And, honestly, the smell. Sanctuary was warmer than it had been before the gate was sealed, and we had more power, but something was off with the ventilation. Some areas reeked of harsh cleansers, and others bore hints of residual smut.
As I flew, I thought. Gavriel had said to remember that Sanctuary was not a democracy. But lacking the mantle of legitimacy that being a High Angelus brought with it, I was a king with no crown, and no way to compel the ones who questioned me to obey. And some of the plans the Guides had revealed during my attendance at their meetings disturbed me deeply. Gavriel had given too much power to the group of Head Guides, and I wasn’t sure he knew what they had been doing with it. I prayed he wasn’t aware of it. If he approved of the new direction the Guides were leading us in, I feared for all of Sanctuary.
Below me, Protectors and Novices hovered in groups, even Guides whispering as they shared their worries and fears. I shivered, but not from the cold. Though Feather had saved us from the short-term damage of the gate failing, the fissures that were quickly forming in the absence of the High Angeli—with help from those like Valor, who seemed to thrive in the agitation—threatened the very foundation of our realm.
Yesterday, Hope had shared that a senior Guide had ejected her from an advanced lecture on redemption, saying her questions were impertinent. She’d told me the Guide had insisted there were unredeemable evil acts, that grace had limits, and we were not expected to extend forgiveness once certain lines had been crossed. Lines the Guides were drawing, not the Singer of Songs.
I’d given Hope my own study notes from that seminar. I’d taken it two centuries ago, and the teacher had been a lovely High Angelus who had sacrificed herself to the gate not long after. So many of the greatest souls had left us already, the truescholars of grace and love. The idea that twisted doctrines were being taught to every Novice and young Protector by the sour-spirited Guides we had left filled me with dread.
The week before, an entire cohort of the youngest Protectors had been sent to me for punishment when they were caught in a private purifying chamber using their bodies as percussion instruments to make music, since all the instruments were locked away. When I asked what they had done wrong, their Guide had coldly informed me that this group had committed similar infractions before, squandering their swordplay lesson time by sneaking away to sing.
“We’re sorry, Protector Righteous,” one of the youngest, a round-cheeked Protector named Abundance of Joy, had explained. “But we had an idea for an eight-part harmony to this song Delight picked up on her last trip to Earth, and… well, we really stink at sword stuff anyway.” The whole group, all eight of them, nodded somberly.
He’d just shrugged when I asked what punishment he thought they deserved. I’d finally sent them into the storage closet to dust all the stored furniture from the old High Angeli who’d sacrificed themselves to shore up the Great Gate. I might have pointed out that the harps and horns needed tuning as well as cleaning, demonstrated how each instrument was played, and made sure they knew to play quietly using cloth to muffle the sounds. It had been the most fun I’d had in weeks, possibly years.
I’d taken to singing at the Great Gate every evening, hoping against hope that Feather would emerge from it. I’d seen Valor and some of the Guides staring from a short distance, their expressions cold and judgmental. If I hadn’t already surpassed all but Gavriel in swordplay, I’m sure they would have insisted I stop singing and go to the weapons halls.
I needed to talk to Gavriel and tell him all that was going on, and what I feared was coming. I needed guidance.
Maybe Mikhail had awakened.
I dove down, ignoring the calls from my friends, and swooped along the corridor toward the Maker Hall. The thick door was closed, though it had been ajar when Mikhail fell. Sunny had sent Hope to ask permission to close it a few days before, saying Guides were insisting on entering, and she had no authority to keep them out. Hope had staved them off, but I’d seen the wisdom in Sunny’s request. Only Mikhail’s hand could open the door, so with it closed, he was safe from… whatever it was I sensed coming.
There was another way in for those of us who knew of it, of course. I peered around to make certain no one saw me, then ducked into the secret passageway that led to a narrow door near the rear of the workshop.
Inside, the wall sconces burned low, and the fire in the old-fashioned hearth crackled almost merrily. But Sunny’s dark eyes were flat, and her brow furrowed when she looked up from sponging Mikhail’s forehead with a damp cloth. She’d been doing so for two weeks now, since Feather… I shook away the memory, and focused on the ones I could help.
“Any improvement?” I murmured. I had checked on him daily since his collapse. He had had a few moments of lucidity, and I’d hoped they were getting longer.
She shook her head, her expression tight. “No. He woke yesterday when the wall was shaking.”
“The wall was shaking?”
“Well, more like… humming?” she said, gesturing toward the closed-up Well. “That wall. I thought it might be the gate again, but it was so faint. It stopped almost immediately.”
“What did Mikhail say about the vibration?”
“Nothing. He didn’t feel it, and when I asked, he changed the subject. Every moment he’s awake, all he does is lecture me on how to use the cauldron.” She shot a dark glance to the back of the hall. A large metal pot was tipped up against the wall, an ominous shadow against the smoke-stained marble.
“The cauldron? But why?” I asked. As far as I knew, it had one use: to unmake a Protector who had accumulated too much smut to eliminate, and who couldn’t bear the soul-searing agony of removing it with the one tool we had for such things. I blanched now, even thinking about how painful the smallest touch of that smoky blade had been.
“He thinks he’s dying. Rather than let that happen…” She swallowed, her eyes darkening. “I believe he’s going to ask me to unmake him, and use his soul energy for some purpose. He’s teaching me how to unmake a High Angelus.”
I grabbed her arm, horrified for her. “He wouldn’t ask you to do that.”
She smiled weakly. “Who else would he ask? His mate is gone. His pain is almost too much to witness when he does wake. And he’s been muttering in his sleep about a sacrifice. Something about the Well of Souls. He may want to commit his soul force to another attempt to unseal the Well.”
“Great Maker,” I muttered and crossed to the small table, wishing for a bottle of wine. Instead, there was water and a basket of fruit. I wondered who had brought it here. Sanctuary had been running low on energy. The things we ate were in fact concentrated power, and the more delicious forms had grown scarce since it took a bit of extra energy to create foods that resembled earthly meals. Though Sanctuary was rebounding somewhat now, many foods were still in incredibly short supply. But somehow Sunny had not only fruit, but cheese, and… “Purifying gel?” I whistled low. “Where did you find that?”
“Hope,” she said softly, a slight stain creeping over her cheeks. “I told her about the secret way in. I hope that was all right.”
“It’s fine. Hope is one of the best souls in the realm.”
Sunny’s blush grew darker. “She really is. She’s so good, so true, so… everything.”
Oh, that was how the wind blew. I was glad. Hope had been a friend for a long time, and a casual merge partner when we’d succumbed to loneliness, knowing our soulmates didn’t exist in Sanctuary, and never would since the Well was sealed and no more would be created. We hadn’t merged for almost two centuries though, and she had never shown interest in any of the other older Protectors. Maybe she had been waiting for this one.
I believed in fate, or a divine plan, more so now than I had even a handful of days before. Knowing who Feather had been in our previous lives, and who she’d been here in Sanctuary, though I had refused to see her incredible nature, her generosity of spirit… I fought back a wave of shame for my behavior. And grief that I would never be able to make it up to her.
