“Who puts a fountain in a hallway?!” He teetered on the edge of it, bracing himself against the statue that topped the basin to regain his balance. Lifting his head, he blinked in astonishment at the sprawl of plants and greenery unfolding around him. He had stumbled out of the palace into the garden without even noticing.
Michael smiled; he had always felt at home in nature, especially gardens; small pockets of the world’s beauty, carefully curated and preserved for admiration. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply in, Michael reveled in the strong smell of warm earth and the various floral scents mingling into something unidentifiably pleasant that made him feel warm and content.
It was a familiar smell, and not just because he enjoyed nature. That specific blend of nightshade and lily, the pop of morning glories with lavender. His eyes flew wide to confirm with his sight what his nose and his heart had already understood, and this time he let his traitorous knees bring him down to that warm dirt.
It washisGarden.TheGarden.Eden,painstakingly recreated. He laid his forehead on the cool stone of the fountain’s basin, trailing his fingers in the sun-warmed water. In the home that Luce built after banishment to shield and protect himself; in the heart of his palace. Even after everything that had been said and done, Luce built this same garden again.
The swirl of emotion built towards a crescendo. His throat tightened and he lifted his head, only to fall back in shock at the sight of the statue he’d been leaning on. His own face stared back, screwed up in a bellow of rage as he lunged for some unseen enemy, sword aloft and tears streaming freely from his eyes.
He knew this scene. He remembered the way his throat had ached from the force of his rage tearing through it. The way the tears had felt as they dried on his face. The simultaneous weight and reassurance of his sword in his hand. He had never realized how terrifying and heartbroken the whole picture looked when you viewed it at once from the outside; it was like a painful mirror.
Confronted with too much stimulus and memory at once, he let his gaze drop as he hung his head and Michael wept. The soft patter of footsteps hit his ear like pebbles on a window, but he still flinched when a small hand settled between his shoulder blades.
“Mikha'el,” Mags whispered, her voice like silk but rubbing his already raw nerves like sandpaper.
“Mary,” he rasped, looking up at her with desperation. She cradled his face in her hands like a mother, the scars on her palms rubbing against his skin as she drew him in to lean against her where she perched on the fountain’s edge.
“You were not meant to see this,” she said, gently rubbing her thumbs over his temples and weaving her fingers through his curls. “This is his grieving place.”
“He made it for me.” Michael shivered reflexively. “And nowbecauseof me.”
“You have to stop carrying the burden alone, Michael.”
“The blame is mine.”
“Notonlyyours,” she insisted, pulling back to meet his tormented silver gaze. “You were one part of a flawed system, and you need to open yourself to the possibility of forgiveness before you can begin to earn it.”
“I will not accept what I don’t deserve.” He tried to swallow against the roughness of his throat.
“You also won’t accept what youdo,you stubborn fool.” She shook him gently by the shoulders. “Look at that statue. Find that passion and use it for good.”
“I am no longer that man. He died when Lucifer Fell.”
“But you could be something better, if you allow change into your life.”
There was a heavy pause between them, and then Michael made a sound like a sigh meeting a laugh. “When did you become so wise?”
“When I startedlisteningto Christos instead of arguing with him,” she said, giving him a pointed stare.
The mention of the prince had Michael’s spirits sinking again. “Mary, there is something you should know.
She went still, reading something in his expression that sent a chill down her spine.
“He knows.” Her shoulders slumped, and she closed her eyes tightly. “I knew it was a matter of time.”
“He is calling for your arrest…and trial.”
“And he sent you.” It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer. Mags drew back and rose from their crouched position, wrapping her arms around herself with a look of resignation and pain. “I’m sorry, I…”
“I understand.” He rose to his feet and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’d like some time to reflect on things alone, anyway.”
He watched her drift back along the stone walkway, hugging herself tightly as if for warmth, and his heart ached for her. They both knew that a trial by fire was the highest form of judgement Jehovah had at his disposal, and they resulted more often than not in either banishment or… he flinched.
Banishment or death. Jehovah expected him to drag her back to Heaven to face that horror.Dutiful Michael,he cursed himself internally, glaring at his own stone face twisted in broken rage.Always so sure of the right path, but now you have no idea what you should do, do you?
Luce stood up from his stool at Uriel’s bedside and stretched with a groan, pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash. He gave the careful sutures a last inspection and, satisfied, sent the blankets to cover the angel with a casual flick of his wrist.
“Rest easy,” he said softly, placing his fingers on Uriel’s brow to gauge his temperature. No signs of fever, and the herbal poultice he had applied would ward off any infection. The arm that had previously been a tangled mess of tissue and splintered bone was once more intact, and Luce hummed with the sense of pride and self-satisfaction that always accompanied the resolution of a difficult injury.
