Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 118699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
“Callie’s mother’s body didn’t heal?”
To his surprise, she shook her head. “As far as we know, it did. She didn’t die in childbirth—she died the day after. Even in his grief, Caliane’s father was adamant that the healers cut open his beloved, find out the reason why, for his daughter must have an answer. It must’ve been the hardest decision of his life—but it was the right one. No child should believe themself the reason for their mother’s death.”
Alexander swallowed hard, his throat thick. He couldn’t speak, so he just stared ahead and let his mother think he was simply concentrating on her words.
“What they discovered was that Caliane’s mother was destined to die—an element of her heart had never formed correctly. While such irregularities in growth are unusual among our kind, they can and do occur.”
Though his mother stopped there, Alexander was old enough to understand that Callie’s mother’s heart had collapsed badly enough to kill an immortal because of the power it took to birth a child.
Callie was smart. She’d know that, too.
Which was why Alexander would never ever bring up the topic with her. They might not be friends, but she’d always looked out for him and now it was his turn to look out for her. That was what it meant to be loyal, to be a good battlemate.
“Gzrel!”
His mother stiffened at the sound of her name shouted in an unfamiliar male voice, though her expression remained neutral. Skin prickling, Alexander stayed silent as a good-looking and tall warrior with curls of dark brown walked over to them. The stranger’s leathers were well-worn but a cuff of gold and precious gems encircled his wrist—a symbol of favor from Rumaia, the archangel to whom all three of them owed fealty.
“Oh, who’s this?” the man said with a wide smile that made Alexander’s muscles tense. “Don’t tell me this is your babe?”
“Indeed. This is my son Alexander.” His mother’s voice wasn’t quite right, her cheer too bright, too hard. “Alexander, this is Phiron, who stands fourth to Archangel Rumaia.”
The man laughed, hearty and long. “Oh Gzrel, will you not tell your son that we were almost more once upon a time?” Pale blue eyes twinkling, the man looked at Alexander. “I pursued your mother as a youth, was mad for her. But she had eyes only for Cendrion.”
“It was an age ago,” his mother said. “We were barely grown.”
“Quite right!” Phiron agreed with a clap. “But you must let me say that you still speak as sweetly. The sound is delicate music to my ears.”
“It is an honor to meet you,” Alexander said before his mother felt forced to respond, because, quite unlike his parents, he already knew how to play political games, to say one thing and mean another.
He studied political maneuvering as assiduously as his mother studied rocks and the earth.
Phiron slapped him on the shoulder. “I hear you’re in warrior training,” he said, giving away the fact he knew more about their family than he’d initially let on. “Perhaps I’ll have time to give you a private lesson while I’m in the Refuge.” A grin. “And now I must go. But we’ll meet again, Gzrel.”
His mother held her tongue until they were home, then she turned and gripped at Alexander’s upper arms. “My son, do not accept any invitation to be alone with Phiron. If you can’t get out of it politely, take Callie with you—her father is Rumaia’s weapons-master and of equal standing to Phiron. She isn’t a child who Phiron will dare mistreat or bully into silence and so he’ll be forced to treat you well.”
Having never seen his mother so distraught, Alexander fought his churning stomach to say, “Ma, what is it? Did that man hurt you?” Fury was a sharp and jagged sun inside him.
A shake of her head, her eyes skating away. “No, but . . . He holds grudges, Phiron, and he doesn’t forgive rejection.” She gripped the pendant that hung in the hollow of her throat. “I’m being foolish—it’s been so long and we weren’t much more than children. Yet . . . He has broken with his lover of many years, and I—”
She gnawed at her lower lip. “He carries anger behind that false smile, Alexander. His beauty is but a mask for inner ugliness. And we exist in front of him, a family that loves. It might not seem much, but, when in a mood, Phiron never needed much to bathe in rage. I fear he’s fixated on us this time around. Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I promise,” he said without hesitation, already hating Phiron for the panic he’d seeded in Gzrel. He was also no infant—he knew his mother had lied. Phiron had hurt her; she just didn’t want to tell Alexander.
His hand fisting, he fought the impulse to go to the warrior angel, pick a fight. That would be stupid. He’d lose. He was a boy and Phiron the fourth to an archangel. He’d flick Alexander off like an annoying fly.