After everything that had happened, the trip back to the Refuge seemed to go by at the speed of light. Andromeda and Naasir flew in the jet as far as it was possible to fly that way, their time together beyond precious to her. Upon landing, Naasir picked up a small pack of cold-weather clothing Galen had left for him at the airport, and told her to take the skyroad while he straddled the motorcycle the mechanic had retrieved for him.
“Your wings need rest to heal properly,” he told her with a scowl. “The distance you’d have to fly to follow my overland path will only put more pressure on them.”
She didn’t want to be separated from him, but knew he was right. So she flew high in the sky, the ticking clock inside her growing louder with each wingbeat. She understood now that Naasir would never reject her—he wasn’t built that way. He’d claimed her and he’d keep her no matter what. But he couldn’t fight an eon of tradition, tradition that kept everyone safe. If she defected to another territory and the archangel in question didn’t return her to Charisemnon, it would break a visceral taboo.
Even enemies did not steal children from one another. It was simply not acceptable.
Her tears whipped away by the wind, she flew until her wings ached, the sky around her starry velvet. She reached the mountains of the Refuge sometime in the hours between dark and dawn. Flying low, she tried to search for Naasir’s secret home in the forests below, but it was too well hidden, a place he alone could show her.
She landed with stealth once in the Refuge itself, made her way not to her suite in Raphael’s stronghold, but to the aerie she had along the cliff edge. Everything in her body ached, but the worst pain was in her heart. Already, she missed Naasir. Even with his ferocious speed, it would take him at least a day to arrive overland.
Drawing a bath, she sat in it with her arms locked tightly around her knees, trying desperately to think of a way out of the trap in which she was stuck. Nothing. Freedom could come only at Charisemnon’s hand.
Her mouth twisted: Charisemnon expected his blood to do its “duty.”
Getting out on that bleak truth, she dried off, then forced herself to sleep. She didn’t want to waste a minute she could have with Naasir, wanted to be strong and rested when he arrived.
Her enforced rest took her through to midday.
So many hours yet to pass.
Unwilling to speak to anyone else, she stayed in her suite and did the painful task of cataloging any outstanding projects. It would make it easier for Jessamy when Andromeda left, not to return for five hundred years.
Time passed at a snail’s pace when she wanted it to race.
Night fell at long last, whispered past midnight into the quietness when the entire world seemed asleep.
Throat tight at the thought of seeing Naasir again, she changed into a pair of simple black pants and a pretty pink tunic embroidered with fine blue thread around the vee of the neckline. She left her hair to do what it would, just pushed it away from the sides of her face using two jeweled combs Jessamy had gifted her.
Naasir liked her hair down.
Walking to stand on the cliffs, she watched for a familiar prowling stride, for a glint of silver under starlight. Only after she’d been watching for two hours did she realize Naasir might go straight to his home rather than coming here.
Her stomach dropped.
They had so little time and if she missed tonight, there would be no more nights. Tomorrow, she had to leave for Africa. “Naasir,” she whispered into the wind. “I’m waiting for you. Please come.”