Cold and alone in a realm of Light, Azrael wept in mourning. Her hand clenched onto something. And she held onto it as if her very life depended on it. Her tongue tasting the metallic tinge of blood, she saw a blur of what she was holding onto and the azure eyes that stared back.
Gabriel... Don’t leave me...
CHAPTER TWENTY
Careful What You Wish For
AZRAEL slept in something less than sleep, yet more than death. Heat radiated from her body, her skin constantly slick with her own blood. At some point, the bleeding stopped. Azrael’s breath flowed clearly again through her throat. On her stomach, she stared with unseeing eyes. Her vision blurred every time she tried to form a coherent thought. Her heart lurched whenever she thought of Queen Ceres or Meretta. There were trickles of blood seeping down her back whenever she remembered the contortion of agony and fear on their faces. In and out of something like consciousness, Azrael could feel the heaving welts that breathed like dying parasites on her back. They itched, but she couldn’t move to scratch them. Her lower back burned with thick, cracking scabs. A new path of pain seared up her spine, over her shoulders, and across the back of her neck. But it didn’t bother her. The real pain was in her heart.
Even when a comforting hand soaked away the blood with a wet sponge now and again, Azrael couldn’t respond. It was pointless. The only thing that kept her going was the occasional glimpse of white wings. An occasional sight of deep blue eyes watching with fear and concern. They gazed with a desperate need that kept her clinging to life. They gazed with a promise for something more. She trusted those eyes. She let herself get lost in them when they were looking at her. It was the only kindness left in this world of pain and sorrow.
Eventually, the times Azrael was trapped in consciousness overtook the times she was lost in her endless dreams. With great reluctance, reality began to take its hold. Gabriel’s face fabricated in front of Azrael’s eyes. She blinked at him slowly.
He leaned in, so close his nose almost touched hers. “Azrael? Are you awake?” he asked softly.
She wanted to answer, but felt numb. She just continued to stare at him. He got up and her eyes followed.
“It’s all right. You’re okay now.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. Scarcely putting any pressure on her skin, it felt almost as if he’d laid a feather on her. He looked at the Healer who dabbed a cloth over her back, silently requesting that they be alone.
Azrael continued to stare at him as the Healer left. She opened her mouth to speak. But then closed it again, finding that words seemed pointless. Meaningless sounds that wouldn’t bring Meretta and the Queen back.
Gabriel sighed and his eyes seemed darker than usual. He sat in his chair that looked bent from use and clasped his hands together.
“Azrael.” He paused, waiting for her to look at him. Finally, finding the energy to focus her eyes once again on his face, he continued. “I know you’re devastated right now. But you need to get ahold of yourself. I can’t imagine the pain, but I want you to try your best to listen to me and understand what I’m saying.” He paused again, waiting to see if she would cooperate.
Azrael felt as cold as ice, and coming into reality was hardly the first thing she would have liked to be doing. Her eyes flickered as she forced them to focus. What convinced her was his sense of urgency. Did he believe there was something she could still do? Something that could even begin to amend the gravity of her failure?
“I’m listening,” she croaked. She felt pathetic, hardly the graceful creature Queen Ceres had tried to create.
“This wasn’t Mehmet,” he began. “At least, Dark magic wasn’t used. This was the traitor. This was murder.”
Murder...
“The pain you felt when you saw them, the pain you feel, somehow, it triggered your Turn prematurely. When you saw two people so close to you in that state, your body was overwhelmed with pain even more powerful than the physical pain of the Acceptance. Even so, the Turning shouldn’t have been activated. It should have required more Light, and more time to develop your connection to the celestial realm.” He looked at the floor again and shook his head. “No matter how it happened, you began to Turn. You would have died without completing your Acceptance.” His eyes glazed over, as if remembering something horrific. “We had to perform the Acceptance while you were in the process of growing your wings. I can’t imagine the agony...”
