Mikhail
“Growly?”
My little soulmate’s voice woke me a few hours after we’d all slipped into an exhausted sleep. I’d spoken with Gavriel mentally before exhaustion and heartsickness at the state of our realm swamped me, and I’d meant to close my eyes for only a moment, then rise to help him as he questioned Tradition and each of the Guides. But Feather’sweariness had resonated through my soul, and I wouldn’t have disturbed her slumber for the world.
Righteous still slept, and I smiled, thinking about him. I wouldn’t tell him this, though he might sense it in my thoughts, but I was glad she’d chosen him. His youth and relative innocence—for all that he thought he was wise and even jaded—were like a tonic to me.
I hadn’t known how deeply he loved Feather, though I’d wondered. He almost worshiped her, saw her as some sort of dream goddess in his thoughts. Even her physical state now hadn’t dissuaded him from intimacy, or from showing the depths of his love.
Of course, the smut Feather wore now wasn’t precisely the same sort she’d worn before. For one thing, it didn’t stick to her. And when it came away, it transformed and washed clean, which had almost frightened me the first time it happened.
It also didn’t smell bad. I’d wondered at that, but when I realized the stuff had the scent of roses, and I’d seen the significance of those flowers in Righteous’s mind, I’d understood.
Feather was changing the nature of smut. Her sacrifice and willingness to bear it transformed the sins of the others into something that—though I would never admit it to her—was beautiful.
Glitter.
“Where does it go?” Feather’s voice pulled me back.
“Yes, sweet soul?”
“Where does the smut go? When it turns into glitter, and you wash it away. Where does it end up?” I was startled to realize she’d been reading my thoughts. Her presence was so subtle, I hadn’t even noticed her still there. Or maybe we were merged in a new way. Breaking more rules of what it meant to be Angeli.
“Well, normally, the energy in the gel neutralizes the smut. When we wash it down the drains, it goes out into the void.”
“The Abyss?”
“Hmm. Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Abyss has taken over most of what used to be the space between realms—the void is its colloquial name. But before, it just went into nothingness and dissipated.” I sighed, and went on. “But I’m not at all sure what’s happening with your smut. It still has physical form when it’s washed away.” I’d thought about clogged drains the day before—had it only been one night since we’d returned to Sanctuary? It felt like an age.
“I hope it’s going out into the Abyss,” she whispered. “I hope Rumple sees it and knows it’s from me. Maybe he can use it for an art project there.”
How had I been so fortunate as to have this wonder for my mate? “You love him so much,” I said when I could speak again. “You truly believe you’ll rescue him.”
“Of course I do,” she grumbled. “If I didn’t believe that everything was going to work out, I’m not sure I could get out of bed most days.” She ran her hands over the sheets. “Although I think getting out of bed is overrated. We could just stay here all day long.” She leaned down and began murmuring, “I love you. I missed you, missed every one of your threads. Did you miss me? Let me stroke you for a little while.”
“Are you talking to the sheets, Feather?” Righteous’s voice was rough with sleep.
“It’s important to tell the ones you love how you feel, Ry. If I don’t tell the sheets of Sanctuary how much I love them, they may not be there for me the next time.”
Before I could decide if she was making a joke or deadly earnest, a humming began on the wall near the sealed Well. “What is that?” I wondered aloud, sitting up. In Feather’ssudden thoughts, I saw a combination of images. Bees, earthquakes, and tiny buzzing finger vibrators.
I rolled my eyes and had just stepped one foot out of bed when a blast of power shook the walls of Sanctuary, scattering tools across the floor and knocking me off my feet. As soon as it settled, all three of us sprang out of bed.
“The gate?” Feather asked, grabbing one of the t-shirts she’d made for me weeks before. Pink glitter went flying alongside her own gray smut-sparkles as she moved.
“I can’t tell,” I muttered, throwing on another t-shirt, trousers, and the first robe I found. “Too much noise. Too much fear and confusion.”
“We’re needed,” Righteous declared with wide eyes. “I felt two Protectors”—he choked on the last word—“die.”
I nodded grimly; I’d felt that as well. “They didn’t die. They were unmade. That was the feeling of a Great Sacrifice.”
“Two,” Righteous corrected, as he pulled his own robe on.
Someone pounded on the door. “Maker!”
I reached out with my mind. It was Perception. His thoughts were wild, so frenzied as to be nonsensical. He was worried about the gate opening, and someone coming in—for a moment, I thought he meant the Abyss. But then his thoughts coalesced.
The gate was already open, and someone incredibly powerful—and unknown—had just entered Sanctuary. Only one individual, but he couldn’t tell who it was. Or what their intentions might be. Their presence was masked somehow.
