He saw the flicker in Ozias’s eyes as Sharine spoke, understood her stunned beat of silence. Sharine’s voice was a thing of beauty, luxuriant with elements it was impossible to describe, but that brushed over the skin like a caress. Titus was coming to think that it was a gift of sorts, as with his ability to cause quakes.
Because it wasn’t only archangels the Cascade had altered . . . and Sharine had lived through more than one Cascade.
“You have caught me,” Ozias said, her voice having turned a touch husky. “But to spy on you from a distance is one thing, and to meet you in person quite another.”
Sharine held out the journal. “Here is what we wished you to see.”
Taking the journal with careful hands, Ozias examined the diagram with care.
When Titus asked her whether or not she’d seen or heard anything that might indicate the construction of such a hidden new stronghold, she shook her head. “I would’ve put it in my reports, sire.” No edge to her tone; she had been by his side for hundreds of years, knew his question was no judgment.
“I never saw anything to indicate such construction, and neither did any of my people.” Ozias wasn’t one to show much emotion, but now she frowned. “But it’d be the height of arrogance for me to say it couldn’t be done. Even Jason, who I deeply respect, was unable to find the location where Lijuan Slept before her rising and I know he hunted with intense focus.”
Jason was Raphael’s spymaster and considered one of the best in the world. Titus would try to steal him except that it’d be a useless effort because Jason was blood-loyal. Also, despite her admiration of Jason, his own spymaster wouldn’t forgive him for at least seven decades. Ozias held her grudges tight.
“But,” he pointed out, “you have a far stronger network in Charisemnon’s territory then Jason did in China.” It was a matter of simple logistics—Titus was right across the border from his enemy; Ozias had double agents who’d lived so long in the north they were considered locals. “Is it even possible that you could’ve heard nothing at all about a project this big?”
She looked down for a second, the sunlight picking up the hidden red tones in the black of her hair. Slowly, she nodded. “You’re right, sire. I should’ve heard something, and that I didn’t makes me believe that either the diagram is of a historical residence—or it was constructed in one of the few locations where such a large enterprise could take place without anyone talking out of turn. It won’t be here.”
“Agreed.” Not only had they searched the entire stronghold compound, Ozias had too many spies in this court. A massive stronghold couldn’t run without all kinds of people, including low kitchen staff and cleaners. Charisemnon hadn’t been great about ensuring that his courtiers knew to treat those workers well. As a result, they’d been the easiest for Titus’s spymaster to turn.
“His far northern stronghold,” Ozias said, “two hours east of Lumia, is much smaller. I could never get a source within that stronghold, and we had to be content with stealth flyovers or things glimpsed from a distance. We’ve only done a cursory check there, to ensure nothing dangerous lies within.”
Looking up, eyes distant in thought, she added, “The only other possible location where an underground structure could’ve been built on the quiet is right on the border.”
Titus stared at one of his best people. “Have you had enough sleep, Ozias?” he asked in genuine concern.
A rare smile from a woman who’d once drunk him under the table on a lethal brew created by Charo of all people. Not that Titus had become drunk; the archangelic system was too strong for that. But he’d had to give up on the fiery burn of the stuff going down.
“I’m not losing my mind, sire,” she said. “I’m aware that was one of the most heavily watched and guarded areas while Charisemnon was alive.”
“Then how do you believe something of such significance could’ve been built without Titus’s knowledge?” Sharine’s brow was creased.
Titus wanted to take a finger and rub those marks away, yet at the same time, he accepted that Sharine had earned her marks, her scars. She would never be a woman he could leave safe and protected inside his citadel . . . and that was assuming she even agreed to stay with him.
Stay with him.
The thought hit him like a kick to the gut from a stone boot.
40
Titus was still reeling from the unforeseen blow when Ozias began to speak.
“Because of the constant battles that took place at the border—the vast majority of them initiated by Charisemnon,” his spymaster said, “the buildings of the border garrison suffered relentless damage. All it would’ve taken was for Charisemnon to deliberately hit one of his own buildings by apparent accident. No one would’ve paid too much attention to any resulting construction, it was such a common sight.”
Wrenching his mind back to the present by literally shoving his other thoughts aside until he had the time to process them without panic, Titus considered Ozias’s theory with care. He was loath to credit his enemy with anything, but Charisemnon had never been a fool. “If he did this, it was an act of subtle genius.” The words pained him. “You had spies at the border yet you heard nothing of it.”
“That’s exactly it, sire.” Ozias shook her head. “No one would’ve thought to bother me with news of more construction. Even an underground structure isn’t unusual on the border—we have our own bunkers.” That last piece of information was directed at Sharine.
“Such cunning,” Sharine murmured, her wing brushing Titus’s . . . because he’d shifted closer.
Titus folded his arms. “If your supposition is correct, Ozias, I can’t believe that dog’s shat of an archangel fooled me.”
“You speak for me, too, sire.” Ozias had a strange look on her face—a mixture of pained admiration and horrible embarrassment, but she recovered valiantly. “If I were Archangel Charisemnon, I wouldn’t have kept the construction a secret.
“I would’ve even allowed the resulting building to be used for various border garrison purposes, then slowly shifted people out, except perhaps for a trusted few. Done gently enough, no one would think anything of it.”
“Especially,” Titus said, “if the building atop the underground structure was damaged again and never properly rebuilt.”
Ozias nodded. “Charisemnon could’ve told his people to abandon that oft-hit area and put their energies into constructing a building away from such a dangerous location.”
Titus clenched his jaw, a nerve jumping along his jawline. “It aggravates me intensely that you’re most likely right.”
“I’m afraid you cannot be as aggravated as I am. It’s a brilliant strategy. I’m angry that I didn’t think of something similar myself. We could’ve tunneled to attack the other side for one.”
Titus shook his head. “That would’ve only worked once or twice before they began to do the same in retaliation and we ended up back where we began.” He put his hands on his hips. “Go back to your foster brother.”
His spymaster stared at him, unblinking. “Sire, you know full well I’m incapable of returning to my brother without first discovering if our theory is correct.”
Sharine’s laughter was gentle, a sound that pleased the ear and had Ozias turning to look at her in a way that was . . . Not intrigued. More than that. Fascinated and with an edge of wonder. Because this was the Hummingbird and Titus realized that most people had never seen her so alive, so vibrant, with no fog in her.
If she’d been lovely and ethereal before, she was now dazzling in her brightness, a small and brilliant sun. “That’s something my son would say,” she said to Ozias. “I can just imagine Illium standing where you are now, his hands on his hips and his wings twitching with impatience.”