“I know I’m no saint. None of us are.”
“No, you’re honorable. And decent. And good.”
“Sari—”
“And I love that about you,” she continued, even as her throat started to close. “I love your honor. I love your decency. But Damien, the world is not like that. It’s a hard, cruel place. People are selfish and weak. We do things…” She choked. “We do horrible things because we think it’s the only way to survive.”
Damien locked his eyes on her. “There is nothing you can do that would make me love you less, Sari.”
She gave him a bitter smile. “That’s because you don’t know what I’ve done.”
“Do you really think I don’t know?”
She shook her head. He didn’t know. If he did, her honorable mate would be horrified.
“Milá…” He held her gaze. “There is no warrior unstained by guilt. We protect. That is what we do. But it’s never without cost. You know the things I’ve done.”
She closed her eyes. The screams of Grigori intermingled with the screams of the children and the desperate pleas of an old man. Release me…
“Sari.” Damien knelt in front of her. “Come back to me.”
His hands on her knees anchored her and undid her at the same time. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel.
“I’m so tired, Damien.”
“I know, milá.”
He cupped her cheek but she kept her eyes closed. If she looked at him…
“Don’t be kind to me,” she whispered. “I can’t be kind to you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you make me feel.”
He paused. “Is that such a bad thing?”
“If I feel one thing, I’ll feel everything.” She took a weary breath and pushed his hand away. “I need to talk to my grandmother about Ava. Maybe Orsala can make some sense of this mess.”
Sari could tell Damien didn’t want to let her go, but he did.
“She’s not a mess, Sari. She’s a person who needs help. She is the widow of a fallen warrior, and we owe her succor.”
Ah, there he was. The protector. The guardian. The commander of men. Loyal to his men, even beyond death. Loyal to a council who’d led to her destruction.
“Until I know who she is and what she’s capable of, she’s a threat.” Sari rose and walked away from him. “I’m sorry, Damien. Call me a cynic if you want, but I no longer have the luxury of trust.”
※
“Our wounds blind us,” Orsala said. “We see monsters in the dark, but the monsters are in the mirror too.”
Sari sipped the tea her grandmother had poured. “You think she’s the daughter of a scribe and a human?”
“From the power she’s rumored to have, I think she must be. No Grigori could father a child with so much magic. I don’t even know if a scribe would, but it’s the only explanation that makes any amount of sense.”
“I’m sorry I had to ask you to stay away. This girl…” Sari frowned. “She’s like an open wound.”
Orsala might have stopped her longevity spells and allowed time to age her, but her eyes were still sharp. Her mind, a silver blade. “Is it the grief?”
“That and the lack of shields. I see a thousand cuts across her mind, and no one has bandaged them. She does need our help. She needs to know she’s not crazy, to start.”
“She should know that by now, don’t you think?”
Sari raised an eyebrow. “Ava has been told her whole life that she’s insane. You think falling into our world has helped? She needs shields. Quickly. Maybe once she has them, she can start thinking clearly. Can you imagine not being able to shield your mind from the humans?”
“No. It’s as automatic as breathing for all of us.”
Sari stared out the window. Her grandmother’s cottage was set away from the rest of the haven and against the trees. Orsala liked her solitude—loved being near the forest that reminded her of her mate—but she wasn’t forced into it. For Ava, solitude had been a means of survival.
“She’s solitary by nature,” Sari said. “She won’t take help easily.”
“She had to be solitary.” Orsala’s eyes went to the forest. “You think there’s more out there. More humans like this girl?”
“I think there has to be. Maybe not as powerful as she is, but do you really think thousands of scribes have been celibate for two and a half centuries?”
“No.” She shifted and took a deep breath. “She has magic. It’s uncontrollable right now, but the power is there.”
All Irin children were born with magic. Genetically, they were half-angelic. But a child born of a human and an Irin would only have a quarter of that blood. As far as Sari knew, that wasn’t enough to control magic the way scribes and singers did.
“It could be her father was ancient,” Orsala said. “If he was of an earlier bloodline…”
“One of the first generation?” The first generation of angelic children had been granted far more power and were damn-near godlike. Many human myths of gods and monsters sprang from those days.
Her grandmother shrugged. “It’s possible that would make a difference. What other answer makes sense?”
Sari could tell Orsala wasn’t convinced. “I’ll bring her to you tomorrow, and you can see for yourself.”
“I’ll start her training immediately,” Orsala said. “No matter where she comes from, the poor girl needs to take control of her future even if her mate is gone. He died, but she didn’t, and she’s going to have a long life in front of her. Best she not wait to start living it.”
Sari kissed Orsala’s cheek and walked away, but Damien’s words wouldn’t leave her alone.
Fight with me, damn you. Kiss me. Hit me. Shout at me. Do something. But stop living this half life. Stop pretending we both died along with our child.
