Archangel's Heart(142)

The other consort’s gaze went to beyond Elena. “I would ask that Aodhan also be permitted a voice.”

“He is an artist,” Caliane murmured. “A respected student of the Hummingbird. I would hear his thoughts.”

Aodhan rarely spoke when he was with a larger group, but today, he said, “Lady Hannah speaks true. It is also regretful that the Luminata have discarded artworks without any oversight.

“While I was visiting with the healer who has been helping Ibrahim”—he indicated Laric’s small form, the healer almost hiding behind Aodhan—“I discovered a damaged painting by the Hummingbird. Laric saved it from a room that seems to act as a gathering place for things bound for destruction, was told he could have it as it was no longer good enough for the Gallery.”

The reaction to his revelation was visible and audible. Even Titus, who Elena hadn’t thought was particularly artistically inclined, fisted his hands. Illium’s mother is far more important to angelkind than I understand, isn’t she?

Raphael’s response held a gentleness he only ever betrayed when speaking about the Hummingbird. She is a treasure, broken perhaps beyond repair, but a treasure nonetheless.





44


“If we have made mistakes,” Donael said into the dangerous quiet, “we are happy to mend our ways. If the Cadre says the Gallery should be open to all angelkind, then it will be opened.”

“That is the problem, Donael,” Astaad said, his fingers stroking his goatee. “The Luminata should have come to that conclusion themselves. What is the goal of luminescence if not wisdom?”

Elena wanted to speak so badly that she could feel the words shoving at her throat, but she’d learned a few things about angelic politics in the time since she’d become Raphael’s consort. Her voice could well work against her interests—many of the Cadre still viewed her as too mortal to understand immortal concerns.

She held her silence. For now.

“You set yourself up as rulers in my territory,” Charisemnon said, his eyes hot with a rage that had never died down. “How do you excuse this?”

Donael bowed low again. “There is no excuse.”

“Pretty words.” Michaela’s green eyes glowed as if backlit. “You are one of the oldest and most respected men here, and yet you expect us to believe you did not know of your brethren’s traitorous actions?”

“I focused too deep on my own luminescence,” Donael said, apology in every line of his body. “I let Gian and his coterie run things because it was easier than arguing and because it permitted me to walk the path without distractions.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Elena muttered under her breath, “he’s as culpable as Gian.”

Wildfire blue eyes met hers. “I agree, Guild Hunter. But we must let this run through—there are certain rules to be observed.”

“That is akin to a general leaving his troops in the care of a lower-ranked soldier,” Titus said, folding his arms across his massive chest, his muscles bulging under the cream-colored linen of his shirt. That color reflected the feathers at the inner curve of his left wing, before they darkened slowly into a golden honey shade at the primaries, the change so gradual that it was impossible to say where one color ended and the other began.

His right wing was the opposite: golden honey at the inner curve, flowing out into pure cream primaries.

“The Gallery is a custom-built construction that has survived countless earth shakes, storms, and rains,” Favashi pointed out, dismissing Donael without a word. “Should it survive this storm, there is no need to destroy it even if we erase the Luminata.”

“Agreed.” That came from every one of the Cadre.

The Luminata, meanwhile, were beginning to turn a little green—and Donael no longer looked so confident in his self-appointed role as speaker for the sect. But he spoke again. “We cannot all be blamed for the actions of the few.”

Alexander stirred. “He is correct in one respect. We should separate the ones who truly seek luminescence from the ones who are here only because Lumia provides them a safe haven from angelic law.”

“Elijah,” Raphael said. “The mortal women we discovered, we need to speak to them.”

“I will fetch them,” Hannah said and disappeared from the room in a sweep of wings, to return a bare minute later, Josette and Sahar having clearly been stashed nearby.

The two were dressed in simple but exquisite gowns that must’ve come from Hannah, their hair braided neatly. Fear made their faces stark, their movements ragged as they followed Hannah to stand between her and Elijah.