“The same is good,” I replied. At least I knew Truth wouldn’t lie about that.
Hope was still inside, probably singing to Precious and Feather’s dying—no, hersleepingmates, I reminded myself. I had to force myself to think of them as sleeping. They may not have taken a breath in a week, and their bodies may be turning into some weird kind of stone, but Precious seemed fine, if sleepy. She wouldn’t move off Mikhail’s barrel chest, though, and even in her sleep, she kept creating marshmallows and stuffing them into her mouth between snores.
I’d caught Imriel staring down at her in wonder and revulsion, as if he didn’t understand what he was seeing. I couldn’t tell if he thought she was evil incarnate, or a beautiful new kind of baby. He didn’t seem able to look away from her, though. It made me suspicious.
Now, as he landed beside me, Imriel just looked perturbed. “Sunny. One of the Guides who came here, you may know them. Used to be named Tradition?”
I fought to control my expression. I knew they had been redeemed and seemed to have turned over a new leaf, but I still had issues with the ex-Head Guide who’d almost had me killed. I’d heard Seraphiel had all but unmade them in Sanctuary, and I’d sort of figured not finishing the job had been an oversight on his part.
“What about them?” I walked beside the Choir Leader slowly, the concern in his eyes making me nervous. Was he working with Tradition or something? I didn’t trust that Guide as far as I could throw the temple I’d been praying in.
“Tradition has requested to leave the Celestial Realm and keep watch on the void.”
“What?” I was floored. “But they can’t get back in, can they?”
“No. I reminded them that there was no way to re-enter this realm that we know of. But they said they had a feeling they wereneeded in the Limen. That someone was. And they had much to atone for.”
“You’re telling me,” I muttered. “Why does Tradition want to keep watch…” I broke off as it dawned on me.
“Yes, they believe Feather and Gavriel are trying to find their way to us.”
My voice was raw as I asked, “Are they, Imriel? Are they on their way?”
His eyes were slightly duller than usual, uncertainty dimming their glow. “We have no way to know if they’re on their way here at all. All we know is Sanctuary is untethered. Lost to us. So there is no way for them to find us, that I know of. If they did get free of Sanctuary before it died, then they would be adrift. Even if Tradition were to locate them… this realm is hidden. Without the bridge, they won’t find it. I don’t want you to hope in vain.”
I glared at him, ignoring the way his pretty voice made me want to cry. Everything made me weepy these days. But that sort of negativity made me want to cry and sock him in the nose.
I settled for using my words, even if they weren’t my nice words. “I don’t hope in vain. They will find us. And they are coming. And there is most fucking certainly hope. Hope in vain? Hope is all that got us this far. And if we give it up, then everything will be lost.” I felt the truth in my words shining almost as brightly as Imriel did. “If you don’t know that, feel the truth of that in your soul, then I feel sorry for your whole stupid realm. What kind of leader doesn’t believe in miracles? How can you teach others the power of love and faith when yours is so lacking?”
Imriel stepped back, as if he’d been punched in the gut. I steeled myself, getting ready for a smiting or whatever they had for mouthy brand-new Celestial residents. But instead, to my utter shock, he kneeled. “Thank you for the teaching, Wise One.”
I stared down at him, unsure of what to say or do. I settled for resting one hand on his head. He startled, and I pulled back my hand. “You had this in your hair,” I muttered, showing him the speck of glitter.
“Compassionateandwise,” he said, staring at the glitter like it was a brown recluse spider or something.
I tucked the glitter in my pocket. “You think that’s wise? Wait until you spend some time around my best birch. She’ll have all you guys on your knees.” A dimple appeared on his cheek as he peeked up. “I meant kneeling, not like… Gah! You must really be related somehow. You’re as much of a perv as she is.”
Imriel dusted off his robe, and I smiled when more flakes of purple glitter swirled around him. “It is never easy to speak truth to power. Not even when your name is truth. I apologize, Sunny. Tradition felt strongly enough that Feather was on her way here, and that she needed guidance. I believe their exact words were, ‘I failed utterly as a Guide in Sanctuary. How can I stay in this realm when I haven’t yet learned the lessons set for me in the last?’”
“Deep,” I said grudgingly. “Where is Tradition?”
“They walked out the Celestial gate and have been watching for her. For them. And now, they think she’s on her way. Or someone is.”
I felt my jaw drop. So much of this didn’t make sense. “How would you know if they spot them, or anything, if they can’t get back in and tell you?”
Imriel blinked. “Music. They said if there was good news, they would come to the door and play their instrument as loudly as possible. And we heard the harmonica not a half hour ago. We think they’ve seen something. And we came to ask if you?—”
He was still talking when I left him and flung the door to the healing room wide. Patience, Hope, and Haneul all stared. “Good news?” Perception murmured.
I nodded. “Feather’s on her way. Come with me.” Hope’s smile was all the answer I needed.
While I was talking, Imriel had spoken with Sabriel and Haneul, and they took Patience and Hope’s places at the bedside. We flew as fast as we could, straight to the gate, which appeared on the side of a cloudbank the moment I looked for it. As usual, the Celestial guards were lined up on both sides of the gate, as if they were preparing for something to try and break in. They all wore clothing now—gold lamé mini-togas with strappy calf-length sandals. I wasn’t certain if that was out of respect for all the new arrivals, or if the nudity had been some sort of practical joke, but I appreciated not seeing their junk all the time.
I landed and took a deep breath, hoping to hear something that would confirm what Imriel suspected was true. The guards moved aside so I could press my ear to the door. At first, I heard nothing, but after a few moments, the faint, tiny strains of a song filtered through. I knew the song. Feather had hummed it a dozen times, warbling the lyrics, while she glued glitter onto t-shirts and stitched rows of sequins onto her togas. I pressed my ear closer, and Perception joined me, doing the same thing.
Hope’s grip on my arm was bruising, but I didn’t care. “What do you hear, Sunny?”
I concentrated for a moment, then had it. “‘Candle on the Water,’ Joel Hirshhorn and Al Kasha, 1977.”