CHAPTER FOUR
DAMIEN could almost hear his mate shouting in her head. She had not wanted him to go with her and Ava to meet Orsala, but Damien decided he didn’t care. In fact, he decided the situation amused him. Sari’s reaction to him the day before had been more than satisfactory. They had talked—truly talked—about their estrangement for the first time in a century.
“You make me feel.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“If I feel one thing, I’ll feel everything.”
Damien had always known Sari’s icy reactions to violence or grief had never meant she didn’t feel. If anything, his mate felt too keenly. Some men might have taken that as a sign to tread gently.
Damien had trodden gently too long.
“So, why does she live so far away?” Ava asked. “Is it because of the empath thing?”
“Hmm?”
“Orsala. Why does she live away from everyone else?”
“She can shield herself from the emotions around her,” Sari said. “But it costs energy she knew she was going to need to read you the first time. So she went to her house. She likes her solitude, but she’s often in the main house.”
“That’s why you haven’t seen her,” Damien added. “After today, she’ll be around more.”
“I feel bad she had to keep away.”
Sari said, “She doesn’t have to do anything. She chose to. It’s no responsibility of yours, so don’t feel bad.”
Ava was still so human in her reactions and manners. Damien could tell that Orsala’s isolation bothered her.
“Still, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize.” Sari interrupted Ava’s attempt to make amends. “My grandmother hates it when Irina apologize too much.”
Oh, his gentle girl. Damien sighed to keep from smiling; Sari must have heard it.
“You didn’t need to accompany her,” she muttered.
“I’m paying my respects to your grandmother, Sari. It would be rude of me not to see her.”
“She’s not your grandmother.”
“No, but she’s yours. And, unless you’ve forgotten, I am your m
ate. Therefore, she’s my family too.”
“Trust me. I have not forgotten.”
Something must have been bothering her that morning. They’d left on relatively pleasant terms the day before. What could have happened? He leaned toward Sari as Ava walked ahead. “Are you sure about that?”
He slid a finger over the soft skin at her wrist. The air between them sparked, and a surge of sexual energy jolted him. Damien caught his breath as the impact traveled from her skin to his.
Someone was frustrated, and thank the heaven it wasn’t only him.
He woke every morning with the memory of her taste in his mouth and his body raging. Dream walks were growing darker and more vague, as they always did when they were in physical proximity. While their basic physical hunger for each other was served through dreaming when they were far apart, their souls were not apart from their bodies. And everything in Damien’s body recognized his reshon was near.
Their eyes locked for a moment before Sari tore her gaze away.
Ava was losing patience. “You guys are impossible. You should hear yourselves.”
“Then stop listening,” Sari said. “It’s rude.”
“Don’t you think I would if I could?”
Ava was saved further headaches by their approach to Orsala’s house. When they reached it, the old woman was standing at the doorway, holding out her arms with her eyes locked on him.
“Damien!” Orsala called to him. “Oh, my son. I was wondering when you would come visit me.”
He wondered if Sari minded that her grandmother had always kept in contact. Orsala and Damien had bonded centuries before over their love of Sari. As the years passed, they’d become more than family, and Damien considered the old singer one of his truest friends.
“Mother,” he greeted her in her own tongue, “does the fire still burn in this house?”
“It does, and you are welcome to its light,” she answered. “You and your own.” Her eyes flicked to Sari, who was pointedly ignoring them. “You came back for her.”
“I had to. She never came to me.”
“She would have.” Orsala patted his hand. “She will.” She turned to the human girl, who was gaping, and took her hand. “And you must be Ava. You are so very welcome. Thank you for coming to visit me.”
Damien didn’t know what Orsala was reading off Ava, but her approval would be the deciding factor on whether or not they could stay in the haven. Orsala was an empath. She could feel honesty and dishonesty in someone’s energy. She could read a person more accurately than any singer Damien had ever met, including his own mother, whose political acumen made her a master of character study.
Orsala’s empathy was what had made her such an effective elder. And such a wily adversary. The elder scribes had searched for years, but they’d never found her, nor had they found any trace of the Irina she protected.
She finally squeezed Ava’s hand and said, “You have a wonderful sense of humor. I can tell.”
Inspection passed, Damien noticed Sari’s shoulders relax as Orsala ushered them inside where she prepared tea and made pleasant small talk that made him feel at home and irritated her granddaughter.
Orsala finally cut to the heart of the matter. “How much do you know about Irina blood?” she asked Ava.
“I… a little. Not much.”
Ava looked uncertain, and Damien was reminded how much Irin history he took for granted. There was so much about their world that must seem strange and foreign to the girl. Something as simple as male versus female magic was a subject she was still trying to grasp.
“I know that Irin and Irina magic is different,” Ava said. “Related, but different.”
“Two sides of the same coin is the saying, I think. We speak the same language they write. But unlike us, Irin can grab the magic. Hold on to it with their writing. We can’t do that.”
Ava nodded. Malachi must have explained that much to her. “Has an Irina ever tried?”
Damien smothered a smile. Oh yes they did, and his mate had the marks to prove it.
