What alarmed me most was that I was not the one who’d done it.
And it affected me as well. Only Feather and Precious were not held back by whatever force had frozen the Hall. Whoever was doing it, it was an entity far stronger and older than anyone here.Seraphiel?There was no answer. A terrifying possibility filled my mind.Precious?
A new thought assaulted me. Was itFeatherdoing this?
I watched, helpless, as Precious darted in front of Feather, so close to the dangerous smoke-bladed knife. I opened my mind to hear what Feather was thinking.
And closed it just as quickly. Feather’s agony was almost incomprehensible. The sheer weight of the spiritual burden shewas now carrying made me dizzy. But the quality of it… It was old, ancient grudges and jealousies blended with more modern concerns of vanity. Selfishness and fear. And so much pride. It wasn’t hers; she hadn’t lived long enough to amass that sort of taint. Even I hadn’t.
Where had this come from? As I let my spiritual gaze take in the Protectors around me, I knew instantly, exactly where. Their souls were blindingly bright.
She had rebalanced the realm. No, more than that. Cleansed it.
By herself.
For some reason, some madness, Feather had taken on every stitch of the imbalance, pulled it away from the ones who had earned it, whose work it should have been to remove it through study and cleansing and sacrifice… and it had been too much for her body to bear.
The smut lay on her in a thick coating. The Singer of All Songs only knew what must have also happened to her insides, to her lungs and heart. Where else would that much stain go?
The answer was perched on the top of her head.
I wheezed, understanding at last what I was seeing. She was encrusted, almost as filthy as Precious, but even more than that. She had deep gray horns, spiraling away from her forehead, that matched the young demon’s smaller ones. Horns made of smut.
My mind spun as those ridiculously bright green eyes glimmered, as Feather smiled weakly, her lips moving. How was she smiling? Talking? How was she not dead?
Had the small demon done something to her? My eyes flashed to Mikhail, who was struggling harder than I was to escape the heavy hand that suppressed our movement toward the podium. His eyes never left his mate, his gaze all adoration and determination to reach her. Be near her. Protect her, without question or hesitation. He would fling himself in front ofthe soul knife without a moment’s care, if it would help her. He had already done something similar once.
Is that what love was?
I loved Sanctuary, and wanted to protect it… and yet I wasn’t certain I would ever have agreed to take on the smut of the entire realm to do that. I loved Arabella, but not nearly enough to sacrifice myself. I stared at Feather, wondering how it could be that this creature would be so much better at loving than the leader of Sanctuary?
Whowasshe?
Suddenly, something vast moved through me. A presence that was familiar, and terrifying, and comforting. For a split second, it felt like someone was paging through my mind. Flickering through my thoughts, every moment of my existence. Reading the story of my life.
And then giving a loving, disappointed sigh.
It felt as if I’d had the wind knocked out of me. As if I’d been judged and found wanting by the only being who would ever matter.Give me the chance to try again,I begged.Once more. Just once, to get it right. To do better.
I didn’t have time to ponder the odd sensation when time sped up again, so fast it was disorienting for a moment. My foot hit the ground, and I raced toward the stage.
Mikhail yelled beside me and pounded forward, half flying, half running.
On the podium, Valor lunged at Feather, but stabbed the baby instead. A great metallic clanging shook the Hall. Then, somehow, the baby had the sharp end of the blade in her tiny grip, until it slipped from between her fingers, falling to the floor.
Feather turned her back on Valor, hugging Precious close to her chest, her ineffectual wings folded around them both, protecting the little one. An unholy rage in his eyes, Valorreached out with both hands as if to tear Feather’s wings from her back.
I ran, drawing a breath to halt his actions, to order him to stand down. But even before I could speak, before Mikhail or I could reach the stage, Sunny dropped to a crouch. She grasped, then straightened. Shining as bright as any Angelus ever had, she lifted a hand that was no longer empty.
The soul knife lay in her palm, her fingers curled around the grip like it was an old friend. Her eyes hardened, her arm extended. And then, in one swift, smooth movement, she stabbed Valor through the heart. A killing strike.
Valor made a muffled sound of confusion, crumpled on the podium, and after one breath, went still. His energy buckled in on itself, vanishing like a spark going out. As I watched, the particles that had formed his body began to unbind, flowing into the fabric of Sanctuary itself, until Valor was no more.
We all stopped. The world stopped, though time was moving at a normal pace. Sunny wailed, as the pain of what she had done, the murder she had committed, crashed down on her. The room itself seemed to hum with shock, the floor vibrating with echoes of the blow. Sunny’s shine flickered, dimmed, and went out.
She was, for a moment, as shadowed as any soul destined for the Abyss.
But then Feather set the baby down and was there, embracing her friend, laughing at something. Speaking, and then doing what Feather always did. What she’d told me she felt compelled to do, no matter the cost to her.
