His words cut me deep enough to scar, and the veins of my memory vault thrum angrily.
I open my mouth to tell him nothing about my mother was weak, and he’s crazy for insinuating I’m the one who thinks that. But my heart is pounding, my back is itching, and I’m nauseous. If I tell him he’s wrong, will it be a lie? I can’t risk finding out. I’m in too deep already; if I wade in further, I might go under.
We do the rest of the drive in silence.
The coordinates lead us to an abandoned construction site. It’s not far from the main road, but not close enough to draw unwanted attention either. Dark, with uneven, jagged rocks and big clods of dirt, it’s creepy to say the least.
I park the SUV and get out, grabbing my stuff as my heart thumps unsteadily. With a bag on my back and a gun tucked into the holster beneath my shirt, the collection of straps is the only thing holding me together.
Riven gets out, glances around, and shifts. Pale white wings erupt from his back. They’re smaller than mine, the feathers thinner. He isn’t mimicking athatsha,but that shouldn’t be a problem.Members of the other sixnishoften commute to the upper tier if they have clearance.
“I might have to treat you like a servant,” I say with a wince. “I won’t mean it.”
He nods, but no expression crosses the unfamiliar face he’s wearing.
My stomach flips. Breathing through my nose, I bend to touch the rune etched into a stone and activate the gateway.
It flickers to life; a graceful arch made of glittering golden magic.Lead. Plan. Inspire. Protect. Heal. Build. Sustain—there’s a rune for eachnish.They’re meant to emphasize a shared sense of purpose, but it’s been a long time since it was that simple.
On the bottom, hovering above the ground and stacked two runes high, are the words chosen to represent the gateways when they were invented millennia ago.Exploreandconnecton the left, andjourneyandhomeon the right.The first time I saw a gateway, those words made my heart swell. I was awed by the magic, and the possibilities felt endless.
Now, all they bring me is dread. It’s laced with determination, but there’s no joy anymore. No desire to walk where my ancestors did. My memories of the celestial realm are tainted by my father, I’m not sure how to sever the two.
“Are you ready?” I ask Riven.
He nods, and I link our fingers. His grip is limp. My stomach churns.Leave it, Celine.
Together, we step into the gateway. The shine gets brighter, burning my eyes until I’m forced to cover them with my free hand. My skin tingles as the magic reads me. Then we’re shooting into the light, rocketing away from this realm in a movement too fast to describe.
Gravity loses its grip on me. I focus on the strapswrapped around me and the press of Riven’s fingers. He’s clinging to my hand now, or maybe I’m clinging to his. My bones ache from the pressure.
The soles of my shoes land on solid ground as gravity slams back into us.
The urge to keep my eyes closed is hard to resist, but I’m tougher than that. Peeling them open, my shoulders droop when I recognize the clean lines and shiny metallic accents of my home realm.
The golden pathways buzz with energy, but something is off—almost stale. I remember them sounding healthier. The edges are chipped, flakes of paint worn away, leaving a scuffed, tarnished look.
“Welcome to thevarekechelon.” Lyklan startles me, speaking in heavily accented English.
I whirl to face him. “Where is he?” I demand.
“S’lach’s estate.” I look around, bracing for an attack, but Lyklan is alone.
I nod. It’s odd to speak English here, but if someone’s listening in, they’ll be far less likely to understand us. And beyond a few words here and there, I can’t understand or speak the guardian dialect. “You betrayed him,” I snarl. “How can I trust you?”
A muscle in Lyklan’s cheek flexes. I’ve struck a nerve. “Test me,” he says through clenched teeth.
I activate my runes immediately. Riven’s chest grazes my back as he spreads his wings to hide my glowing skin from anyone who might wander down the nearby pathway.
“Lie to me, and you won’t like the consequences,” I warn.
Lyklan tilts his head and scoffs. “Threats? Like father, like daughter, it seems.”
I see red. His words are disrespectful and overtly incendiary—somethatshawould even consider them treasonous. My father would strike him down.I’m not my fuckingfather.
I smother my anger by pure force of will.
Lyklan is free to dislike me. I’m not blind to the flaws of my echelon. And I have no patience for the backward traditions that put some angels on top and leave others scrambling for space on a ladder that wasn’t built for them. If living in the Fringes has taught me anything, it’s that you only get one life, and no one should be able to tell you how to live it.
