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GABRIEL eased into the Queen’s chambers and was about to approach her fair form until he was grasped by the sight of a massive painting on the far wall. He went to it without hesitation. What had compelled the Queen to purchase such an offensive relic?
The rustic paint repelled the golden light from the Divine-lit walls and only added to the dark portrayal of the gory scene. Majestic angels fanned their wings and thrust lengthy, golden spears to impale their demonic foe. Dark blood smeared across a fiery ground, poorly depicting a battle he could never forget long before humans ever existed. It was hardly so glorious, and the blood was such a human way to imagine the battle. What stuck in his mind was the image of immortal angels dying by the use of their own weapons against them. Golden slashes searing into their very soul until all light left their eyes. Those who didn’t die turned into the very demonic things they’d despised. Gabriel had been forced to end their suffering before their minds were lost as well. There was no greater terror in history, and not something to be displayed on one’s wall.
“What compelled you to purchase such art?” he asked, not masking his distaste.
A chair creaked and the Queen cleared her throat. “I didn’t summon you to discuss my paintings. I want to know about Azrael. Did you convince her it’s the right thing to do?”
“She acted as if she has no choice,” he answered after a moment. His wings vibrated and he enjoyed how she squirmed at the sound.
“I hate it when you’re restless,” she complained. “Please, sit.”
He furrowed a brow. “I’m not restless. I’m aware that Azrael may not even survive the first needle. I may as well have sent her to her death.” He scoffed. “She’s barely sixteen.” He’d been alive for so many lifetimes he still couldn’t fathom what it would be like to have a life so utterly short. Such a blip in time.
He tried to ignore the Queen’s scrutiny as he attempted to sit in the human-style chair. He curled his shoulders inward as far as he could, but his bulky wings twisted against the back of the chair, making him quite uncomfortable. Refusing to give her the satisfaction, he leaned his elbows on his knees and teetered on the edge. She’d probably removed all angel-friendly chairs to punish him. What was he supposed to do, force the girl?
The Queen smirked. “Sixteen. Precisely my age when I underwent my Acceptance, need I remind you. But this isn’t about me. It’s about Azrael and her future. The life for a female Aedium is hardly pleasant, much less a hybrid.” She nodded to his chair. “For example, you can sit in that human chair, but it’s not a seat meant for you.” She leaned in, her eyes widening. “There are chairs designed exactly for you and will make you comfortable. Think, now. What life awaits Azrael if she didn’t have this opportunity? Upon what kind of chair would she be forced to sit?”
Snow-white hair blocked his gaze as he lowered his chin, imagining the fruition of the Queen’s words. “One of thorns, if I were to hazard a guess.”
A clink of porcelain sounded as the Queen poured herself a cup of tea. She leaned back, letting the steaming liquid cool in the tepid air. “Precisely. Not all female Windborn inherit a bad life, but Azrael certainly would. She’d be locked away with nothing but jewels and trinkets for company. Precious stones are cold bedmates, Gabriel, supplemented by a fevered monster in the night which forces new monsters to grow in her belly. Do you understand? She’d bear countless children she’d never get to love. They’d be snatched from her the moment they were born and would be turned into evil paragons to rule this city.”
Gabriel glared, his gaze falling once again on the massive painting looming over their conversation. “What’s the point of having power, if one cannot use it? What’s the point of immortality, if one cannot truly live?”
Seeming pleased with his response, the edges of her mouth curved. “There are more than a few who share your passion for the Aedium and the humans, Gabriel. You’re a creature of patience, if I’ve learned anything about you. It’s why you’re one of the few true Windborn I respect. But let me offer you a bit of advice: Put power in those who have opportunity to use it, and you will see change spur into motion.”
Gabriel offered a wry smile. “When did you become so wise?”
The Queen leaned and picked up the dainty teacup. Her lips pursed as she blew the steam over the edge of the porcelain before taking a minuscule sip.
She sighed, coddling the cup in her lap. “I wouldn’t say wise. I believe ‘desperate’ is the more accurate term.”
She wouldn’t meet his gaze and Gabriel pushed a sharp breath through his nose. “What do you mean?”
“When I prayed for Azrael’s fate to change, the Divine came to me in a dream. My Acceptance burned and the pain lasted long into awakening. But it left no doubt that the dream was a vision.”
“And? What was the message?” Gabriel was teetering on the edge of the seat, and not just because his wings were pressing against the frame. With all his years and ancient wisdom, he was not one who could commune with the Divine in any form.
She raised her gaze and for the first time, he saw the wrinkles that crinkled around her lashes. “A Queen must be chosen. By the time Azrael comes to maturity, I will have already reached my end. I must set her up for a life of value, something that will give her purpose.” She leaned forward, nearly spilling the contents of her tea. “She’s special, Gabriel. If anything is to happen to me, promise you’ll protect her.” Her eyes clouded as if she was having the vision all over again. “She’s surrounded by darkness and I can’t figure out why.”
