“For thousands of years, we have hidden them,” Barak said. “But no more. Your enemies gather while you argue over petty human concerns.”
Jaron said, “Our sons took your daughters, so this day, we give you ours.”
Ava saw the singers around the room flinch.
“Thousands of years they have lingered in hiding. Some killed by the hands of their brothers or fathers. Some mad with the voices you have managed to conquer.” Jaron spoke to the gathered elder singers. “Find them and protect them. Add the strength of their blood to the wisdom of yours. Do this, and we will enact vengeance for the crimes against you.”
Daina bravely took a step forward. “Why?”
“Volund approaches. He has made allies, even within your own ranks. If you are to wipe this enemy from the earth, you must stop fighting. You have been given the wisdom of the Forgiven. Use it for more than your own interests. Protect these vulnerable, and you will be our allies.”
Jerome said, “We want no help from the Fallen.”
Anurak stood. “Do not speak for those who have been silent, brother. What do you propose, Angel?”
“An alliance for now. Volund’s sons linger at your gates. Grimold’s get already walk among you. Walk outside and see what your city has become.”
Ava looked at Sari, who rushed from the gallery along with several of the scribes from the opposite sides of the room.
Muttering and whispers filled the Library as Ava felt the eyes of the Irin fix on her and Kyra. She reached out for the other woman’s hand, feeling her panic.
“Ava,” Jaron said, leaning down till his mouth was at her ear. “It is time to show them.”
“Show them what?”
“I show you what was has been, what will be, and what could be. Do not fear the darkness. Sing.”
The vision rushed into her mind so quickly Ava knew she was only a conduit between the angel and the audience. Her mouth opened and song poured out. It was not the deliberate poetry she had studied, but a raw rush of tone and emotion. She didn’t even recognize the words she spoke. In an instant, she saw the whole of Jaron’s vision, and the scales fell from her eyes.
Two dark-haired children with golden eyes. A girl, laughing as butterflies swirled around her. A boy staring back at her with his father’s petulance. An ink-black jaguar curled around the children protectively as a wolf and a tiger paced behind. The tiger bent to the girl, opening his mouth. The great beast closed his jaw around her nape as she continued to smile and pet its cheek.
Behind the delicate tableau, a great circle rose in the sky. A sun twisted with gold and silver. Higher and higher it rose until the moon covered its brilliance. In the sudden flash of darkness, a million scattered points of light became visible in the heavens, dancing tremulously in concert to a gathering song.
A bird of prey called as the darkness passed, its scream shattering the song of the stars. The jaguar leapt. It reached into the sky until its arms became the wings of an eagle that crashed into the attacking bird in the light of a blood-red eclipse. They battled, tearing each other’s flesh as ash and blood rained down on a city of stones. Turning and twisting, the two battled higher as the wolf below howled and the tiger leapt on the jackals that were laughing in the barren streets.
Then both birds dropped, twisting into men of impossible beauty, and a jagged sword rose from the city of stone, piercing the angels as they fell.
As the last note carried over the assembly, Ava’s breath left her and everything went black.
VI.
THE THREE ANGELS KNELT beside her, Vasu brushing the hair from her forehead as delicately as a mother with a child.
“Will she survive?”
“Yes.” Jaron’s eyes swept the Library, but the assembly had shifted, a slight twist in dimension allowing him a last moment alone with her.
Though Ava still slept, he gathered the girl into his arms and rocked her as he had seen her mother do when she was a child.
Thirty years of watching over her at a distance. A blink of an eye. A sudden gasp of breath.
And yet.
Within her blood lay the secret.
“I know.” Jaron bent to her ear, uncaring of his brothers, who listened in. “I understand why now.”
Ava’s eyes fluttered open. “Me too.”
“What have you done to me, daughter?”
“The only worthy sacrifice is the one that hurts. How much do you want forgiveness?”
A drop fell on her cheek, and Jaron realized he was weeping.
“Will you tell her?” he asked his daughter’s daughter.
“I’ll tell her you loved her, and you wished you could say good-bye.”
“I called her Ava because she was the voice of heaven to me. She called me Bâbâ when she was a child.”
Ava put her hand on his cheek, and for the first time in thousands of years, Jaron felt it. He had been hollow before. Ava’s union with the scribe—their impossible, unpredictable love—had altered his reality forever.
For the first time in his eons of existence, Jaron felt. “Now that I must leave, I find that I do not want to go.”
“Bâbâ,” Ava whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Free her. Free them all. And return.”
“Ava,” he said. “Daughter of my blood.” Jaron bent down and kissed her forehead, then he whispered in her ear.
She closed her eyes and nodded.
Then Jaron blinked, and Ava was gone. He stood and faced his chosen brothers: Barak, who would be with him until the end, and Vasu, who had chosen to stay behind.
“Do you understand what you lose, brother?” he asked Barak.
“Unlike you”—the angel’s eyes held what Jaron now recognized as torment—“my magic mixed with the Forgiven’s long ago. I am ready.”
Jaron narrowed his eyes but asked no more questions.
“And you?” he asked Vasu.
“Someone has to stay behind and watch,” Vasu said with a casual shrug.
“Do it,” Barak said. “She is one of them now. Power surrounds her. Lower the shields and call him.”
Jaron looked at Vasu. “Are you ready?”
The dark angel grinned a predatory smile. “Go.”
Chapter Twenty-five
MALACHI HELD ANOTHER KNIFE out to Kostas, who tucked it into the cleverly sewn pockets in his robe. Damien was searching the armory for one specific weapon, but Malachi didn’t know what it was. The chamber held case after case of blades of various eras and styles. Knives were most common, with throwing daggers a close second. Spears and swords hung on the stone walls. There were even a few crossbows and an ax or two. Malachi and Kostas were looking through the knives and hiding those they would smuggle out of the Library.
After a few more minutes, Damien came back bearing an intricately cut dagger. “Thought you might like to use this one.”
“Why?”
He looked confused. “It’s the one Brage used in Istanbul when he killed you. Too morbid?”
Malachi looked at the dagger, remembering the pitch-black blade the Grigori had balanced on his finger on the roof of the building in Oslo, then he looked back at Damien. “This isn’t Brage’s dagger. He carried it in Oslo. Ava gave it to Jaron when I killed Brage.”