Authors: Nalini Singh
“She wears her lineage on her face.” It was Mahiya’s highly distinctive eyes that gave away her parentage to anyone not blinded by fear of an archangel’s wrath. “I’ve also heard enough fragments from my spies over the centuries to confirm the evidence of my sight.”
Raphael’s nod was thoughtful. “Neha has a reputation for not harming children, mortal or immortal, so I can see her adopting the child even in this circumstance.” Glancing up, he said, “I leave the choice to you, Jason. And who knows? Perhaps this Mahiya will prove to be your downfall—they say the intimacy of a blood vow is powerful indeed.”
Jason said nothing, but they both knew it to be an impossible thing. Jason had never loved anyone after he dug a grave under a tropical sun, no longer understood the emotion; the boy he’d once been was a faraway mirage in his mind. The closest he came was in his loyalty to Raphael, but he knew from watching Dmitri with his wife, Raphael with Elena, Galen with Jessamy, and long ago, Illium with his mortal, that it was not the same thing at all. “I’ll leave within the hour.”
“Remember,” Raphael said in a quiet tone that cut through the air like a blade, “she is not only the Queen of Snakes, but the Queen of Poisons.”
And Jason was about to walk into her lair.
3
S
he wears my ring.
Dmitri watched Honor’s face light up as she laughed at something her clever friend Ashwini had whispered to her. With her sly wit and eyes that saw too much, the other hunter had been a good friend to Honor, and so Dmitri would’ve been inclined to like her, even if she hadn’t provided him with a source of amusement—the game of cat and mouse she and Janvier had played for over two years was as inexplicable as it was fascinating.
Honor’s eyes turned in his direction, her face holding an unasked question.
“I’m looking at my wife,” he murmured for her ears only, running his fingers over her nape as he told himself he really should behave since they were in public. “My beautiful wife, whom I’d like to peel out of her dress and set naked on my lap so I can do debauched things to her sexy body.” He never had been much good at behaving.
A faint shiver. “You shouldn’t be let out to torment women.”
Smiling with a slow deliberation that brought slumberous heat into those eyes of haunting green, he leaned in close, his next words a purr against the shell of her ear. “I only plan to torment one woman for the rest of eternity.”
Her pulse thudded in her throat, the call of her blood an erotic siren song. He drew in a deep breath, took her scent within, but he wasn’t about to rush. Not today. “Shall I tell you what I intend to do to you for your wedding night gift?” He wrapped her up in tendrils of chocolate and a sensual promise rich and decadent.
“No.” It was a laughing refusal, her husky voice entangling him in chains he had no intention of ever breaking. “Or I’ll tell you what I’m wearing under this dress.”
He felt like stretching in pleasure, as if he were a great cat that had been stroked, her laughter as precious to him as the rarest of gemstones. About to respond, he caught something out of the corner of his eye, shifted to see Jason walk into the room. “I think Jason has come to say his good-byes.”
He rose to his feet. “You’re leaving?” he said aloud as the black-winged angel stopped by the table.
What has happened?
“Yes, I’m afraid I can stay no longer.”
Eris is dead. I must head to Neha’s territory.
When Jason lifted his forearm, Dmitri clasped it in the way of the warriors they had been in battle together. “I’ll see you when you return.”
I will remain in contact.
Jason’s hand tightened on his arm before falling away. “Enjoy your time away.”
I have it under control, and you have a wife who will not be pleased by a husband tied forever to his work.
Dmitri glanced at Honor, his lips shaping into a faint smile.
My wife is a hunter and far more likely to join me in riding to your rescue should you need it.
Pausing, he added a personal message for Neha, for before Anoushka, she had been a great lady, an archangel he was not ashamed to have once served.
I’ll ensure she receives it.
Jason inclined his head toward Honor. “I take my leave.”
“I’m so glad you were able to attend.” Honor’s smile dazzled. “I’ll see you again when we return to the city.”
Jason left in a sweep of black wings seconds later, and Dmitri retook his seat by his wife . . . who leaned into him not long afterward, her voice a hushed whisper as she asked, “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
Arm around her, he rubbed his thumb over the sensitive arch of her collarbone. “When we are alone,” he murmured, body hardening at the idea of her warm and naked in his arms in their bed. “Come for a walk.”
Honor gave him a narrow-eyed look. “So you can talk me into your Ferrari?”
