It took her a second. “You’re speaking of Archangel Alexander?” Caliane called him “Alex” but theirs had always been a deep friendship quite apart from Sharine’s own with Caliane.
When Titus gave a nod, she shook her head. “You astonish me, Titus.” It was no lie; Alexander was an Ancient, would’ve been an Ancient during Titus’s youth, and yet she could see why the archangel had formed a liking for the undoubtedly brash young warrior Titus had been.
“My apologies to your Raan,” he said. “If you say he was a good man, he was a good man.”
It shook her, how much that trust meant to her. Titus, she knew, didn’t take honor lightly. Swallowing hard against the surge of emotion, she looked away from his handsome profile and carried on. “We had a joyous half a century together. Then Raan died.”
Titus stopped flying, dipping a fraction in the sky before he pulled himself back up into a hover. “Battle?”
“No, I woke one morning and he was dead beside me.” She could speak those words now and feel only a distant sadness; always, she would remember and love Raan, but she was no longer caught in the sticky tendrils exuded by the past.
Titus started to fly again, but he was silent for a good long while. She gave him time to digest the news, aware it was a big thing for an immortal to accept that death could come at them, silent and unseen. It didn’t matter that Raan’s and her parents’ deaths were the last such ones she knew of in the eons of her existence—that the possibility existed at all was a horror story for angelkind.
“I don’t know how to understand this,” he said at last.
She liked him even better for his honesty. “It took me a long time, but, Titus, there is more. Do you wish to hear it?” Now that she’d opened the door, she found she wanted to talk about it. Only one other person knew her full history, and Caliane was yet in anshara.
“Yes.” Titus’s response was firm. “I would hear it all.”
“My parents went into Sleep when I was eighty-five years of—”
“WHAT?” It was a boom so loud that she half expected the sky to crack open. “Your parents left an infant on her own?!”
“I was hardly an infant.” But she had been a scared child who’d spent her whole life trying to cling to parents who were never quite present. “But that isn’t the story.”
“I’m not sure my heart can take any more,” he said, anger yet vibrant in his tone. “When your parents wake, make sure it’s not in my vicinity. My fury would surely singe their flesh off their bones.”
“My parents are dead,” she said softly, this pain even more faded than the grief of Raan’s death, for that good-bye she’d made as a child, never knowing if she would see them again. “I went to check on their place of Sleep when I was two centuries old, and I found their bodies just bones, their flesh dust.”
Titus turned to look at her, his mind unable to comprehend the depth of her loss. Her radiant voice was quiet with sorrow, but the grief wasn’t a sharp knife. No, it wouldn’t be, not after so many millennia. “My heart would break should I go to check on my mother and find her gone.”
To think of First General Avelina gone from this world in dusty silence . . . it was such a wrongness that he couldn’t bear to imagine it. As soon as it was safe, he’d go visit his mother, make sure she was warm and whole . . . as Sharine’s parents would never again be.
“My heart did break,” she said, “but I think, not the same way as yours would.” She angled her wings to take further advantage of the draft he was creating, and he could tell she was tiring. “My parents were old angels, and I knew from infancy that they’d one day leave me.”
Titus simply couldn’t imagine parents who’d abandon their vulnerable child, but then, Aegaeon had done the same. “Aegaeon’s abandonment of your son? It reminded you of the loss of your parents?”
“No, the fracture lines were in a different place.” A strand of hair that had escaped her tail kissed her cheekbone before flying back. “Death, you see, was my greatest fear. Specifically the quiet and unwitnessed deaths of those I loved.”
Titus’s skin grew cold with a rage so deep, it had no name. “He went to Sleep in your bed.” So that when she woke, it would be to an unmoving, unresponsive angel. Her traumatized brain wouldn’t have made sense of the single sign of life—a certain warmth of the skin.
To Sharine, Aegaeon would’ve appeared as the dead.
“His second and three others of his innermost court arrived the hour after dawn, to take him to his secret place of rest.” Fury in every syllable. “I was whimpering in a corner by then, my fist thrust into my mouth to muffle my screams. My mind was gibbering that everyone I loved died. Over and over again in an endless loop, that was my only thought.
“After I first woke, I ran to check on Illium. In my screaming panic, I forgot that my baby boy was staying with his best friend that night, and when I saw his empty bed, I was convinced he was dead and someone had taken his corpse. In that fragment of time, I truly believed my child was dead.”
No tremor in her voice as she finished the story. “The only mercy in it all was that Illium didn’t have to see his mother break down and his father be carried out of his home by a solemn squadron in full regalia.”
Titus’s jaw worked, his hand fisted to bloodless tightness. “I’ve long known Aegaeon to be worthless, but now I know the depth of his cruelty.” If the archangel’s second knew to come for him, then Aegaeon had planned it. Most archangels slipped into Sleep without warning, and without assistance, so their place of rest would be secret; it was a measure of Aegaeon’s cruelty that he’d chosen to allow at least four of his court to know of his place of rest in order to shatter Sharine.
“I’ve never known why he did it,” Sharine said, and right then, she was magnificent in her cold anger. “If I ever see him again, I will ask him—if I can stop myself from first stabbing out his eyes.”
Titus approved of her bloodthirsty need for vengeance.
“I think at times, that I should release the anger,” she said, “that my vengeance should be to erase him from my thoughts.”
“You can erase his face and his eyes instead,” Titus muttered. “And release your anger in his flesh.” It would still not be enough.
An unexpected burst of that astonishing laughter that was sunshine falling in a rain over him. He clenched his gut against the glory of it. If he’d thought her beautiful before . . . well, if the Hummingbird was beautiful, Sharine with her blade of a tongue and golden laughter was extraordinary.
Fighting the urge to touch her, this being beyond his reach, he said, “Am I to take it that you have no more feelings for the blue-green donkey?” He had to break the moment, break his entrancement. “If you are pining for him, admit it now so that I can smite you for bad taste.”
“Smite me?” Sharine couldn’t believe he was serious, but he sounded so very solemn. “Surely you have someone in your court who occasionally pops the bubble of your enormous ego?”
His response was a thunder of sound. Shifting, he flew away from her. She watched him go without concern, knowing he wouldn’t leave her behind. Titus stuck to his promises.
When he returned after sulking a short five minutes, it was to say, “How did you fool angelkind into thinking you a soft, ethereal creature? Did you sit each night in your home and cackle over the game you were playing?”
It delighted her that despite all he knew of her now, he treated her exactly the same. No pity or even a hint of feeling sorry for her. Titus, it seemed, had come to see not the Hummingbird, but Sharine—and he wished to pick a fight with her. Sharine found she wasn’t averse to crossing swords with the Archangel of Africa.