Archangel’s Ascension: Chapter 40

Among the many things he and Aodhan had to do to prepare for the departure to their new territory was find people to take over duties that were too personal to simply trust to those who were already in the roles—if the role even existed in what had been a territory ruled piecemeal for centuries.

That included the steward who’d be handling Illium’s “court” at the start. Later, once he was established, the same person would become critical to the smooth running of his household. His own Montgomery, in other words—because the butler handled far more for Raphael and Elena than was apparent on the surface.

“Knock, knock.”

Dulce jumped up from behind the sleek glass of her desk to run over on clear sky-high heels. Only to halt. “Wow.” She physically swayed, the motion causing the changeable fabric of her close-fitting suit to fluctuate from purple to blue to deep citrine. “That’s some power you have pulsing off you.”

“Side effect of ascension. Raphael says it’ll wear off.”

“I hope so, because I can’t hug you like this.” A pause. “Is that still allowed? You’re Cadre now.” Her eyes widened, as if the knowledge was just sinking in.

“You have no idea.” He grinned, relieved that Dulce was herself with him. “I have an offer for you.”

A raised eyebrow, the gemstones she wore over the curve of her left cheekbone catching the light. “You want me to set up a club in your new territory?”

“You can if you want,” he said, because she was damn good at it, had an entire empire of entertainment under her belt. “But you said you’re starting to grow bored.”

She made a face. “Not bored so much as unfulfilled. I’ve mastered this business, have pots of money, need a challenge—but I have no idea what that might be.”

“Be my steward,” Illium said.

Dulce’s lips parted, her forehead furrowing below the sleek asymmetrical cut in which she wore her hair this decade. “What does that mean?”

“We say ‘steward’ because it’s the traditional term, but it effectively means head of operations. To start with, you’d be in charge of creating then managing the ‘household’ team at my version of the Tower, whatever that ends up being. You’d have full control of all processes to do with maintaining the back end—ordering everything from food supplies to organizing necessary repairs to hiring the staff.”

Seeing she was listening, he continued, “It might sound simple, but Dulce—full disclosure—it’ll probably run you ragged. Especially now, as we gear up. Along with all the operational work, I’d need you to be my eyes and ears on the ground, to weed out the bad actors and spies who’ll no doubt try to weasel their way in.

“You’d also be in charge of long-term preparation to ensure we can survive if hemmed in by enemy forces.” He folded his arms. “I’m not planning to start a fight with anyone soon, but I need to be ready.” One of Montgomery’s most important tasks was to make certain the population of the Tower could survive for a solid block of time if the enemy cut off their supply lines.

“As my steward, you’d also be handling incoming contacts alongside Aodhan—people who’ll be applying to join my ‘court,’ so to speak. He’ll handle the martial angels and vampires, and any senior scholars, with you dealing with the rest. I need people I trust to help filter incoming staff, and I know you have a laser eye and even better instincts. Even if you don’t want the full steward role, I’d like you to take on recruitment.”

Dulce was quiet for a while before she said, “I’d basically be managing the needs of hundreds of people on a daily basis and—once you’re established—ensuring your base runs so smoothly that everyone forgets I’m there? Like Montgomery?”

“I knew you’d get it.” Most people only ever saw Montgomery as a butler because that was how he liked it; everyone senior in the Tower, however, well understood that he was one of them. The vampire was a quiet, thoughtful presence at all strategy meetings, not only for his expertise in the practicalities warriors often forgot when focused on battle, but because he spoke for the entire non-martial population of the Tower, too.

The big difference was that Montgomery had started with fewer duties than Illium was throwing at Dulce—but Dulce was older and far more experienced at management than Montgomery had been at the time he began. He’d grown with Raphael’s team, while Dulce was coming in as a woman who’d been a formidable CEO for centuries; she was looking to be stretched, to have to think fast on her feet.

“If I decide to have a separate residence at some point,” he added, “I’d ask you to manage that, too.” Illium trusted her without question; Dulce had never lost her defiant streak of honor, no matter that she’d walked in the gray most of her near-immortal life. “If, after trying it out, you don’t like the position, I won’t hold you to it—but I need you to sign on for the first full year if you do want to try it.”

“Not asking for much, are you?” Dulce’s lips curved. “The answer is yes, I’ll be your steward. I can’t think of anything more interesting than helping to set up an archangel’s home base. If nothing else, I’ll have bragging rights for eternity.”

“What about Ezra?” he asked, referring to her husband—a chef as a mortal, he hadn’t lost anything of his love of food or cooking even after his Making and owned a five-star restaurant in the city; having been there many times, Illium well knew his skills. “I’d welcome him on my team.”

“Are you kidding? He’s been trying to get onto the Tower kitchen team for decades, but no one ever leaves, so there are no openings!”

“Tell him I need a head chef—he’ll have full autonomy to put together a team.” To know the food he and his people would be consuming came from trusted hands? It meant a hell of a lot. Because while angels were tough, they weren’t invulnerable; poison might not kill them, but it could make them sick and weak.