Feeling reality take a firm hold, Azrael stiffly reached out an arm. Seeing her wince with the effort, Gabriel quickly took her hand. Azrael squeezed it as tightly as she could. “Meretta... My Queen...” she whispered. When tears stung her eyes she squeezed them shut. She wanted to retreat back into sleep. Her body shook with small tremors as she wept, unable to use more of the pointless words.
Gabriel curled his fingers around hers. “I know it hurts. I’m here for you. Azrael, the Hallowed will be coming in to have a look at you. You will recover from this. In time, your wounds will heal, even your emotional ones.”
Azrael doubted the truth of those words. She allowed him to pull away and his gentle voice spoke to a Healer, requesting the Hallowed be summoned now that she was awake. It would be customary that the Queen would judge her healing first.
But she’s dead...
After a few moments, Azrael was warned of the Hallowed’s presence by the servant’s cheerful bells. She wanted to throw those bells on the ground. She felt anything but cheerful. Thankfully, the servant was sent to wait outside.
Azrael opened her puffy eyes and sniffled at the Hallowed. He towered over her, and wilting beside him was Mita, covered in a robe as if even she were in mourning. She hid her face in its hood and kept her head down. Indignation surged in Azrael at the sight. Mita knew nothing of true grief.
The Hallowed leaned and his face pooled with concern; it was the first display of emotion Azrael had ever seen from him.
“Are you in pain?” he asked.
Azrael felt that that was the most ridiculous question he could have asked. But obediently, she nodded her head against the pillow in confirmation.
He inspected her back and grunted with disapproval. “The Acceptance seems to have been completed to satisfaction, but I don’t know how well it will heal, seeing that you have half-formed wings sprouting from your back.”
Azrael grimaced. “I didn’t know the cost of regaining my wings would be the deaths of those closest to me. I don’t want them.” Azrael whimpered as the pain of loss tore through her spine.
Gabriel leaned, wavering his hands just over her skin. “Azrael. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
The Hallowed grunted again, ignoring Azrael’s devastation. “Is this normal? Her wings, if you can call them that, look like they’re covered in some sort of filmy mucus, and acting like they’re stuck between her insides and her outsides.”
Gabriel winced. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he repeated.
Azrael noticed Mita lingering behind the Hallowed elder and wondered why she wasn’t eagerly looking along with her master. Rage rippled through her when she decided Mita must be jealous.
How could she be envious of me... No one deserves to go through this. I’m trapped in misery. The Queen and Meretta are dead...
As if Mita heard her thoughts, she clenched her fists against her chest and trembled. Azrael wondered why.
Meretta wanted us to be friends. It was her last wish... For the first time Azrael felt a glimmer of hope. If Meretta can see me, then she would be happy if I tried.
“Mita...” Azrael said, even as the word pained her. “Please, come here.” Mita froze for a moment, and then as if she was unsure of what to do, slowly walked to the bedside. She kept her head low. Azrael took her hand with effort as she came close. “Mita, I want us to be friends.”
Mita’s hand was cold and rigid. She didn’t respond to what Azrael had said. The Hallowed glared at her. “What’s the matter with you, child?” he snapped.
Azrael tugged
Mita’s cold fingers. “Can you look at me, Mita? Please?”
Again Mita remained stiff, still not responding. Bent over even further due to the response of her master. The Hallowed growled. Azrael was astonished by his display of emotion. She’d never seen any Hallowed angry, not once in her life.
“Why do you not answer her?” he demanded. Mita remained silent. But after a few moments he lost what willpower he had. Swiftly he ripped off her hood.
Azrael froze as she stared into Mita’s eyes, or rather what was in-between them: a glowing golden triangle tattoo made of Divine Material.
“Y-you...” Azrael stammered.
The Hallowed grabbed her thin shoulders and spun her to face him. “What have you done?” he shouted. Expressionless, she blankly stared at him. He shook her violently and her body lolled like a cotton doll. “You dim-witted idiot. What have you done? Answer me!”
“It was her...” Azrael whispered.
A slow cynical smile crept across Mita’s lips. A cold chill ran through Azrael’s body as she put it all together.
