The baby cried as he opened golden eyes, a few wispy gold curls dotting his head. His tiny wings were still furled to his back, a shimmery white that would be the envy of many an angel.
Lavella held her youngest son close. It had been a hard labor, and she was exhausted, sweaty, and sore but delighted to hold the little life in her arms.
“There you are, my love. Safe and sound.”
The baby still cried, but the volume lowered from panic to discomfort.
“What will you name him, Mommy?” Annalise said as she bounded into the room with Gabreld, her father, right behind.
Lavella smiled at her daughter and husband and looked past them to see their other three children watching with curiosity.
“I’m not sure,” she said playfully. “What do you think we should call him?”
Annalise scrunched up her face in thought as she climbed onto the bed. She leaned over to look at her brother and smiled.
“Trystan. I like Trystan.”
Lavella quirked her eyebrow at Gabreld. He smiled indulgently and shrugged.
“All right, then,” she said. “Meet your new brother, Trystan.”
Gabreld stroked Lavella’s hair, brushing it away from her face as he leaned down to gaze at his son. “Beautiful eyes. He might be an artist.”
“Or a knowledge keeper like me!” Annalise said with a giggle.
“Or a soldier,” Lavella said, laughing. “Did you contact the seer?”
“Yes. She will be here soon.”
“She’s here now.”
They all turned to acknowledge an older, wrinkled angel with silvery-white hair that matched her broad wings. Her eyes were a sharp, frosty blue, and though she was stooped with age, her clear gaze wasn’t to be trifled with.
Gabreld picked up Annalise and respectfully backed away. Iaoel, the seer, leaned down over Trystan, frowning into his face. Seconds ticked by in silence. A troubled look flashed over her face as Iaoel straightened. She looked at Lavella, then at Gabreld.
She couldn’t quite hide a wince.
Lavella’s eyes widened, and she pressed Trystan to her chest, as if to protect him from Iaoel’s pronouncement.
“No,” she whispered harshly.
Iaoel flinched at the sound. “I am deeply sorry, Commander Lavella. I must say that your son is unchosen.”
A low, dreadful groan rolled up from Gabreld’s chest, and he clutched Annalise to his chest, burying his face in her hair. She frowned, confused.
Lavella’s bright eyes flashed in denial and terror. “You hag. You lie! Look again. I swear to the Light Bringer, if you do not tell me his profession, I will—”
“Lavella!” Gabreld snapped. His face was pale and drawn, but he drew himself up, every inch the commander as his mate. “The seer has spoken.”
Lavella crumbled, and she clutched Trystan, sobbing quietly. “My last child. A curse.”
Gabreld pressed his lips together in a thin line. The midwife had said that Lavella was no longer able to have children. Yes. A curse.
Having done her duty, Iaoel turned and left. The other children had fled just after the pronouncement.
“Daddy?” Annalise said.
He set her down and scooted her to the door. “Go play.”
“But—”
He gave her a look that had her hunching her shoulders. “Go play. Now.”
Annalise fled.
But later that night, when the household was quiet, she snuck out of bed and crept to Trystan’s room. Her inquisitive green eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, and her tall golden wings whispered over the stone floors. She rose on tiptoes and looked over the railing of the crib, gazing at her sleeping brother. Love welled inside her.
“You’re special, Trystan. I just know it. I don’t care if you’re unchosen. I love you.” Satisfied with that, Annalise turned and snuck back to her room. She curled into sleep with a smile. She had a new brother to play with and to tell secrets to. And he was so pretty!
She would tell him every day he was loved, she promised herself. Every single day.
Annalise and the baby slept, as did Emphoria, unaware of the beast that stirred in the heart of their city.
All he had was vengeance. All he had was the thirst for blood, the need to unleash his wrath upon those who had stolen someone precious from him. The violence defined him, changed him. He’d never hated the angels as many dragons did. He never wanted their pain or their deaths. He’d wanted only their submission, once. But all that had changed. Now he wanted their blood, their pain, their despair. He wanted ruin and chaos.
He wanted his angel back.
So he waited, all playfulness and tenderness long forgotten. All gentle and peaceful thoughts burned to ash by his rage. Never had he known such heartache. Such loneliness. Never had he known what true agony was until now. Time passed, and he waited impatiently, teeth gnashing, claws flexing.
He trusted Roland. He trusted him as he trusted no others. If he said he would return, then he would. It had been prudent to have himself captured and caged. His thirst for vengeance was too all consuming. No angel would have been spared, and then he would have lost his Roland forever.
His giant heart contracted, and Asagoroth opened his eyes in the darkness of his prison.
My angel of the lightning eyes, come back to me.
Come back to me.
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