“What do you mean?” Righteous asked as Feather scrambled back to peer into the Maker’s face. “He could be alive?”
Mik shook his head. “We spoke of the Flight Hall many times. If there was some other sacrifice there… someone else to pay thecost to seal the doors, or if he had something besides his own life to give?—”
“Like when I gave my Celestial gift to Revel?” Feather interrupted. “That was how I got back into Sanctuary. Maybe Rumple got out the same way.”
Mikhail shook his head. “He would have had to exit from the Flight Hall, sweet soul. But yes, Rafe could have taken the portal to Earth.”
“You mean, gone to Earth to live as a human,” Feather whispered, the smallest edge of her lips curling. “Given up his wings to live a blameless life?”
I could hear the dawning hope in her voice, and felt a matching emotion begin to swell in my own heart, until Mik went on, “The sacrifice to make that trip isn’t only one’s wings, beloved. It’s the whole self. He would have had to give up his name, his body, his very identity.” He stroked her hair. “Even his memories. Everything that made him Seraphiel.”
“But why?”
“Can you imagine the repercussions of a Celestial child living a life on Earth?” I interjected. “Growing up, having children. Changing the balance with every stray thought. Think of how powerful he was. If even a whisper of that remained…”
She frowned for a moment, then asked, “Would he get those things back if he did that, if he managed to live a blameless life? When he died and came here, would he know me then? Or would I be a stranger to him?” The room pulsed with uncertainty and grief.
Mik’s eyes met mine over her silver hair.You should tell her, Gav.
I sighed. “Human souls, when they ascend, don’t go through the Limen to the Celestial Realm. They go to the far fields and beyond.” She muffled a small sob in one fist, and my heart broke—in triplicate, feeling all the bonds inside me echoing our little love’s pain.
Righteous cursed softly. “There wasn’t anyone left in Sanctuary to make the sacrifice for him, though, was there? So this is all hypothetical.”
“Valor was there,” Feather said. “And Revel.”
“Valor?” Righteous growled, and Mikhail echoed the menacing sound.
Feather smiled faintly. “Turns out, Rumple was right all along. No soul is unredeemable. And in the end, Valor lived up to his name. Valor in Service of the Light. He saved me and Gavriel, and he ascended. Well, sort of.”
“I never saw that coming,” Righteous muttered. “I hope he doesn’t show up here, wanting to be best friends. I’d probably punch him in the mouth.”
“He’d probably like it,” Feather mused. “Though he was really more into… macramé.”
The mood in the room began to shift as we held one another for what felt like an hour, adjusting. Thinking. And touching.
Mikhail and Righteous didn’t seem physically capable of keeping their hands to themselves, and I didn’t blame them. I could sense their remaining weakness, and knew that by any measure, they had been dead for some time. They needed the contact to remind their physical bodies how it felt to be alive.
But weirdly, they weren’t just touching Feather. Mik kept coming in for a side hug, rubbing his coarse cheek on mine, and Righteous… I wasn’t certain if he meant to, but he ended up with his head on my lap while he stroked Feather’s arm. I found myself running my hands through Ry’s hair, which was admittedly extremely soft and fine, like silk.
Feather seemed to be amused by it all, and when she finally spoke again, I wasn’t surprised at all by the optimism in her voice. “I know anyone else would think it was nuts to havehope. But look at us—we’re still here, and doing a pretty decent puppy pile, if you ask me.” She winked at me, and I rolled my eyes. “I imagine that somehow, Rumple survived. Just think of all he lived through. Arabella said the Singer of All Songs never throws away one of Her children. She wouldn’t let her eldest son be destroyed. She wouldn’t give up on him, and I won’t either. I’ll see him again.” Her voice had gone raspy with suppressed emotion.
“Let’s hope so.” I leaned over to the table to refill the cup, holding it up to her lips once more. “I know that I believe in the power of hope more now than I ever have.”
“Careful, Grumpy. I’ll have to rename you,” she teased, taking another sip of the blue liquid. “Call you Gavriel the Glad-hearted. Gavriel the Good-humored?”
“I’d rather be Gavriel the Gratified, you little wretch,” I said, snapping at her nose with my teeth as she scooted away, stopping when Mikhail wrapped his arms around her. “You’re naked in this bed, and I’m starting to feel like celebrating the victories we can. You can call me Gavriel the Get Over Here and Kiss Me.” My heart pounded with a strange, painful joy, to hear her joking. Though her eyes were still shadowed, she was obviously determined to remain hopeful. She was the bravest, most resilient soul ever made.
She smiled, rubbing herself against Mikhail, who was equally unclothed. “Ooh, how about Gavriel the Golden Gusher? Gavriel the Grower?”
Mikhail held up the naming chime that had somehow fallen onto the bed between them. He blinked at it like he’d discovered an asp in the bedding. “You need to be more careful, love. You’re a Maker, and a Namer, and one of the Celestial Children?—”
“Only partly,” she interrupted, but he cut her off.
“Stop, sweet soul. You’ll feel bad if you accidentally rename Gavriel.”
“I won’t feel bad if she changes mine,” Righteous grumbled, but I could hear the lie in his voice. “It looks like you’re feeling much better, Scrap. Is there anything you need?”
“Yes. I’m thirsty.” I offered her the cup again, but she shook her head. “Thirsty… and hungry.” She waggled her eyebrows and licked her lips suggestively. “Anybody know where a girl can get a sausage or three in this joint?” With that bawdy joke, it was as if the invisible shadows of pain fled the room, leaving a space for happiness. For passion.