“Yes. Some try,” Sari said. “It doesn’t work for us.”
Orsala was quick to add, “No more than an Irin speaking magic works for them. We are different. We were designed to be.”
“And you just end up with messy tattoos and no extra magic,” Sari said.
Damien couldn’t help himself. “They’re not messy. I actually think they’re rather attractive, my dove.”
Had he just called her his dove? He could almost see an assault spell working its way to her lips. Damien couldn’t find it in his heart to care. He was goading a reaction from her. It was the only power he had.
Sari bristled but held in her magic. “Don’t call me ‘my dove.’”
Orsala continued lecturing Ava about Irina magic as Damien watched Sari. With the force of her physical presence so near, it was easy to forget how keen her mind was.
She was beautiful, yes. Her golden hair fell in waves down her back, and her skin was smooth and tan from the summer sun. But her mind and spirit were always what had called to him most. He loved watching her talk about subjects she was passionate about.
“The songs were never meant to be written,” Sari said, prim as an academy instructor. “The act of writing them diminishes the power of their meaning.”
“I’m not going to get into this argument”—Damien couldn’t stifle his smile—“my dove.”
“Stop calling me that!”
“Will you both stop?” Orsala snapped, switching into the Old Language. “Or are your petty differences more important than this girl learning about her history and her people? You are embarrassing yourselves, fighting like this. Are you still nursing from your mother’s magic?” Continuing to glare at them, she switched languages. “So while I am working with Ava and teaching her beginning spells, you two will continue to research her background. We have records too. And you can speak to Candice.”
Candice? Did he know a Candice? Damien didn’t think so.
Sari was clearly opposed to this plan. “But—”
“Candice’s father was a historian and genealogist,” Orsala said to Damien. “One of the first in the Americas, so it’s possible she knows something about the families Ava might have come from. Once I get a feeling for her blood, you’ll have more to go on.”
Was Orsala on his side? He knew Sari’s grandmother had wanted them to reconcile for years, but she’d always stayed far away from what she called “family meddles.”
“And you want us to work together?” Damien asked. “Are you sure?”
“I am quite positive. Why don’t you both finish your tea and start right now?”
Sari said, “Together?”
“Yes. In fact, just take your tea with you and leave Ava and me alone.”
Well, this should be fun. Or painful. Possibly both.
He held out his hand. “Shall we, my dove?”
Sari was muttering curses under her breath when she stomped out of the house.
Damien smiled at his favorite grandmother. “So good to see you again, matka.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Damjan. You have a long way to go.”
※
And did he. The meeting with Candice commenced immediately after lunch when Sari pointed him toward the library in the main house and left him there. A singer he assumed was Candice came in a few minutes later with several thick, leather-bound journals. She was slightly built, blond, and smiling.
“Hello,” she said. “You must be Damien.”
He rose to greet her. “I’m sorry we haven’t met before. Let me help you with those.”
“If you can take these”—she cheerfully handed them over—“I’ll get the others.”
“Others?”
“There are forty-six,” the small woman said. “The majority of the early American records. Mainly from Raphael’s line, which was found among the Native American and Norse American Irin. And then the minor angels that followed Rafael, of course
.”
“But Rafael’s lineage was lost,” Damien said, staring at the book in his hands. “There are only scattered remnants of his writings in the council archives. How did you come by these?”
“I was the only one left.” Candice smiled wistfully. “After.” For a moment, the mourning collar she wore around her neck was visible in the late-afternoon light.
She’d lost her mate. And the rest of her family too. Damien wondered how many of the other singers in Sari’s haven were as alone.
“My father’s journals,” Candice continued, “and the journals of his brothers, came to me. It was quite the undertaking to bring them here when I fled the United States, but Orsala and Sari knew they were important.”
Damien was in awe. A treasure had jumped into his hands. “I thank you. It should have fallen to one of my brothers to carry this burden.” Yet another failure of his brethren. Irin scribes were the keepers of written record. It was their gift and their responsibility. “Heaven will bless you for preserving this knowledge.”
“You are welcome to it.” She blinked a sheen away from her eyes. “I wonder if you might… Would you take them to Vienna? When you go? There is no real use for them here. I would like to keep my father’s personal journal, but all the rest…”
An anchor weighing her to the past. What must it have been like? To be alone with nothing but the writings of your ancestors to keep you company.
“I would be honored, sister.” Damien bowed toward her. “I would be honored to carry these records to the Archives. I promise I will keep them safe.”
“I know you will. Sari and Orsala both think very highly of you.”
Orsala he knew, but…
“Sari?” He smiled. “Does she speak highly of me? You’re the first to tell me so.”
“No,” Candice said. “I said she thinks highly of you.”
“And how do you know that?”
“It’s in her eyes when she speaks of you,” Candice said. “Sometimes you don’t listen to the words someone says. It’s more important to read their eyes.”
※
The Staff and the Blade Page 23