“I like what you do to me in my Ferrari.” Sultry and hotly feminine, she’d made him her slave the day she’d taken him with such lush confidence.
A slow, slow smile from the woman who owned him body and soul. “Maybe we should make a detour on our way back to the Tower after the reception.”
He knew his eyes were gleaming, but he didn’t care. Leaning forward, he captured her lips in a kiss that made the guests around them cheer. “A long detour.” It was a promise.
4
O
ver fourteen hours of intense flight later, Jason used the night clouds to his advantage as he circled the stone and marble of the magnificent fortress perched on a high ridgeline. It was known simply as Archangel Fort, for it was where Neha made her home. Bathed in the light of a full moon that hadn’t yet begun to wane, though morning lay only a few hours away, its defensive walls glowed not the amber gold they were under the sun’s rays, but a pale, haunting silver.
Having stashed his small bag for later retrieval, he’d earlier flown down toward the dark mirror of a lake at the base of the fort, done a sweep over the slumbering city beyond. From the lower vantage point, the fort had appeared a mirage, a fantasy imagined.
A fitting throne for the archangel who was queen of this land.
Flaring out wings of ebony that absorbed the moonlight as they absorbed sunlight, he came to a silent, invisible landing in the shadows cast by one of the great gates that protected the fort, a gate big enough to dwarf an entire cavalry unit. Each gate was hidden from the previous and the next by the angles at which the fort had been built, cutting the sightline and providing no straight runs on which to build up speed that could be used to ram the next gate. As a defensive measure against a mounted attack, it was magnificent.
Flying enemies required further countermeasures, including the squadron of angels in the sky and the vampires armed with land-to-air weaponry on the ramparts. None of them had seen Jason. That was not to say they were useless—it was the rare guard who ever spotted a man who’d been designed to blend into the night. Jason was fairly certain he’d avoided detection by the satellite surveillance system, too, his ability turning him into an indistinct shadow dismissed by man and machine alike.
Rather than walking through the gate, he watched in motionless silence until he could predict the watch route and timing of the vampiric guards, then—taking advantage of a fleeting blind spot—flew up and over the gate to land on the edge of the geometrically patterned gardens on the third-level courtyard.
The fountain in the center sparkled in the moonlight that lit up the courtyard to luminous brightness. Neha’s private palace, he knew, was to the left of his landing position, its marble walls inlaid with ancient motifs created from semiprecious stones. But that was not its most stunning feature—thousands of diamonds had been embedded into the walls, intertwined into the design, until the palace could glitter as hard as the stone itself . . . or shimmer with a fiery heart that awoke wonder in young and old.
“Of all the buildings I have seen in my lifetime, it is the Hira Mahal that steals my breath.”
It had been Titus who’d said those words, and the warrior archangel was not a man given to poetry. Jason could understand the urge, for the Hira Mahal or Diamond Palace—also often referred to as the Palace of Jewels—was a work of art unlike any other. Now, rising from his low, crouched position, he once again timed his movements to avoid the guards and reached the glittering door of the palace without being seen.
The guard who opened it in response to his knock hissed in surprise and went for a weapon.
“I assume that is the spymaster,” said a feminine voice from within, the language the principal dialect in this region. “Do come in, Jason.”
Keeping the guard in his line of sight, Jason walked into the glimmering illusion of the palace to see the Queen of Poisons, of Snakes. Unlike when she’d spoken with Raphael, Neha was now the picture of grace where she sat on a thronelike chair, her body clothed in a sari of palest green rather than the stark white of mourning. She, like the rest of the room, shimmered with the candlelight bouncing off the endless cascade of faceted gemstones.
“Lady Neha.” He swept down into a respectful bow that nonetheless made it clear he was no sycophant and never would be. He’d learned the elegant movement from Illium, and it was useful on the rare occasion when he had to make a public appearance in front of one of the Cadre.
“You surprise me.”
Greeting complete, he met the penetrating brown of her gaze, conscious of the fine emerald-hued snake she wore as a living bracelet. “Did you expect a savage?” he asked in the same dialect, having long ago learned the dominant languages of the world—including variations used in the home territories of the Cadre. Secrets, after all, had no one language.
Lips painted a sedate blush curved. “You do give that impression.” Rising from her heavily carved chair of black marble, the carvings inlaid with gold, she came down the three steps to a floor covered by a hand-knotted silk carpet the shade of sapphires under sunlight.
