Her eye fell on a particular carving at the bottom of a small flight of steps. Walking down, she found herself on the same level as the main courtyard, a winter-bare tree to her left, the carved panel to her right. Ignoring the courtiers who were pretending to ignore her , she turned her attention to the carving.
One touch and she knew it was old. She"d always been able to estimate the age of things, especially buildings. And this panel was at least a few centuries old. It had been carved with painstaking care, the scene one of a day in court life. Lijuan sat on a throne, while below her, courtiers danced and acrobats played. Nothing extraordinary . . . and yet. She frowned, examined it again.
There.
“It"s Uram.” It shouldn"t have been a shock to find an image of the dead archangel, but—“I never saw him this way.” So compelling, his presence darkly beautiful beside Lijuan"s elegance.
“All I saw was the monster he became.”
It surprised her when Aodhan spoke, his voice holding the music of a land of green hills and faerie mounds. “He was a monster even then.”
“Yes,” she said, knowing such depravity couldn"t have come into being overnight. “He just hid it better I suppose.”
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She was about to head down a narrow pathway when her instincts jerked awake. Shifting on her heel, she saw an angel walking toward her. His eyes were amber, his wings the same shade, his skin darker than Naasir"s.
She"d never met him, but she knew him. Nazarach. Ashwini"s voice had been full of whispered horror when she"d spoken of him.
“The screams in that place, Ellie.” A shiver, rich brown eyes darkening to black. “He enjoys pain, enjoys it more than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Raphael"s hunter.” The angel inclined his head in a slight nod.
“Elena.” She slid her hand into a pocket, closed it around the gun. The short sword she and Galen had decided on as best fitting her style hung from her waist, along her right thigh. But even Galen had agreed it was to be a last choice weapon—she simply wasn"t fast enough to take on most other angels.
“I am Nazarach.” Those distinctive amber eyes went to Aodhan. “I haven"t seen you in public for decades.”
Aodhan didn"t reply, but Nazarach didn"t seem to need one, his attention returning to Elena. “I look forward to dancing with you, Elena.”
Elena was very sure she wanted those hands nowhere near her. She might not have been born with the extra senses that haunted Ashwini, but the way Nazarach looked at her . . . as if he was imagining her scream. “Sorry, but Raphael"s claimed them all.”
A smile that made her female instincts scream in warning. “I"m not one to give up so easily.”
“Then I guess I"ll see you tonight.”
“Yes.” His eyes flicked to their right. “I must speak to my men.”
Glancing at Aodhan after Nazarach walked off, she realized the angel"s spine was rigid. “Are you alright?”
He gave her a look of surprise. Then, a slight inclination of his head.
Figuring Nazarach was enough to give even one of the Seven the creeps, she pointed to a narrow passageway that would take them away from Nazarach"s current position. “Let"s go this way.”
Aodhan followed her without a word, their wings touching as they turned. “Sorry,” she said, stepping away in a quick movement.
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A jerky nod, his wings held tight to his back.
It looked like Aodhan really didn"t like having his wings touched. His wings . . . or anything else. She belatedly realized he"d made no contact with anyone in the time since Raphael had introduced him to her. Making a mental note to keep her distance, she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the brighter light on the other side of the passageway.
They"d exited into a small, empty square surrounded by intricately painted wooden walls, each panel showcasing a scene from outside the Forbidden City, from farmers in their fields, to young girls running through a market, to an old man sitting in the sun. There was peace here, a number of small evergreen trees placed strategically to create a soothing mix of shade and sunlight. Color dappled the paving stones and when she glanced up to find the source, her eye was caught by the bubbled glass of an old stained glass window.
Pretty. And distracting.
That was why it took her a fraction too long to realize the scents she was picking up were too close, that the small object she glimpsed buried in the trunk of a nearby tree was a Guild dagger .
. . and that the sound she barely caught was that of a crossbow being cocked.
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“Get down!” she screamed even as the bolts fired.
Not one. Two crossbows.