A beaming Dulce said, “Fuck it,” and, taking a deep breath, crossed the distance between them to embrace him. “It’s like electricity crawling over my skin.” She shuddered before breaking away, but they were both grinning, excited about the future to come.

In the days that followed, however, Illium tasted as much sorrow as excitement. Especially when it came to saying goodbye.

Vivek, with whom Illium had worked side by side constantly over the years, gave him a manifesto he’d prepared at insane speed; it was a guidebook on how Illium should set up his own surveillance and spy network. He also flat-out refused to say goodbye. “I’ll see you again,” he said in a tone of voice that Illium couldn’t quite decipher.

Nisia, the healer who’d patched him up more than once, scowled even as she hugged him tight. “At least you’re all but indestructible now.”

Janvier, Ashwini, Izak, Sam…so many of the people he loved and called friends, the latter two angels he’d watched grow from fledglings. One a senior wing commander now, the other nearing his own promotion to that role.

He’d been their teacher once, flown with them under his wing, and now they almost crushed him with the force of their hugs.

“City won’t be the same without you, ,” Janvier said with the affection of long friendship, while Ashwini stared at him with eyes that saw too much and made a face.

“No,” she said firmly. “Irritating Aegaeon for funsies is not a good idea.”

Laughing, he accused her of being in Ellie’s pocket, but as she hugged him, she whispered, “I see a dazzling horizon for you, Illium, a life extraordinary. As long as you’re not stupid enough to be derailed by old anger.”

He allowed the words to settle deep within—because Ash, like Cassandra, rarely said words she didn’t mean.

Montgomery and Sivya, both trembling with the force of their emotions, gifted him a photo of the entire Tower family from a decade earlier, when they’d tumbled into a shot together after a celebration. An old-fashioned still, it captured lifetimes of friendship and happiness.

The goodbyes weren’t tough just for him—Aodhan was leaving everyone behind, too, would be missed as badly. But the other man shook his head when Illium voiced that. “I can come back, stay for long periods if I wish. You, my Blue, never can.” A cupping of Illium’s cheek. “Let them focus on you, let them cherish you. You’ve been the heart of the Seven and Raphael’s Tower for centuries upon centuries.”

There were so many more people he knew and loved in ways he hadn’t understood till this moment of parting, so many more people he had to see before he left. But the worst goodbyes came toward the end.

All of the Seven not based in the city managed to make their way to it before his departure.

Galen hugged him so tight that Illium could barely breathe.

Jason whispered intelligence about his new territory in his ear.

Naasir, feral and loyal, had eyes that shone wet as he grabbed Illium’s face and growled, “I will come into your territory whether you invite me or not.”

His own throat rough with emotion, Illium said, “Bring your cubs and Andromeda. I expect you to help establish my reputation as an archangel with wild and unsuitable friends.”

Naasir’s embrace was a huge thing full of the love he held for the child angel he’d once known, and the man who’d become his battlemate. “I will come,” he promised, the tiger’s stripes in his skin. “I will make your enemies fear your friends.”

Dmitri and Venom, based in New York, said their goodbyes in the final hour before Illium flew from this city that had pulsed in his blood since the day he’d first come to it. Venom’s grip was that of a warrior, forearm to forearm, and though his viper’s eyes looked unflinching and hard, the truth of his emotions was in the fact that, though his throat moved, he didn’t speak.

Heart raw, Illium somehow found his own voice. “Visit me,” he said to this friend, as he had to all the others. “I’ll need people I trust more than ever.”

A curt nod before Venom drew back…but then he returned to embrace Illium, his speed that of the viper in his eyes. “I’ll miss you, you blue asshole.” Words ground out in a harsh whisper.

“Will you watch over the little bakery in Harlem?”

“You know you don’t have to ask.”

Then Venom was gone, and Dmitri was there. Like Naasir and Raphael, he’d hauled a child Illium out of many a scrape, and now tapped him on the cheek with an open hand. “I always knew you’d get into trouble. I just didn’t think you’d join the Cadre to do it.” His eyes glinted. “Stay safe, Bluebell. And know that no matter how far you go or how much you grow, you’ll always be one of the Seven. We’ll never let you go.”

The words were the best gift the other man could’ve given him.

He embraced Dmitri with the love of the child he’d been, primal and free. The vampire returned his embrace with as much affection.

“You know who Aodhan and I think should join you, Venom, Jason, Galen, and Naasir,” he said when they parted. “We’ve said for half a millennia that he’s our shadow eighth.”

Dmitri nodded. “It’s too soon. Maybe in a few decades, we’ll be ready to make it official. Trace would say exactly the same if you asked him. He also likes that he’s not a ‘giant Seven-shaped target.’ ”

Illium laughed, but it hurt. Trace was handling the Refuge stronghold so the others could come to New York, and as a result, Illium wouldn’t see the suave vampire who’d often been his accomplice in dares neither of them should’ve accepted, until Trace could visit his new territory. Illium had no Refuge stronghold of his own due to the passage of years since there’d been ten in the Cadre, and setting one up wouldn’t be his priority for some time yet.

