I can see it glowing inside him. Faith. Belief. I want to be comforted by it, and I also hate it so sincerely. Because there is nothing divine or worthy inside me, but there was in Halle and the universe took her and left me. What kind of justice is that? A world as screwed up as this one is too lost, too fucked-up to save.
But I don’t know how to say all that, so instead I just snort and roll my eyes at him. “Honestly, Atlas, that sounds really stupid.”
He chuckles softly and shrugs me off, offering his canteen again. This time, I do take it and allow myself a small sip.
“It’s all right,” he says. “You don’t have to agree with me. And I know we’re a long way from getting to where I hope we can be. But I believe we’ll get there all the same.”
A shadow moves below, stepping a little way out from the house and then turning back to us. It takes me a second to make out Liren’s face and figure in the dark. They wave at Atlas and me.
“The two of you should come down here. There’s something I think Val needs to see.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“THOSE WHOSE SPIRITS HAVE MOVED ON TO THE GATE OF HEAVEN TO BE WITH THE HERALDS IN ETERNITY, THEIR BODIES ARE TO BE CLEANED, ANOINTED, AND WRAPPED IN WHITE. AND ONCE THEIR PHYSICAL SHELL HAS RECEIVED FINAL RITES, IT WILL BE DELIVERED UNTO THE DEPTHS. FOR AS THE HERALDS GAVE SO MUCH FOR US, OUR BODIES ARE THEIRS AND WILL BE RETURNED TO THEM.”
—THE SACRED LAW OF THE HERALDS
The wreckage of the Archangel lies in the middle of the living room, looking even worse under the harsh glow of unfiltered naphtha lamps. The wings have been entirely removed, but the main cavity, its arms and legs, are all still raggedly intact.
Including the body of the saint inside.
I stand in the entryway, arms crossed, unwilling to take another step closer to that metal monster. Liren and Orion are crouched near it, murmuring to each other as they study the pieces, the person inside. Dani sits in an armchair in the far corner, next to Garian and Mira, and when she tries to put her bootsup on the little table in front of her, Mira swats her arm and gives her such a look that Dani immediately swings her feet to the floor and sits up a little straighter.
I scowl at the ugly, broken construct. The sight of it makes my skin crawl with disgust. Or maybe some kind of deep, primal fear. “Why the fuck did you bring it here?”
Liren looks up, wiping their hands on a clean cloth. “Were we supposed to just leave it out there on the open alloy as a dead giveaway for the other angels? Like, ‘Hey, we’re here and we destroyed your friend’? We’re running out of time before we have to get a move on as it is.”
I don’t respond or give them the satisfaction of admitting they make a good point—I don’t want that thing anywhere near me, period.
“Look,” Liren says with a heavy sigh. “We needed to cover our tracks a bit, and I also wanted to take a closer look, preferably with some amount of privacy. Discovering that there’s a human inside these—”
“Sorcha.” The name slips from my mouth before I can stop it.
Liren raises their eyebrows, surprised. “Sorry?”
I want to bite my tongue for betraying me. Why did I feel the need to correct them? What does it matter what it’s called? Thisthingtook Halle from us. It’s not like it’s a person. It’s not like it matters.
Dani’s sharp, amber gaze pins me even from across the room, not letting me off the hook, damn her. “You said Sorcha.”
“Sorcha Tannith,” I finally admit. “That was her name. She was a saint.”
Orion makes a littleohof recognition as he straightens, staring down at the figure inside. “That’s why her face is familiar…”
Atlas draws a little closer, frowning. “She’s not…”
“Alive?” Liren finishes for him. “No, not exactly.”
“What does ‘not exactly’ mean?” Dani snaps, her eyes narrowing. “She’s alive or she isn’t.”
Liren shakes their head. “It’s difficult to explain. Most typical signs of life are nonexistent. But then…” They look over, motioning me forward. “Val, would you step a little closer?”
I don’t want to. I hate that Archangel. Loathe it, even. I’m also terrified of it. Of what it might mean and what it might make me feel. But I step into the room, arms still clutched tight around me as I move up next to it.
For the second time, I look down at what remains of Sorcha Tannith, and here in this brightly lit room, without the heat of battle and grief burning sun-bright through me, it’s even more jarring. Her body is withered, caged and pinned by dark-gray metal along every inch. There are slices and stab marks visible from where Toothpick hit, but there are no signs of bleeding. A human face—or, at least, a face that was human once but barely resembles it now. Bleached skin stretched tight over too-sharp cheekbones and sinking into every hollow of her skull. That thinned-out halo of bright-red hair. Eyes fully black from corner to corner, ringed with white lashes, and staring out at nothing. Metal bars protrude from the sides of her neck and the top of her skull, connecting her to the automaton skeleton surrounding her, and embedded in her chest is the naphtha heart, a dodecahedron of golden glass and black iron.
The scarred metal frame jerks. The less-damaged arm twitches, articulated fingers curling and uncurling, reaching for something.
Reaching for me.