When he didn’t offer her his arm, she raised an imperious eyebrow.
“I need both arms free to fight.”
Neha’s laugh was delicate . . . hiding a shrill note beneath. “So honest, but then that is a clever lie, is it not? A spymaster can never give everything away.”
Jason said nothing, having no interest in playing this particular game.
“Come,” she said with a gleaming smile that held the appreciation of an immortal who rarely lost a battle of wits and who had only shot her first volley, “it’s time to meet the one to whom you will swear fealty in blood. All is in readiness for the ceremony.”
Jason laid out his single condition as they walked. To his surprise, Neha not only made no demur to his stipulation as to the duration of the vow, she welcomed it.
“You are too dangerous a creature for Mahiya.” An unreadable darkness in the archangel’s tone. “The poor child will likely die of fright unless she knows she’ll soon be free of the chains that bind her to you.” She paid no heed to a large owl flying silent as a ghost just beyond the open outdoor passageway where they walked. “Mahiya is not capable of handling such a burden for long.”
Again, Jason kept his silence. The princess had never struck him as weak, but he’d only ever caught the most fleeting glimpses of her, for she was no power in the court, not at the center of any intrigues, and thus of little interest to a spymaster. Yet he knew it could all be a clever subterfuge, Mahiya a well-hidden blade. It made little sense to charge a fragile “trinket” with keeping watch on the movements of an enemy spymaster.
On the other hand, Mahiya might have been the only available choice, the sole known direct descendant of the same ancient bloodline as Neha who was both alive and not bonded to a lover.
Even as he went over everything he knew of the princess, he took in the liveried and armed guards hidden behind fluted columns of red stone; the way modern lighting had been integrated to appear a seamless part of the centuries-old structure; the lithe loveliness of the ladies-in-waiting out for a night stroll who bowed as Neha led him not across the gardens, but up a level and into the fourth-level courtyard.
As the exquisite palace on the highest level was used only to house guests the caliber of the Cadre, and otherwise left empty but for the watch rotation, this was effectively the most remote section of the fort, the walls falling off steeply on either side. However, parts of it were newer than the rest of the structure, this level having been altered from its original design roughly three hundred years ago.
A pavilion, delicate columns holding up the roof, sat in the center of the courtyard. That much was unchanged, but gardens had been added around it in the shape of a single stylized flower, each of the “petals” planted with different blooms. A fountain created gentle music somewhere, but he couldn’t immediately see it—then he realized the water was cascading down the raised sides of the pavilion to run into fine channels that kept the gardens healthy in spite of the desert climate in this part of Neha’s territory.
Where once the entire courtyard had been surrounded by interconnected apartments, there were now two separate palaces—one on the side that faced the jagged terrain of the mountains and one that overlooked the city. The remaining two sides appeared to have been part of the older architecture. However, both sets of buildings now stood apart from the palaces, the apartments no longer interlinked.
The entire section was under heavy guard.
Those guards didn’t bow as Neha passed, their absolute attention on their task. Sari whispering in the wind as she walked, Neha kept her wings scrupulously off the clean stone of the pathway that led to the lamp-lit pavilion, the otherwise open sides curtained with gauzy silks currently tied back to columns that reminded Jason of elongated vases, the arches above finely scalloped. A woman stood at the center of the pavilion, and she wore a sari that may have been palest pink, but appeared a creamy white in the soft light—as if she mourned where Neha didn’t.
Jason already knew that her face was small and pointed, her body softly curved and of a height that would barely reach his breastbone, her eyes a light tawny brown so vivid against her honey-colored skin and black hair that they were the first things anyone noticed about her. The eyes of a lynx or a puma. Eris’s eyes had been blue, but Eris’s father possessed the same distinctive irises that marked Princess Mahiya as illegitimate.
However, no one in the world had Mahiya’s wings—deep emerald and vivid cobalt with splashes of rich black, the wild spray akin to a peacock’s fan. Except that somehow, Mahiya had managed to remain out of the limelight, until no one mentioned the princess with wings to rival a bird famed for its beauty when they spoke of the most stunning wings in the world.
She went into a graceful curtsy as Neha approached, bowing her neck to reveal the vulnerable nakedness of her nape, her hair parted down the centre and gathered into a simple knot at the back of her head. “My lady.”