“Naasir’s firstborn cub has informed me that he’s aiming to join the Seven when he’s of age.” Dmitri rubbed his forehead. “The Ancestors help us all.”

Illium’s chest heaved. “You have near to at least half a century yet.” Naasir’s cubs were maturing at a faster rate than other immortal children, but they weren’t much more than toddlers at this point. “Fuck, I want to be around to see that.”

“Our friendship will endure.” A vow from the man who’d been the first of the Seven, the one who had always been their leader. “You’ll never be left out in the cold.” A squeeze of his shoulder. “Go, Illium. Do us proud.”

Then came the hardest goodbyes.

Elena grabbed his face, her tears silent. “Don’t start a war with your father,” she ordered again before pressing her cheek to his, her arms around him.

“I won’t…yet.” Lifting her up when she shifted to scowl at him, he spun her around one last time. Because he was an archangel now, could never again be her Bluebell as he’d been for century after century.

Arms tight around his neck, she laughed and cried and, when they broke apart, gave him a blade. Her smile was wet. “Look after it. I want it back the next time I visit.”

He slipped it into an upper arm sheath. “I’ll treat it as a treasure.”

He looked to Raphael, his power recognizing another of its like…and his heart recognizing the man who had raised him into the man he was today. Their embrace was silent and deep, and when Illium drew back, Raphael reached to his back to withdraw a formal sword with an intricate hilt, centered on which was a single large stone the blue of Illium’s wings.

The blade gleamed sharp and silver-blue.

It was unquestionably the work of a master craftsperson.

“I had this made for you a decade ago. To gift to you when you reached your next half century.” Midnight strands of hair brushed the other archangel’s cheek as the wind blew past. “Now, I give it to you as a gift on your ascension.”

Removing the sword he already wore, Illium handed it to Elena, who promised him she’d ship it over with the rest of his belongings. Then he accepted the sword Raphael held, his chest so tight that it was a pain terrible.

All he could do was slide the sword into the simple scabbard on his back while fighting the rock of tears in his heart.

Then, unable to bear it anymore, he stepped off the roof with one last backward look.

Raphael stood watching him with eyes that blazed with pride and love, the archangel’s hand tight around his consort’s. Elena’s unbound hair was a pale banner, the sword in her hand glinting in the sunlight.

Aodhan rose up beside him from where he’d gone to make his own goodbyes to those in the Tower. He’d already spoken to the remaining five of the Seven and to Raphael and Elena. They’d made that decision together, that they’d make their farewells alone, say the private words they needed to say.

Today, they didn’t speak until they were far out over the water, Manhattan but a memory on a distant horizon.

Fractured words.

He held up his wrist: a bracelet of smooth wooden beads encircled it, each of intricate detail.

Illium wasn’t surprised. Aodhan and Naasir had been close from the time Aodhan was a child. As Naasir had put it, “a grown-up one-being and a cub one-being.” Two unique individuals who understood what it was to be different.

There had been other gifts for both of them, but as with Illium, what affected Aodhan worst was that they’d said a final goodbye to their friends. When they returned, it wouldn’t be as members of Raphael’s Seven, but as guests.

Illium’s heart ached.

A harsh exhale.

, Illium said when Aodhan abruptly broke off, as if he couldn’t form the words anymore, even in his mind.

He held out his hand and Aodhan took it to spin into him, the two of them sharing a hovering embrace for a long moment before they spread their wings and carried on, riding the winds farther and farther from the place they’d called home for the vast majority of their lives.

The one bright point was that Illium hadn’t had any trouble finding a squadron’s worth of warriors to come with him. He’d actually ended up with two full squadrons made up of highly experienced warriors.

A unit of vampiric ground fighters was also joining him in his new territory.

Raphael could’ve made all three stay in New York simply by asking—he was their liege and they were loyal. Instead, he’d accepted their resignations at once.

“I would you have a trusted group at your back from the very start,” he’d said to Illium. “It may be that your own version of the Seven will grow from these units who have fought side by side with you for centuries.” A hand squeezing Illium’s shoulder. “Losing two squadrons and a ground unit is a small price to pay to know that you’ll enter your territory surrounded by friends.”

The squadrons had flown ahead, because both Illium and Aodhan were faster flyers. They’d catch up an hour or two out from the border of their new territory. The vampiric ground unit was already in the air, their flight having taken off earlier that day.

, Illium said.

Illium bit back a smile.

Illium burst out laughing, the grief of goodbye overtaken by sheer delight. Because Dmitri and Aodhan had been right—the people who’d asked that question weren’t people he wanted on his team. Anyone with a single brain cell in their head knew that the position hadn’t ever been open.

It was always going to be Illium and Aodhan.