She hoped with everything in her heart that Sara’s words would prove prophetic, that they’d win this terrible fight so Zoe could play in the snow again, safe and happy and with wonder in her heart at the shadow of an angel’s wings. Picking up a feather of dappled black and gray that looked like it came from a squadron commander she knew well, she put it carefully into a pocket to save for Zoe.
Her aim was to find Raphael, maybe steal a few seconds in his arms, but when she reached the war room, she saw that he was in intense discussion with Jason. Not wanting to interrupt and needing some fresh air, she went to the balcony doors. She’d pushed the door to one side when she looked up and froze, her eye caught by the unexpected tableau outside.
Aodhan and Illium stood near the edge, weapons in hand, both bearing wounds that said they’d been in one of the ongoing light skirmishes along the perimeter. Aodhan had a cut on his cheek and what looked like a couple of shallow slices on his upper arms, while Illium’s right wing was notched as if by a blade. Not a disabling injury, Elena judged, and one that was healing before her eyes.
That, however, wasn’t what held her attention. It was the fact that they stood side by side, their wings overlapping the slightest fraction. Aodhan never made the mistake of putting himself in a situation where he could be touched, which meant this wasn’t a mistake. Fingers clenching on the doorjamb, her heart full at this sign of healing amid the hurt and the horror, she was about to turn away, leave them in peace, when Illium turned toward Aodhan.
The two angels were both tall, but Aodhan was perhaps an inch taller, and now his eyes locked with Illium’s for a long, quiet moment before he lowered his head very slightly. Illium raised his hand, the movement slow, hesitant . . . and then his fingers brushed Aodhan’s cheek just below the cut that had almost sealed. The first ray of dawn kissed the tear that rolled down Illium’s face, caressed the painful wonder on Aodhan’s as he lifted his hand to clasp the wrist of his friend’s hand.
That instant of contact, the power of it, stole her breath.
Then Illium smiled, said something that made Aodhan’s lips curve—Elena thought it might’ve been “Welcome back, Sparkle”—and they were separating to sweep off the Tower in a symphony of wild silver blue and heartbreaking light.
“Raphael,” she whispered, having felt him come up behind her. “Did you see?”
“Yes.” His hand on her nape, his thumb brushing over her pulse. “Of course it would be Illium who reached him,” he murmured. “They’ve been friends since Illium first talked Aodhan into flying to the bottom of the gorge—he was younger than Sam is now, Aodhan even younger.”
Elena hadn’t realized Illium was older, Aodhan was always so solemn. “Did they get in trouble?” she asked, turning sideways to his body.
“Yes. It’s a forbidden flight for such young babes—the gorge floor is far from the city and, though coasting down is not so hard, young angels don’t have the wing strength to get back up.
“When they were found,” he added, tucking her against him, “everyone knew it was Illium who must’ve been the instigator, and he took the blame without pretending otherwise.” A laugh. “He has never lied, your Bluebell, even as a child, and that’s why no one could ever be angry with him. ‘I did it’ is apt to be the most frequent thing he said as a child.”
Elena could just imagine. “And Aodhan? What was he like?”
“Always quiet, shy, gentle of heart. But that day, he was intractable, insisting Illium alone wasn’t to blame, that they’d come up with the plan together. He wouldn’t listen when Illium told him to shush, and the next thing the Refuge knew, they were close as two birds of the same nest, each as often at the other’s home as his own.”
Pressing his lips to her hair, he said, “Two hundred years, Elena, that is how long we have waited for our Aodhan to return.”
The solemn words made her eyes burn. Wrapping her arms around him, she stood in silence with her consort, their eyes on the squadrons that patrolled the uneasy border. Each time she glimpsed wings of silver blue, she looked for those of broken light.
• • •
Heavy fighting began again with true sunrise.
The Tower forces, Elijah’s two elite squadrons included, did considerable damage, but it wasn’t enough, not with Lijuan’s generals recharged by their mistress. Having learned from their previous skirmishes, they ganged up on the Tower’s most powerful fighters while an overwhelming number of ordinary fighters engaged anyone who might come to assist. Their tactic worked, bringing down five of Raphael’s experienced commanders one after the other.