Gabriel wrung his hands. He’d never seen Ceres in such a state. He remembered her when she’d first crossed the threshold of the outer wards of the Manor into the Inner Sanctum, and into his life. She’d been afraid, as any young girl risking the death of her soul should be. But her eyes were fierce, as fierce as they were to this very day. And here she was, not asking for favor for herself even when she’d had a vision of her own death, but for aid of another fledgling Queen. She had truly grown beyond his wildest dreams.
“Yes, Majesty. I promise,” he said with admiration.
Queen Ceres closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath and her shoulders relaxed. After a long moment her lashes fluttered and she matched his gaze, revealing gold sparks in her eyes. “You must go now, and protect our Princess.”
He straightened. “How close are they?”
The Queen’s knuckles turned white as she clutched the arms of her chair and her golden gaze grew intense and distant. “They’ve passed the shore.”
Gabriel steeled himself. How did they always seem to know? “I’ll summon the others. And I make you another promise: No demon will breach Manor Saffron.”
#
AZRAEL tried to keep track of their path as she followed the Hallowed through the secret inner workings of the Manor. What was she doing? This was all happening too fast.
After a great deal of scuffling through halls and bolted doors, they passed a final doorway and the golden shimmer of the walls vanished, leaving Azrael’s vision dancing with dark specks. When her sight adjusted, the only glimmer that remained was in the eyes of the Hallowed. Silently, he arranged the room, which had the constrictive aura of a prison chamber and the overly sanitary stench of a medical ward.
Azrael approached a plain table piled with far too many bleached cloths looking for something to cover her nose. She ran her fingers over the soft towelettes and bumped her toe on what she’d mistaken for a chest. It was actually a skinny bed raised on a single wooden block. The crackled leather padding may have once been comfortable, but now it looked worn and tired. Thick, weighty straps hung from its sides and Azrael eyed them warily as she stole a cloth and pressed it over her nostrils.
Azrael flicked her gaze at the Hallowed. Methodically, he picked out long, wooden sticks from collections hidden in drawers and laid them out in perfect order. He held one up, his bright eyes illuminating the indecipherable metallic spikes on the ends. For some, he frowned, putting them aside in a short tin box, others he gave an approving grunt before setting it inline with the others.
When Azrael coughed, the Hallowed shot her a sharp glance, his gaze sending a blinding beam of light through the darkened room.
Azrael let the cloth slide from her face and dangled it from her fingertips. The Hallowed humphed before opening a cabinet and plucking out glass jars sloshing with colored inks, followed by metallic jars with a rim so thick, there was only one treasure such a jar could contain. Even from this distance, their warmth spread through the room. Divine Material, the remnants of creation, and the conduit for her access to royal magic.
Finally, he seemed to reach an end to the ritual. Her heart leapt as his blank eyes locked onto hers, sending spots blinking through her vision.
“Azrael. Do you agree to the terms of the Acceptance?” His voice boomed, deep and ancient.
Azrael stiffened. “What are the terms, exactly?”
As if she had asked about the weather, he continued on in an easy breath. “Once the Acceptance has begun, you must finish it to the end. Multiple sessions will take place, the number of which depends on your rate of healing. Every Princess goes at her own pace. Only a few have been unable or unwilling to finish the rite. The result was a slow death. Your body cannot survive with an incomplete Acceptance. To these terms, you must agree and understand.”
The weight of decision crushed her thoughts. Had she more time to consider, she might have run screaming from the room. How could he talk about her possible agonizing death so calmly? Instinctually, no matter the Hallowed’s indifference, she knew there was no other choice. She’d made a deal with a demon to get this far. She couldn’t just throw it away.
Azrael drew herself up and stilled the fresh tremble of fear running through her body. “I agree to the terms.”
The Hallowed gestured for Azrael to take her place upon the padded bed. “Disrobe and lay on the platform face down.”
A blush rose to Azrael’s cheeks. But she obeyed and began to peel off the layers of her robes. She had no doubt there wasn’t a shred of sexuality in the man. Whatever humanity he’d been born with had long ago been drilled out of him.
She folded her clothes and huddled them on the floor. With no other tasks to delay her, she climbed onto the bed. She expected it to creak, or feel unstable, but it was neither. The cold leather pressed against her breasts and stomach as she swallowed and rested her cheek down on the pillowless headrest.
The Hallowed bound her wrists and ankles to the makeshift bed. “The pain will be intense. I cannot have you moving during my work,” he explained. “The first etching will be with simple ink. When I move onto embedding Divine Material to your skin, I will use it as a guide.”
Jars popped open and a cold, wet cloth ran up her back. The smell of alcohol burned her nostrils.
The shock of the first needle prick jolted Azrael with its unexpected bite. She bit her lip and willed herself to be strong. He tapped the sticks together, slowly sinking the ink deep into her skin. He started low on her back and the burning sensation grew as he wiped and struck her skin. She gritted her teeth in annoyance that he would continually go over the same tender spot, but she didn’t speak a word of complaint. Sweat trickled down her brow as the smoldering fires slowly crept up the length of her back.