“What?” Gabriel asked sharply.
“She killed them.” Azrael’s voice cracked. “She killed them!” she screamed, her voice going shrill. Azrael convulsed and tried to get up. Her efforts were rewarded by a cascade of snaps down her back and she collapsed to her stomach with a cry.
A cruel laugh rumbled in Mita’s throat. “Serves you right.” Mita’s face scrunched into a hateful glare. “Those wings should have been mine.” She blinked her eyes as they flashed softly. “You’re all a bunch of liars. I can use Divine Material. I could have Turned given a proper Acceptance.” She faced Gabriel and snarled. “I’m glad some of the traitors are dead. But I missed one!”
After that moment, it was as if the room exploded. Mita lurched toward Azrael with hands outstretched, teeth gnashing and grinding. Both the Hallowed and Gabriel dove over Azrael and pinned Mita to the ground.
Thrashing, Mita fought back with surprising strength. Azrael watched helplessly from her bloodied bed as Mita’s eyes mixed with gold and black. Her skin sizzled, as if confused if it should shine or writhe in shadow.
As the Hallowed went flying across the room, Gabriel snapped out his wings to their full length. He looked majestic, truly living up to the myths modeled after him. He twisted, whipping his left wing so that the arch went barreling straight into Mita’s head. With a loud thump, Mita’s eyes blurred as she staggered before collapsing to the ground.
Gabriel ruffled his wings and looked to Azrael. Seeming satisfied that she was unharmed, at least any further than she already was, he assisted the Hallowed.
As ageless as he seemed, the Hallowed staggered to his feet, his face crumpled with pain and he grasped his side.
“Hallowed, perhaps you should go see the Healers,” Gabriel offered.
The Hallowed glared. “I’m fine,” he grunted. He wobbled to the now unconscious Mita slumped onto the ground. He stared at her like she was a pitiful creature, hardly worth the trouble of stomping her face into the tiles.
“I should have known,” he grumbled. “A jar of my Divine Material went missing a few days ago, as well as some of my tools.” The blood steadily drained from his face, and Azrael could relate to the scent of self-inflicted guilt that wafted from his soul. “I just blamed it on some half-witted servant trying to tidy up.”
Gabriel lingered by the Hallowed as he absently rubbed the arch of his wing. “No, it was I who should’ve known. She gave an outburst not too long before the murder. I just never suspected... She didn’t seem the type to fall so far.”
Numbly, they both stared at Mita’s body crumpled on the ground like some kind of discarded tunic. She looked so small, so insignificant and fragile. With her eyes closed, she could even have been mistaken for peaceful, had it not been for the glimmering triangle tattoo on her forehead that writhed and sparked, as if angry.
Azrael stared, unable to fathom how Mita could have been the traitor all along. Her sadness and confusion didn’t flounder for long, turning swiftly to the tides of hatred and a building lust for revenge. This was the creature that had killed Meretta and the Mistress. She didn’t need to know anything else. She didn’t need another reason to live, if only to avenge their deaths.
“She should die.” Azrael formed her thoughts into words. They felt weighty and meaningful and the raw emotion that rolled off her tongue was sweet like a pastry. She licked her lips, finding it delicious and only wanting more.
Gabriel ignored the comment. “She won’t be unconscious for long. I’ve dealt with Hallowed who’ve turned into abominations. She’ll be strong, and she’ll only get stronger. We’ll have to have the Healers properly sedate her, and she should be imprisoned until you’ve recovered.”
“Recovered?” Azrael asked. She didn’t need to stand to know what Mita deserved.
He nodded gravely. “Her life will be in your hands, but only when you’ve healed. You shall judge her with justice, not passion, not with the raw pain of your wounds telling you what to do.”
Indignation surged, but Azrael pushed it down like the bile in her throat. She could show restraint. In this regard, justice and passion were the same. She would deliver her verdict standing tall and proud, showing no hint of insanity that lingered behind her eyes.
