azrael’s skin crawl.
Azrael licked her finger and thumbed through a few more pages. She stopped when she got to the part where Alexandria had recovered and an illustration covered the entire page. A sketch of a petite girl stared back. Her tiny face held an expression of calm victory, framed by dark curls that fell in waves down to her waist. The edges of the page were garnished by giant feathered arches protruding from her shoulders. Azrael wondered why the artist had chosen to render her wings with such deep shadows. It makes them look so dark.
To Azrael’s dismay, bells tinkered at her door. She turned and two servants beckoning her to follow. The Queen either was too busy to lead her herself, or couldn’t handle what came next.
Azrael followed the servants into the halls. In far too short a time they led her into the familiar Acceptance chamber. Azrael’s nerves overwhelmed all of her senses. The plain, dark room only added to her sense of impairment. Azrael’s eyes were glazed over, burdened by fear. In darkness, she was blind, not just visually but with the aiding conflicting of her blue and green eyes. She couldn’t judge the morality in those around her, and she didn’t like darkness. So she closed her eyes and listened, but the beat of her heart overtook any attempt to hear footsteps on the other side of the door.
Memories of agony and terror clawed out of the box she had shoved them in and thought that she’d locked up tight. But now, back in this room, she could smell the clinical clean. She could taste the flaccid air and feel the eerie stillness that rang its silence in her ears.
Will my soul slip into the Celestial Plane for good this time? Am I going to die? Will all of this be for nothing?
Her heart only beat faster in response to her nervous mutterings.
The door swung open and light cast into the room like an unwelcome visitor. Azrael’s eyes hardly had time to adjust before the door quickly shut again.
“My, it sure is dreary in here. How does Master get any work done in these conditions?”
The female voice was an odd contrast to what Azrael had been expecting.
Azrael stared blankly as her vision slowly adj
usted. A girl stood, with very peculiar eyes that glowed with a life of their own...
A child Hallowed?
The girl silently eyed Azrael for a while with an eerie pupilless stare. She reminded Azrael of the marble woman in her chambers. It was too dark to judge her good or evil, even though a true Hallowed was equally impossible to read. But perhaps a child Hallowed hadn’t quite reached such a state of moral indifference. Azrael called upon her rusty skills of reading body language.
The girl’s stance seemed cocky; perhaps she was still young and naive. But as she stepped forward, her blossoming chest spoke quite contrary to a young age. Dumbly, Azrael realized that this girl could be older than her. Since she was Hallowed, she inherited their abnormal approach to aging which even outmatched an Aedium.
The girl sighed dramatically. “Well, I’m Hyanthia Mitralia. But you can call me Mita.” She extended a hand in greeting, seemingly exasperated with social graces.
It seemed odd to meet a Hallowed who still had their name, but Azrael smiled and regarded Mita’s face-up palms.
Azrael laid her hands on top of the girl’s. The action was significant. Whoever offered their hands palm up was displaying a view of lower rank and value. A Hallowed was of greater stature than a female Windborn, but clearly the girl viewed Azrael as important. Did the position of Princess change her status so much?
Formality extended, Mita withdrew her hands and trotted to the nearest stool. Once seated, she glared. “Well, do you have a name?”
“I’m Azrael.” She let her gaze stray to the floor.
Azrael listened to the soft rasp of her own breath. Mita broke the silence again. “Are you nervous?” She scoffed. “What am I saying, of course you are.”
Mita swung her feet child-like as she considered Azrael with a tilted smile. “How bad does it hurt? I mean, is it like getting cut? Or stabbed with a hot poker? Or maybe it’s not as bad as it seems. You know, I’ve never seen it done before. I’m kind of nervous myself.”
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