The minutes dragged on endlessly as he continued his work. Minutes turned into hours, endless hours. Her heart raced as she panted through the pain. Needles stabbed her ribs, across her shoulder blades, across her neck. When she lost count of the endless bites, she began to question how much more she could bear. But even as the fires curled around her ribs and nicked at her neck, she clutched her fists with determination. If this is what it would take to change how Windborn were treated, then she would do it.
Finally, the Hallowed ran a warm towel across Azrael’s burning back. She groaned at the pain. She forced herself to relax, but still her muscles ached with a tingling weakness.
“Is this session completed?” she asked wearily.
If Azrael didn’t know better, she would have guessed the Hallowed scoffed. “Hardly, Princess.”
The new title gave her a sense of pride in spite of the bad news.
“I have only completed the outline. Your first dose of Divine Material must start today if you are to be prepared as the future Queen.”
Azrael ignored the shrill protest that shouted in her skull. How could there be more?
“Please remain still. I shall apply the blindfold. In addition, I recommend that you keep your eyes closed as much as possible to assist the protection of your vision. Cloth deters the Light only so much.”
A sob caught in her throat. It wasn’t out of sorrow for herself, or regret at her decision. She simply was a normal girl who feared pain. She knew what was coming. She knew the stories, and it took every shred of her willpower not to beg him to release her right there.
Instead, she calmed her fluttering heart and reminded herself of her brief encounter with Gabriel, a real angel. Miracles did exist, he was proof of it. And if she became Queen, she would be able to have freedom to make miracles happen. She could make a difference not only in her own life, and those of future hybrids, but Meretta’s too.
The thought strengthened her just enough not to bite the hand of the Hallowed as he wrapped the thick blindfold around her head.
There was a hiss of released pressure as one of the metal jars was opened. A sense of warmth filled the room, and the red tint of closed eyes against the sun seared her vision. Her jaw clenched to prepare herself for more torture as a finger traced the sore outline on her lower back.
Without warning, he shoved a block of wood in her mouth and secured it by thin straps behind her head. Panic rose in her throat. She murmured nervously and bit down onto it. Her tongue ran across soft grooves in the bit.
The first graze of Divine Material to Azrael’s skin enflamed her body with such agony that she’d never have agreed to the Acceptance had she’d known its touch.
She tested the strength of the bonds holding her wrists and ankles as she reeled forward, a scream erupting from her throat. If the Hallowed said anything, she didn’t hear it. She struggled with everything she had to set herself free, but the bonds holding her down were securely fastened.
A second flame radiated down her back and pierced straight to her center. It wasn’t just her physical body that erupted in agony, the raw Material sank its vicious teeth deep into her and grazed her very soul. Firsthand, she experienced its true nature scorching a hole deep in her chest. The Material was nothing of legend. It wasn’t the remnants of goodness and all that was holy. No. It was a flame that seared away any evil. The Hallowed was a silversmith, and Azrael was raw ore simply to be purified.
She tried to protest through the wooden mouthpiece, but her muffled demands for freedom were cut short by a third spear of agony that surged through her body. Her screams offered no absolution from the purification.
Azrael incoherently sobbed for mercy, her body growing weak as she continued to fight against the restraints. She lurched in every direction to find some sense of relief. No matter which way she twisted, she could not find a posture that diluted the red-hot scars. She lost count of the flames that scorched across her skin. They strung together into a raging inferno that left no room for any thought but desperate prayers for release.
Azrael was enlightened how little she truly knew pain. What its effects are on time and space. It obscured reality and tested the limits of sanity.
Slowly, Azrael felt herself being lifted away. She had to find a place where the pain could be subsided. A soul couldn’t handle this test of endurance, this scourge of purification. If she were to survive, she had to remove herself from it all.
Azrael’s breath was taken from her and a heartbeat that was not her own thundered through the room. Her eyes shot open and she witnessed a new world that was the result of her insanity. She stood in an ethereal chamber surrounded by Light. Before her was a wall which went on as far as the eye could see. Had she gone mad? Or was she dead?
The endless wall held life and spoke to her without words. The grey skies churned in turmoil. The ground was solid and lifeless and the radiating heat warmed her skin. It felt far too real to be a hallucination.
Somehow, the pain was elsewhere. Azrael could feel it in its diminished capacity. She could feel her body, but it was someplace far away. She decided that if she hadn’t died, this was someplace very close to it.
Instead of blind agony, her attention was drawn to the wall of Light. It enticed her with an undeniable emotion of want. Azrael couldn’t resist.
As her fingers grazed the surface a fracture appeared, so small and seemingly so insignificant. Azrael’s fingers curled as she hesitated.
Her uncertainty transformed to delight as a trickle of liquid Light seeped through the wall. It was so very tiny as it escaped its prison, but it was hers. That was all she had to know, that this somehow belonged to her now. Azrael inhaled and closed her eyes as the liquid gold seeped into her body and claimed a new home. Perhaps she belonged to it, and not the other way around. But it didn’t matter. She’d found what she’d been looking for. Her freedom had only just begun.