“That sucks.”
His lips kicked up at the succinct description of his own angry frustration. “It does.” Kissing her one more time, he rose to sit on the edge of the bed, his hand cupping the side of her face. “Sleep. It is early yet and you must rest—I will need my hunter more than ever in the days to come.”
Elena closed her fingers over his wrist to stop him from leaving. “How bad is it, Archangel?” It was the question of a consort, and the answer he gave her was one Elena knew he’d give no one else in the Tower, not even his Seven.
“My men and women are loyal and will fight to the bloody end,” he said, his broad shoulders holding the weight of a staggering number of lives, “but I’m afraid I am about to lead them into certain death.”
Getting up onto her knees, she wrapped her arms around him from behind, their faces side by side. “Not one of those men and women would ever want to serve Lijuan, you know that.” She pressed her lips to his marked temple, her understanding born of the hours she’d spent in the infirmary with the injured, and with the able-bodied soldiers who came to visit their fallen comrades. “Our people would rather go honorably in a fight against evil than cower under its hand.”
Raphael took a long, deep breath, his shoulders straightening and his head rising. “No one,” he vowed, “will ever subjugate those who are our own. Never will we surrender.”
40
Five hours into the new day, Raphael’s spymaster flew back to tell him Lijuan’s troops had crossed the early-warning border. A single command and Raphael’s offensive squadrons formed around him, the defensive perimeter tight and in place as he led the squadrons out across the city and over the water.
“Hold this position,” he told his commanders when they reached a location where his people could see the approaching army but remained within a hard, fast flight distance to their perimeter.
Leaving them hovering in precision formation, he flew out to meet Lijuan midway between the two armies. His move was a risk, given her increasing madness, but he believed part of her remained an archangel of old as yet, and seconds after he began his flight, his belief proved true. Cleaving to the rules of battle laid down at the dawn of angelkind, the Archangel of China flew alone to meet him in neutral space.
“Raphael.” Her pale, pale gaze turned to flint as she took in the mark on his temple. “You’ve been keeping secrets.”
“It appears we’ve all been doing that of late,” he said. “You must’ve worked long and quiet indeed to gain the trust of Uram’s scattered forces.” Until the ordinarily loyal men and women had abandoned their assigned posts and territories to swell her ranks.
“A goddess,” she said, her physical form fading to turn her skin translucent, “thinks not only for today, but for many tomorrows.” The eerie shift revealed the skeletal structure of her face, the sight merging with the crawling sense of screams beneath the surface of her voice, the trapped souls of those Lijuan had murdered.
“Your men wear only swords and crossbows.” Guns, at least, were a familiar weapon to most angelic fighters and wouldn’t have weighed down a winged fleet. “Do you foresee an easy victory?”
“I have been gathering my forces for ten thousand years, while you are a boy. We outnumber you until it will be no battle but an annihilation.”
Her arrogance, Raphael thought, might just be the Achilles’ heel that’d give his people victory in this unbalanced war. “Such is your belief, Lijuan. That doesn’t make it the truth.”
“It soon will be, but before the inevitable, I give you one more chance and invite you to surrender,” she said in that voice full of horror. “I cannot leave you or your consort alive, of course”—utmost civility as she spoke of his and Elena’s executions—“but I will treat your people as I would my own. Your Seven are extraordinary and will serve me well.”
His Seven, Raphael thought, would spend their existence attempting to erase Lijuan from the planet rather than lift a finger in her service. “There is a better way,” he said, extending the talk to give Naasir a final few minutes to put his plans in place. “You do not have to start a war.”
“I am not starting a war. I am stopping one before it begins.” She smiled at him, her eyes pale orbs with fetid shadows hidden within—as if to look too deep would be to fall into an inescapable hell. “You have never respected me as you should. I cannot allow that to continue. You understand.”
“Yes, I understand.” That Lijuan was a being of perfect madness, so mad she believed herself sane. Raphael recognized the signs; he’d seen them first in his father. But the powerful man who’d once played tag with him above the Refuge had never become the ugliness that was Lijuan. She was something new, a nightmare born of the rot at the core of her soul. “In turn,” he said, “you must understand that I cannot allow you to take my Tower and my city.”