He rubbed a hand over his jawline sheepishly. “Well, there was a prophecy, or a dream of some kind. I saw glitter and some sort of beast rampaging through the fields in the CelestialRealm, but I might have overdramatized a few bits when I jotted it down.”
“Jotted it down? You recorded it on one of the Great Scrolls, Rafe. You made entire generations believe that glitter is the first sign of the downfall of all the realms of light.” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing aloud.
He snorted. “Even Imriel. It’s fucking hilarious. All you have to do is whisper that you might have seen glitter, and…” His lips twisted into a mischievous smile. “Once you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn to take your pleasures when and where you find them. There’s no guarantee about tomorrow.”
We both fell silent at the painful truth in that statement.
“We could make two small knives from these feathers,” he said after a while. “You and Feather could each have one…” He trailed off. Two small knives against the beasts outside wouldn’t be enough. We needed swords.
Our eyes met, and I knew he’d had the same thought. He extended one wing, measuring the length of it against his arm. I shook my head at him. “Your wings won’t work, Rafe. They’re too tainted. The cuts would infect you and you’d die. And there’s no way of knowing…” I broke off. He knew what I meant—the wings beneath the corruption were compromised. There was no way to know if they would be powerful enough to transition into swords. Whereas what I had planned was guaranteed to work.
“It’s better than what you’re envisioning. You can’t, Gav. I won’t allow that sacrifice.”
I laughed bitterly. “You think I don’t know what you have planned, Rafe? That moment in the nursery, that was you saying goodbye. I know you’re planning to pay the price at the gate.”
“Someone has to, Gavvy. It can’t be her. And it can’t be you.”
“I know, Rafe. I’m praying for another solution, but I can’t see one.” I stared into the face of the man I loved more than any other in the universe, save Mikhail, and gently asked, “You reallywon’t allow me to do the one thing that might save my soulmate—and your beloved as well? You won’t allow me to feel I might at last deserve her affection, and your forgiveness?”
He staggered as if I’d punched him. “She won’t let you.” He clenched his jaw, his eyes darting to Feather’s slumbering form.
“She won’t know until it’s done,” I replied. I pulled on Sanctuary’s sluggish energy, asking for just enough to make a soundproof net, which I placed over the bed.
My throat was already dry at the thought of what I was contemplating. No, what I was already committed to. There was no other weapon I could use that was as effective against the shadows. None that would give us even a fighting chance of getting through their legions and to the gate.
“She won’t hear a thing. But I need you to help me. We don’t have a soul knife.” I swallowed hard and looked at his claws. He was a walking soul knife. If those were powerful enough to cut through shadows, they would work. I just needed him to agree.
Rafe stood and began pacing, his wings rattling as he stormed up and down the length of the Hall, muttering. Every so often, he would stop and stare at me with desperation.
I wasn’t sure how long he paced. Hours, minutes, an eternity. When he finally fell still, the floor beneath him sizzled with charcoal tears that slid from his face, and when he looked up, I gasped. As each tear fell, it revealed a line of the Seraphiel he had once been. A light—so pure he’d once had to hide it—shone out, but for no longer than the time it took each tear to fall. And then the corruption raced in to devour the brilliance.
Do you remember, Gavriel?
I did.
“Rafe!” I ran to the golden door of Rafe’s rooms, pounding on the surface. No one answered. “Rafe, open up!”
The door opened, but Rafe was nowhere to be seen. Who had… I saw a tiny lick of Sanctuary’s power vanish into thefloor. He was using therealmto open a door? I peered around the dimly lit front room. There were dozens of bottles of brandy and mead, empty or half-empty and lying on their sides. The floor was sticky with spilled liquor… and other things. A brilliant light shone from the crack at the bottom of his bedroom door.
“Disgusting,” I muttered as I pushed inside. “Fuck, Rafe, tone it down!” I shielded my eyes. He wasn’t covering up his glow right now, and I hoped I hadn’t blinded myself. I felt around for a sheet and threw it over him, which diffused the light just enough.
He was curled into a ball, as still as death, in the very center of the massive bed. His bed was the largest in Sanctuary, with an enormous bolstered headboard, enough pillows to provide for five cohorts of Novices, and beautifully sculpted metal rings at intervals along the base and sides—which I never asked about. I had done a bit of merging in my thousand years, but nothing like Rafe.
Rafe had joked once he’d had a vision that he would need a large bed. That he would be mated to four other souls, and he would need the space for all the games they would play. But when he’d said it, his voice rang with truth. I could never tell what was true and what was a grand joke when it came to the man who had become my best friend. My brother.
“How drunk were you?” I demanded, tossing a velvety cushion at him. He moaned, curling into a tighter ball. “Rafe, how drunk were you last night at The Merge? The healers have sixteen Protectors and two Guides in the ward getting treatment for energy dehydration.”
“Didn’t take their energy,” he mumbled. “Swear.”
“No, they didn’t report that you took their energy. And no one actually complained. Apparently, they all staggered into the healing rooms with smiles on their faces, hair so knottedthey had to cut out chunks of it, swelling in their nether regions, and corneas that resemble those of humans who’ve stared at the sun for a week. Luckily, they’re all completely healed, though the healers have demanded a week off. What did you do?”
There was silence, then he rolled over, muting his Celestial glow as he removed the sheet. “Had a vision in the middle of it all.Twovisions.”
“Shit,” I said, perching on the bed. He frowned slightly at my cursing. He had no room to talk; he’d taught me how to remove smut for cursing with happy thoughts. I quickly imagined meeting my soulmate, and the freckle on my hand vanished. “What prompted the visions this time?”
We’d figured out his prophecies these days—most of which were dire—were triggered by the strangest things. He’d had one about a year before, when some particularly muscular Protectors had emerged from the baths with scented oils rubbed all over their bodies. It had been after dinner, and Rafe had asked the chefs to make raspberry sauce with custard. Something about the combination had spurred a particularly violent vision about him being mired in the Abyss.
“It was fondue,” he slurred up at the ceiling. “It was fondue Friday. And you were there, and the others. Your wings were gone, Gavriel. And I’d cut them off.”
