Tristan nudged Val with his elbow and spoke in a low voice. “Gods, I can see why they keep this quiet—every soldier in the kingdom would be trying to convert. I honestly have to wonder what Rafe and Jeremiel were thinking choosing the Hawks over this.”
Val grinned back as they followed Ramiel to the back of the hall and down a handful of stone stairs. “Hey, wasn’t it like this for you? It looks just like what I remember. Especially Garsdale. How many weeks were we up there trying to fight the border reivers?”
“Gods.” Tristan shook his head, no doubt remembering the mud, the cold, and the hunger. The reiver attack that had nearly cost him his left eye. “You fucking had to bring that up, didn’t you?”
“Well, I….” His words faded as they followed Ramiel into the armory and Val forgot what he was going to say. The barracks were impressive, but this was something else again. Row upon row of armor hung beneath gleaming racks of swords and daggers of every size and shape. An entire wall was given to throwing weapons, another to bows and arrows, while a massive pair of floor-to-ceiling cases held only crossbows.
“This is our overflow armory,” Ramiel said, gesturing around the room with an almost paternal look.
“Overflow?” Val couldn’t help the awe in his voice.
“Every man and woman is issued their own weapons, tailored especially to them, when they join us. These are merely spares.”
“Spares.” Tristan whistled admiringly.
“Help yourselves to whatever you want, and when you’re done you can get some breakfast in the mess. I’ll send someone to take you to the field in time.”
Ramiel gave them each a brief nod and then left them alone, almost overwhelmed by choice.
In the end, Val chose a heavy longsword with a distinctive curved blade and a two-handed grip that fit his big hands perfectly.
The armor itself came in an array of sizes, everything in brilliant white leather, the breastplate emblazoned with the outline of an angel bearing a fiery sword. It was clear that occasionally Clibanarii joined from the other races; there were massive sets of wide armor that would suit the muscular Apollyon, burnished cuirasses that would cover a Tarasque warrior from waist to neck while leaving their arms free for their own scales and claws, and even several suits with slitted backs that would allow Mabin wings to unfurl freely.
Val grabbed a full set of Mabin armor down from its store, surprised by just how heavy it was. When he flipped it open, he found the inside of the leather lined with strips of a gleaming silver metal that he had never seen before. He held his hand against it briefly and let out a sigh of relief when it was obviously not iron.
It would be heavier than the armor that he was used to, but significantly more effective. And no one would know that it hid a secret advantage. The ingenious design was impressive, but even more than that, it was a clear sign that the Nephilim cared enough to provide it to their warriors.
“Here.” Tristan threw him a set of linen underclothes, and they both stripped quickly and pulled on their new armor. Gods, what a relief to be wearing leathers that fit for the first time since he was taken captive.
They left the armory, carrying their old clothes, and settled themselves in the mess. It was considerably busier than when they’d come through before, but within a few seconds, a teenage boy dressed as an acolyte arrived. He brought them plates of the hot bread and bacon that they’d smelled earlier, as well as cups of clean, clear water.
They sat in companionable silence, side by side, surrounded by the familiar sounds of soldiers in a mess hall.
The food was hot and fresh and should have been delicious. But now that he was sitting quietly, all the worries that he had pushed away all morning crowded in, thick and heavy. Val took a bite and chewed slowly, too much a soldier to refuse food. But it tasted of straw as he considered everything that could go wrong.
The fact that Ballanor had agreed so readily, encouraged by Dornar, couldn’t mean anything good. The king was completely certain he would have Alanna back with him by nightfall.
Val pinched his nose, willing away the thought. He pushed away his plate and turned to his friend, lowering his voice so that no one else could hear him. “Tris, I wanted to say—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Tristan clapped him on the shoulder. “If anything happens to you, I should look after Nim… but I’ve got to tell you, Val, your sister can look after herself.”
Val hit him back, harder, and gave him a wry look. “No, actually.”
“No?” Tristan grunted, bemused.
“What I really wanted to say was… thank you.”
“What for?” Tristan looked genuinely confused.
Val faced the friend he’d thought he’d lost forever, filled with a strange emotion. A kind of bittersweet joy to be sitting together after everything they had been through. Knowing that they truly were brothers and just how precious that was. But also knowing how uncertain their future was.
“I knew Nim loved you, you know,” Val admitted. “She waited for you, all these years.”
Tristan turned to him, intently focused on his words.
“She always adored you, right from when we were children. But you didn’t seem to notice, and I thought that was better—better for her—if you never realized. Because if you showed her any attention at all, I thought, she would do anything for you. Give anything. Lose anything. And you didn’t really care. Not like that.”
“Val….” Tristan’s voice was rough. “I—”
