“Which is why I beseech you to help me retrieve her.”
“Souls are consigned to the void for specific reasons of which you know nothing—to the benefit of all present, as you should not be meddling in the affairs of your betters.”
“My betters,” Foster said slowly as he locked furious eyes with Jehovah, hot fury meeting cold indifference, “can die slowly under my heel.”
He pushed off his rear foot, using the additional boost of momentum to propel himself toward an astonished God. Foster whipped his sword up and around, bringing it above his head with both hands wrapped around the hilt and driving it down in a cleaving arc.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was obvious his strike would never land—his movements were too telegraphed, his target too heavily guarded. But Luce had to admire something in the no-holds-barred attempt.Jophiel lunged forward again, unimpeded this time, and pulled his sabre from the belt at his waist to block with the flat edge. He knew Gabriel might be furious with him later, but his loyalty to Jehovah compelled him to act, and frankly, he doubted Gabe would approve of the young demigod’s actions.
He was shoved back, heels grinding in the dirt as Foster’s momentum carried them both towards Jehovah. With a grunt of effort and a hard push against the younger man, Jophiel was able to deflect the blow aside, but not without a long slice from shoulder to wrist.
Jophiel cried out but stood his ground. Across the clearing, Glory shrieked and tried to run towards him, only to be blocked by Lucifer’s barrier.
“Glory, stop!” Bal said, gripping the blondeby the forearms. “Would he want you in danger?”
“I don’t care!”
“I amfine, Gloriana,” Jophiel grunted, keeping his eyes on Foster, who seemed torn between attempting a second strikeand surprise that he had wounded someone. As with Camiel, Jophiel’s wound lingered as a result of Foster’s strange blade.
The tension simmered long enough for Jehovah to lift his hand, to do what no one could be sure. Then Foster bolted across the clearing as if freed from some spell keeping him in place.
“After him, if you would,” Jehovah said, waving his raised hand lazily. Jophiel nodded and tore off after the young demigod, disregarding his still healing wound despite his sister’s shouted protests. Two other angels from the contingent followed their lieutenant; enough to offer him support while keeping the King properly protected.
They disappeared around the ruins of the building, and Jehovah turned to Lucifer with a cold glare.“There has been enough chaos this day.”
“For once, brother, I can agree with you,” Luce said, albeit bitterly.
“I will take my fugitive and go, before the barrier around this place wanes thin enough for mortals to traverse.”
Luce frowned. “You will be taking no prisoners.”
Jehovah laughed. “Do you forget, Lucifer? Your son promised her to me. He is also of royal blood, is he not?”
“You can’t be serious that you think his word voids my claims.”
“What authority have you to claim sanctuary whenmykingdom was violated? The girl will face her trial.” His gaze hardened. “My laws are clearly defined, and she willfully defied them. It is a slight against my intelligence and my hospitality.”
“I did not intend offense, Your Highness,” Mags said quietly where she knelt in the grass. “I was seeking to avert the very calamity we see unfolding today.”
“You have chosen a very reckless and ill-advised path in your haste to decide.” He softened, but only slightly. “Actions have consequences, Mary.”
Mag’s decision dawned on Luce, before she even made a single movement. Like an ache in the throat, slow, paralyzing terror crept down through his torso to settle in his gut like a stone. It was written in the cast of her features; the firm set of her delicate jaw, the square of her tiny shoulders, the way her gaze was cut with steel. This was not a woman who would run or debase herself with tears or pleading.
“Mags, no.” Lucifer struggled to his feet, relying on the surge of panic-fueled adrenaline to carry his utterly drained body through the motions. “Please.”
“You speak as though there are choices to make, Luce,” she spoke softly, but her voice was steady.
“Indeed,there are not.” Jehovah inclined his head briefly. “But to be certain, Ezekiel, if you would?”
The angel at Jehovah’s left shoulder stepped out and hesitated, silver wings fluttering awkwardly. He was tall and slender, with a shock of pure white hair pulled back in a neat ponytail to highlight a stern countenance. Dark, angular eyes flicked across the field to Raguel, who met his gaze with a mingled look of reproach and pleading.
Ezekiel looked away first, something akin to anger in the action. He crossed the grass with long strides, hand resting threateningly on the hilt of his rapier.
“Zeke.” Mags lifted her chin, and the angel gripped it firmly. She immediately tried to shrink back, but he gripped her forearm with his free hand to still her.
“Do not speak.” His normally smooth voice was rough with repressed emotion, the mellifluous tones cut with gravel. “Do not make this more difficult than it needs be.”
