Lincoln laughs, but there’s no humor in his tone. “Five hundred years is nothing to a thrax, you know that. Besides, Antrum was almost destroyed in that war.”
I step to Lincoln’s side in a show of support. “If Aquila hadn’t fallen in love with Ryder and started the House of Rixa, the thrax might not even exist.” My tail swipes behind me in an angry rhythm. “These says, it’s as if all you can think about is—” I stop myself before saying ‘war with Armageddon.’
“Is what, Myla?” Dad asks evenly.
“Is pointing out the war-like point of view.”
“Is that a crime? I am a general, after all.”
“And I’m a King,” says Lincoln. “In Antrum, war pales alongside trade routes and oxygen supply. We exist in a delicate ecosystem that’s miles underground. A magma river connects our network of houses, and each one supplies a critical piece in the puzzle of survival. Kill the wrong person in battle, and entire regions will fall.”
Dad sets his fists on his hips. “So, you’re afraid of war?”
“Thrax love fighting and you know it,” I retort. “All we’re saying is that we’ve seen what can happen when the balance down here is upset. Just today we learned about this horrible school in the Wastelands where they do terrible things to orphans—and it all started with Aethelwulf and his damned war. We can’t enter into a new one easily.”
“Of course, I agree whole-heartedly.” Dad slaps on his best white-toothed grin. “All I want is for you to know the facts.” He counts them off on his fingertips. “I’ve invaded Hell before. I led the archangels into the throne room to extract Lucifer. Anubis and I are friends. He let me walk through Hell’s Gates unmolested. In a war, I’d only fight Armageddon and his demons. That’s the truth.”
I rub my temples with my fingertips. “You’re not making it easy to think about other approaches, you know.”
Dad’s face turns gentle. “You wish to consider futures that don’t include battle, fine. But consider war, as well. Your people deserve that.” He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. He didn’t need to say the words. His next thought hangs in the air, unsaid but true.
Maxon deserves that, too.
I straighten my shoulders. “Okay, suppose you invaded Hell again. Would the battle plan stay the same?”
Within my thoughts, the room takes on a dream-like haze. This is really happening. We’re talking about a war with Hell.
“Nothing’s changed, other than Armageddon,” says Dad. “If anything, his sorry leadership skills will make everything easier. Plus, Anubis hates the old bastard so much, he’ll grant us passage through the gates once more.” My father’s gaze meets mine, and his irises flare bright blue with angel fire. “Yes, I could take Hell again.”
My heart kicks harder in my chest. My son is in danger. Invading Hell could stop the problem before it starts. I pace the floor, nervous energy careening through my limbs. “We must protect Maxon.”
“I’ll contact my old angelic commanders right away,” says Dad. “In the meantime, Maxon’s in Antrum with a monopsyche. Hildy’s the best I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot. Still, you should double the guard around him.”
“Agreed,” says Lincoln.
“We’ll ship in extra guards from Striga, too.” My words sound hollow and strange to me, like someone else is speaking them. I never thought we’d need additional protection in Antrum; the place is locked down tighter than a drum. Another realization seeps into my overwhelmed thoughts. “We can’t leave Antrum, can we?”
“Not until the threat is neutralized,” replies Dad. “And until we get more answers, I’ll remain here as well.”
My heart lightens. “You’re staying?”
“Looks like you’re both stuck with me.”
“Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.” I wrap him in a deep hug. Maybe with my father’s help, we can stop Armageddon before he causes any serious trouble.
If only that stupid nagging feeling would go away. It’s the one that keeps saying, think you can thwart Armageddon? Think again.
Chapter Nine
Lincoln, Maxon and I stand inside the reception chamber of the Amber Cathedral, which is arguably the nicest building in Acca. Before us stands a pair of tall yellow doors carved entirely of amber, the same material that makes up the rest of the cathedral.
The reception chamber itself is a large boxy room whose walls are lined with dozens of Rixa and Striga guards, all standing at attention like so many paper dolls in a row. Hildy’s here too, looking downright elf-like in her black body armor. She scans the exits for trouble while her lips silently cast more spells. Another twenty-four hours and her connection to Maxon will be complete.
My insides churn with worry. Everything is happening so fast, I have no idea if we’re making the right choices. A few hours ago, I was certain that Hildy should be connected to my son. But now? Having my baby telepathically linked to a stranger seems like a dangerous idea.
Maxon pulls on the skirts of my white Scala robes. “Mom, can Hildy walk with us down the aisle?”