Lilith
I breathed a sigh of relief as Lord Fallon stepped away, leaving the library door cracked. Thank goodness he had a message from his man of business, or he’d have spent the entire evening trying to impress Castiel. I hadn’t liked how he’d run his eyes over Castiel’s wings and body, as if he was cataloguing every detail for some inventory later.
The door was around the corner, the library in a remote part of the house. He’d promised we’d be undisturbed, bowing and scraping as he went.
I slid a look at Castiel. “I believe you’ve made a convert.”
Castiel ruffled his wings, stretching, and snorted. “Elder Nelson will be so pleased.”
I laughed.
We had arrived at Lord Fallon’s home an hour ago. Thankfully most of the servants made themselves scarce. The butler had answered the door, ushering us into the most beautiful home I’d ever seen. Gold gilt frames, velvet draperies, marble flooring, expensive busts and ancient-looking vases—it was all so much. I strove to keep my face neutral so I didn’t look unduly impressed.
Castiel didn’t seem impressed, either. He’d said he was a farmer’s son, but surely if he was a leading warrior in an elite force, he’d seen wealth and luxury in his own world.
Lord Fallon met us in the library and gave us a tour, going through each manuscript in his special collection one by one. He was a middle-aged, balding man with gold cufflinks and expensive-smelling snuff kept in a silver snuffbox in his waistcoat pocket.
“Well?” Castiel arched an eyebrow at me, breaking my musings.
I shook myself, glancing over to the reading table where Fallon had left out his oldest books. He told us he wasn’t sure which book I was talking about, but he’d leave us in peace to look through them. “Yes, let’s get to it.” My stomach churned at the thought of helping him leave.
Whatever was growing between us would wither and die as soon as he left with the information in the book. But how could I keep him from his home? If I truly cared for him—and by all the gods, I thought I did, I really did—then I would help him.
I pressed a shaking hand to my brow, massaging at the headache already forming even before I opened a single book.
“Are you well?” Castiel asked behind me.
I flashed him a wan smile. “Perfectly well.” Straightening my shoulders, I forced my feet to carry me to the edge of the table, forced my hands to reach for the first book, and began carefully perusing it.
The first manuscript was easily two hundred years old, a theology tract from a priest of the god Termus. I set it aside. Two hundred years felt like a long time to me. But Castiel was probably older than that. To distract myself from our looming separation, I asked, “How old are you?”
Castiel shifted beside me. “One hundred and sixty-one—no, sixty-two now. Why?”
I turned a page. “I was curious. You’ve spent fifty of those years here in our world.”
“Yes.” His tone was unreadable.
I squinted at him, trying to judge his age. He looked, in human terms, only a handful of years older than my five-and-twenty. “Remarkable.” I shook my head, then turned the next page.
“I was in the army for nearly twelve years before we Fell,” he said quietly, unusually serious. “I’ve spent nearly a third of my life here.”
“Has it been so bad?” I reached for the next book.
“Parts of it, yes.” His tone lightened. “But other parts have been wonderful.”
“I hope your time with the church will fall into the wonderful part,” I teased.
He laughed. “I’ll be honest, cirra, your church is terrible.”
I wanted to argue, but he was right. The discovery of Jo made me rage on the inside, though I didn’t know where to put that anger when all my life I pretended to be calm so I could look beautiful and feel safe, escaping any more notice.
“But.” Castiel’s voice softened. “You are by far the best thing I’ve experienced in all fifty years here.”
My cheeks warmed. I turned another page, looking up at his face. “Castiel, I?—”
His brow furrowed and he pointed. “Is that it? Is that what you saw?”
My words died in my mouth as I glanced down at the book. It was older, perhaps three hundred years old, so large I’d have to carry it with two hands, and the yellowed, fragile parchment crackled as I turned the page. I gasped, drawing my hand back to look more fully at the illumination.
