Michaela was permanently off any guest list Elena made, as was Lijuan’s buddy, Charisemnon.
“I look forward to making your acquaintance in truth,” she said to Titus now, dredging up more of Jessamy’s lessons. The historian and librarian of the angelic race had the patience of a saint, even when her pupil pretended to collapse and die from the mind-numbing complexity of angelic protocol.
“I, too, will be glad to see you, Titus,” Raphael said, his wing sliding over her own. “You have contained the situation with Charisemnon?”
That situation was the reason Elena had expected Titus to stick close to his territory. He shared a land border with Charisemnon and the two archangels had never had a cordial relationship. Their constant back-and-forth had turned into all-out aggression when Charisemnon sided with Lijuan during the hostilities; not only had Charisemnon used his new ability to create disease to attack New York, he’d begun to send disease carriers over the border into Titus’s lands.
“I have had confirmed reports that Charisemnon is sick.”
“His mind?” Raphael had seen his own parents go mad with age, but Charisemnon was young in immortal terms.
“No. He is physically ill. My spies tell me he is bedridden, his body covered in sores.”
“Archangels do not get ill.” An immutable fact throughout angelic history.
“It appears Charisemnon is changing the rules.” Titus put his hands on his waist, biceps bulging. “I have spoken to my healer and Keir both about the possible cause—they believe he overextended his ability and it turned on him.”
Raphael considered that. “If we remove Lijuan from the picture, Charisemnon appeared to have the strongest Cascade-instigated gift.”
The other archangel had taken down hundreds of Raphael’s angels in a cowardly strike, leaving five dead and many so brutally injured they’d been little more than bleeding torsos. It would take months of excruciating pain before the youngest would recover, the crime of the Falling one Raphael would never forget. Vengeance among immortals was often a long and deadly process, and Raphael had learned the value of patience long ago.
“Yes.” Titus’s expression held grim pleasure. “The pestilent fool acted too fast, was too arrogant. Now he pays the price.”
“There’s another possibility.”
Titus frowned at Elena’s words, but made it clear she had his attention. Raphael knew that wasn’t the African archangel’s usual approach to women who were mated, married, or otherwise tied to a powerful male. It wasn’t misogyny—Titus had a strong contingent of women in his army, including Galen’s mother, Tanae.
It was that, in Titus’s mind, there were two kinds of women—the warriors, and all the rest. The latter were to be cosseted and protected and indulged, but not taken seriously. It had, Raphael knew, taken Titus time to accept that Elena didn’t fit into the second category.
Despite that, she remained young in angelic terms and wouldn’t have had the power to hold the attention of an archangel of Titus’s age had Titus not heard of her courage and loyalty during the final battle against Lijuan, when his hunter had chosen to die with him if it would save their people.
“She is a true consort,” the other archangel had said to Raphael when the two of them spoke not long after Raphael’s troops forced Lijuan’s into retreat. “You are a blessed man.”
An absolute truth.
“Lijuan,” Elena said now, “was”—a pause—“is known to share power with those close to her. We saw that with her generals during the battle. They could go for longer, heal faster than our men and women, but the boost only lasted as long as she was in play.”