“And my brother just handed it over to you? He saw our side of things?” He sounded understandably dubious, and his eyes narrowed further when she hesitated over her answer. “I know you didn’t risk your life like a fool over this, Mary. Regardless of my brother’s wrath, the wards on the book?—”
“Um…not exactly. The book wasn’t as heavily guarded as you were led to believe.” She swallowed around a lump forming in her throat. “It was stored in the Vault of Relics.”
“Mags, no.” He struggled out of her grip and tossed off his blankets, sitting up and looming over her. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
“Okay, I didn’t.” She looked pointedly at anything other than his face.
“Don’t lie to me,” he deadpanned.
“Well, I can’t do both,” she protested.
He groaned, falling onto his back dramatically, and cut his eyes to the side to stare judgmentally at her. “Why are you like this?”
She snorted. “It’s not like you could go do it.”
“This is fair.”
They laid in companionable misery for a moment, contemplating the turn their lives had taken and the choices they had made—and the harder ones soon to come.
Luce broke the silence, reaching out a hand to enfold her smaller one. “Do you think I was wrong, to stay away from him?”
Her heart broke at the doubt and regret in his tone. “You did what you thought was best. That’s all any of us can ever really do. Our best.”
“But do you think I was right or wrong? Look at Eden, or what happened to my wife. Look what’s happening to Foster. The common thread is my influence. Am I just inherently evil? Destined to destroy everything I try to build?”
“I have never thought that about you, even once.”
The silence settled back over them, and Mags rubbed her thumb in reassuring circles on the back of his palm. Lucifer closed his eyes and carefully locked away the doubt and regret. He could muse on the past once the future was secured.
“How can we be considering this?”
“It’s kind of our only viable option.” The tremor in her tone betrayed the anxiety hiding behind her casual words.
“Considering I’m not likely to be ready anytime soon, we might as well get the ball rolling. Tomorrow, I suppose, since I’ll have to recall Camiel and the boys from the field. Then we can all sit down and discuss it.”
She squeezed his hand wordlessly.
“Besides,” Luce said with a weak grin, “you’ve already committed treason; it would be a shame to make it all for nothing.”
Chapter Nine
Christos strolled down the hall, hoping he was projecting a casual air. The last thing he needed right now was undue attention. He whistled softly to himself, hands tucked into his pockets and sandals clopping lightly on the marble, inconspicuously casting his gaze along each corridor he passed. He had a sinking feeling about the conversation he’d had with Mags the day before, a persistent nagging in the back of his mind that he needed to appease before it drove him mad.
His girlfriend was many things: sweet, strong, beautiful…but she was also clever and secretive. He loved Mags, and he could hardly begrudge her for how her past had shaped her. Becoming crafty and adaptive had helped her survive her horrible situation. Christos only wished at times like this that she didn’t feel the need to use those skills on him.
He reached the end of the hall and laid a calloused hand on the ornate double doors, hesitating. The rich cherry wood was sturdy and warm-hued, carved with an intricate depiction of the Tree of Knowledge. His lip quirked up at the irony and Christos shook out his mane of curls, trying to clear his thoughts. A hard shove and the door swung inward to reveal the library. A high, arched ceiling with massive skylights sent warm sunbeamscascading down on countless rows of towering stacks packed with books.
The smell of old parchment wafted over him, and Christos couldn’t help but breathe deeply, enjoying the calm that it brought. He’d spent many hours at a desk in this room, studying the ancient texts and preparing for his ‘future’ when he’d succeed his father. As if he could imagine fulfilling that role. It would require his father to relinquish the throne first, something Christos knew he would never do of his own will. His father would die before giving up his reign.
A sharp yipping greeted him as he slipped inside, and the Prince smiled at the gargoyle lounging on a cushion beside the door, wings spread behind him like a blanket and rough tongue lolling out. Gently shutting out the world at his back, Christos knelt down to pat the creature on its stony head. The little creatures were generally sweet-tempered, kept by many angels as pets for their companionship and usefulness, though some had been known to accompany their masters even into battle.
This gargoyle in particular was Raphael’s pet, Titanus, and he prided himself on guarding the library—even if that simply meant greeting and therefore announcing everyone who entered, now that he was getting on in years. Christos snapped his fingers to conjure a treat for the gargoyle, patting him on the head once more to rise and make a beeline for his favorite librarian.
“Raphael,” he announced his presence to avoid startling the distracted scholar, but it was as if he hadn’t even spoken. Christos sighed and approached the desk carefully, stopping less than a foot from his former tutor.
“Raphael,” he repeated calmly, and only then did that bowed head snap up, alarm clear in those wide green eyes.
“Christos!” His pen skittered across this page, leaving a dark streak over the meticulously penned notes. He brushed his bangs from his eyes, leaving a smudge of ink on his cheek.