Azrael turned her face further into the leather padding of the bed to look at the angel. Her gaze didn’t waver from his. “As you wish.”
Seeming satisfied, Gabriel faced the Hallowed. “I’ll take Mita—”
“No,” the Hallowed snapped. “She’s my responsibility.” With that, he gave an apologetic nod to Azrael before he bent and flung Mita over his shoulder. As light as she was, she still seemed like a burden for the injured Hallowed. But Gabriel creased his lips together and didn’t offer any assistance as the Hallowed limped to the doorway. Both his body and his pride had been damaged. His own apprentice had committed the worst catastrophe in Manor Saffron’s history since Alexandria’s death.
Azrael didn’t say a word as she watched him disappear around the corner, one last flash of Mita’s face bringing tears to her eyes. Strangely, anger was so close to grief, and she wasn’t sure which she was feeling.
Eventually, the Healers came, reprimanding Gabriel for allowing such disturbances to tear what small stitches they had been able to sew into Azrael’s wounds. He took the chiding without complaint, and only watched in silence as they repaired what they could of Azrael’s torn back.
One of the Healers, however, finally let out an exasperated sigh. “This is impossible. Shouldn’t we just pull them out?”
Gabriel’s frown of disapproval eased the instant panic that set Azrael’s teeth clacking. “No,” he said. “Trying to force them out will only make things worse.” When the Healer continued to obstinately stare at the angel, he continued. “Imagine a caterpillar. Do you tear it out of its cocoon before it’s ready? No, that would just kill it. Nature must let it grow until it’s ready to come out on its own. Her wings, like a butterfly, must develop.”
“But,” the Healer protested, “when a patient has an object stuck in their body, we pull it out.”
“They’re not objects,” Gabriel growled. “Her wings are part of her body.”
The Healer audibly swallowed and gave a short nod, resuming her task of dabbing away escaped blood.
To keep her mind off the pain, Azrael let her thoughts drift to her newfound goal. She had her traitor, and she had the power to do what must be done. Mita would pay. Although what came next was a dark void not unlike her nightmares. And like her nightmares, there was nothing she feared more.
FOR days, Azrael’s wings grew, as well as her thirst for revenge. She held onto it as if it were the Light, the only thing that could keep her safe from the void.
Except, her future was the void, and if she dared to imagine it, she saw only incomprehensible grief. She couldn’t imagine life without the Queen, without Meretta. And so she closed her blue eye, letting her green eye see
only the now, only the revenge that she needed to take. To do that, she needed to recover. And so she patiently waited for her body to ease away from the brink of death.
Sleep came sometimes, although uneasily and with fits. Herbs helped, but gave her strange dreams filled with warped faces and gardens void of color. She was within such a dream, seeing a flower that was completely black, when she woke with a start. As always, she sought those azure eyes that were filled with love, faith, and everything she’d lost. Gabriel was nowhere to be seen, and she felt empty without him. Love and faith were no longer in her soul, only misery.
Green robes rustled and a friendly Healer gave her a light smile. “Hello, Majesty. I’m glad to see you’re awake.”
Azrael let her eyelids droop. She was so very tired, and had no patience for Healers who did nothing but poke and prod.
“Gabriel’s gone to Celestia,” the Healer said, and Azrael opened her eyes wide.
“Why?” she asked.
“You’re healing. I’m sure he hopes the good news will bring much needed allies.”
“Allies for what?” Azrael asked. She only needed to destroy Mita, and she didn’t need allies to do that.
The Healer’s smile took on a strained look, as if she forced her lips to stay curved. “While we found the traitor, the demons are still out there. Gabriel wishes to bring reinforcements to push them back to Mhakdar.”
Of course. There was more to the world than Mita, Azrael knew that. The demons were the root of the problem, but they were demons, they didn’t know any better. Azrael was struck by the intense desire to meet one, now that she was old enough to remember. Would their eyes be green? Would they have that obstinate look of righteousness like the Windborn boys?
When Gabriel finally returned, she saw he’d gone not just for his allies, but for something else.
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