“Do try not to frighten her too much, Jason,” Neha murmured, the fine filaments of cobalt in the primaries of her otherwise snow-white wings whispering of their blood tie. “She is rather . . . useful on occasion.”
Jason nodded in greeting toward the woman who made broken razors slash through Neha’s tone, received a curtsy as elegant, though not as deep as the one she’d given the archangel. However, she maintained her silence as Neha lifted a single finger and a turbaned vampire wearing the uniform of the guard appeared from behind one of the columns, a velvet-lined tray in his arms. The crimson fabric was home to a ceremonial knife, its hilt embedded with yellow sapphires.
Neha picked it up with long fingers clearly at home with the blade. “It’s time.”
The ceremony was an ancient one, the words Neha asked him to speak to Mahiya, and Mahiya to him, unchanged for millennia. Stripped of its ritual robes, the core of it was a promise of loyalty that did not challenge his deeper oath to Raphael, yet that bound him to keep faith with Mahiya and her blood for the duration of his task.
“I hold your vow,” Mahiya said, speaking the closing words for this part of the rite. “Until the name of the traitor is known. It is done.”
Neha smiled into the thick silence after Mahiya accepted their bargain. “Your neck, Jason.”
“I think not,” he said without blinking, and turned his arm to reveal his wrist. “Blood is blood.”
“You do not trust me?” A silken question that dripped menace.
“I trust no one at my neck.” He was powerful enough that he’d most likely survive a beheading, but that didn’t mean he wanted to chance it.
The head falling from his blood-slick hands to thud onto the floor. “I’m sorry . . .”
When Neha’s eyes remained ice-cold, he expected her to bleed him far more than necessary, but she made only the shallowest nick on his wrist, right above his pulse. As a droplet of blood welled onto his skin, she ordered Mahiya to angle her neck and made another cut above the beat of the other angel’s pulse.
This last act was the final, and for many, the repugnant reason why the ceremony was no longer in favor. “Princess Mahiya,” he said, stepping close enough to see the taut line of her jaw, her spine as rigid as the tendons in her neck.
A slight nod, permission for him to seal the vow with the most basic of acts.
Dipping his head, he flicked his tongue over the ruby red droplet that shivered against her dusky skin, the warm iron of it metallic against his tongue. He stepped back, held up his wrist.
Mahiya placed both of her hands under his wrist and lifted it to her lips. The touch of her lips on his skin, light as butterfly’s wings. Lifting her head, she said, “The blood vow is sealed,” her expression unreadable in its very lack of deep emotion. Except for that single betrayal of distaste during the sealing of the vow, it was as if they stood at a cocktail party, exchanging pleasantries, the effect was so curiously shallow.
Perhaps that was all there was to the princess, but Jason’s every instinct whispered otherwise.
He turned to Neha, never losing his awareness of the enigmatic Mahiya. “Eris?”
Clapping her hands, she laughed. “Oh, what a thing to say directly after a primal act of blood.” A reminder that in times lost to the mists of history such vows had been spoken between lovers, the blood exchanged an erotic kiss. “You truly are cold, Jason.”
He’d been called that many times in his life, and it was a fact he didn’t dispute, though deep within him burned a cauldron of black fire. “It’s why I am here.”
“Of course. Come.”
When Mahiya went to drop behind him, Jason shook his head. “I will not have you at my back.” She was an unknown, her threat level as yet a mystery. “Walk ahead of or beside me.”
A flash of startling tawny brown, but she fell into step at his side . . . a fine, fine hum of tension across her shoulders. It was so subtly camouflaged, even Jason might not have caught it if he hadn’t already been on alert for any sign of the woman behind the mask. Mahiya, it seemed, did not like having anyone at her back either. Unusual for a court “trinket,” even more so for a princess who should’ve been used to a retinue.
Neha said nothing further until they reached the palace that overlooked the city, its wide doors guarded by two angels armed with swords and guns both. “Treat this investigation with the respect my consort deserves.”
Understanding the archangel had no intention of accompanying them, Jason waited for her to take her leave before he entered the palace through the doors the guards pulled open, their eyes flat with suspicion. The scent of putrefaction hit him the instant he walked in, and he knew at once that Eris still lay within, in spite of the time it had taken Jason to reach the fort.