Page 54 of A Game of Monsters

“You should not be here, Robin Icethorn,” Rafaela said, her voice rasped from pain and suffering, yet still as assured as I last remembered it to be.

“Neither should you, Rafaela.”

Weak hands reached up and pushed at my chest. “Go… you must leave.”

I shook my head, refusing to acknowledge her words. “I should have never let you go back tothem. What Cassial is doing – how they are treating you is–”

“Justified.” She closed her eyes, brow furrowing deeper. “I betrayed my kin.” Her voice was broken and tired, something I related to. “But most of all, I went against my Maker’s desire. I deserve my punishment, and I accept it gladly. Given the chance, I would do it again.”

Her sudden smile shocked me to the core. It was twisted and violent, but most of all, it sang of pride.

“Why does it sound like you are trying to convince yourself more than me?” I slumped backwards, picking at the skin around my nails just to give my hands something to do. “This is wrong, Rafaela. No god who vows to protect his people would want them to experience treatment like this.”

I’d worked out soon after Cassial departed that Rafaela’s wings hadn’t just been cut off. In fact, the remains left around her curled body were minimal. Old scars were scored across her back like the criss-crossed marks of a game board. This was Cassial attempting to remove her wings as they grew back, which meant I had no idea just how many times it had happened before I found her.

Two, three… ten… more? How much pain had Rafaela experienced, just because she went against the Nephilim and destroyed the keys she was meant to protect?

Something Duwar had said to me replayed in my mind.

“Altar desired a failsafe.He knew that he’d need me one day.”

“Why did the Nephilim want to protect the keys?” I asked, banishing Duwar’s taunt from my mind. “When destroying them long ago would’ve saved the world from Duwar ever being a possibility of destruction?”

Rafaela winced as she shifted on her side. I peered over her back and saw that the sheet was already stained red. Her wounds would need healing again, and soon. “I think you know the answer to that question, Robin.”

I swallowed the lump in my dried throat. “Because they wanted the keys alive, in case they needed to use them one day?”

“Not ‘in case’, but more like ‘when’ they wanted to use them. But that is no longer an option.” Rafaela held my gaze, her pride refusing to crack. “I did what I had to do, and now the world is forever safe from evil, even evil you cannot see so plainly.”

Duwar had said that Altar made the keys as a failsafe, a way of using Duwar if and when the fey god required it. But then why did the Creator also want this? What had happened between the gods that turned them each against one another, plotting and planning?

“You believe your purpose is complete,” I said. “But you are wrong.”

Rafaela didn’t stop smiling. “The Creator gave me life, and I took it and did what I felt was right. My purpose has been fulfilled.”

“What do you mean when you say the Creator gave life to you?”

Rafaela leaned back, eyes lingering upwards to the far-off top of the cave. “The Creator chose me from all of his fallen because I died in His name – for Him. And I was made into His warrior. I proved myself worthy, showed the Creator that I was selfless. He took my mortal soul and made me stronger, imbuing me with his power. That is how the Creator made His Nephilim – the favoured children. And yet, in the eyes of my fellow kin, I have gone against him. My wings, my power, must be stripped until I can prove myself again. Only then will He free me, when my sins are cleansed. And I have no interest in fitting that mould anymore – I have nothing left to prove. I am done, Robin. With everything.”

“I don’t believe that,” I said. “I can’t and I won’t.”

“It is true.”

“No,” I snapped, furious at such an evil act against his most loyal warrior. “Because if that was true, your wings wouldn’t grow back. Your flesh would not heal. Rafaela, you are no mortal. You are a Nephilim. Remove your wings, take away your hammer, and you are still who and what you are.”

“You will never understand,” Rafaela rolled over, not without gasping in pain. “Please, now. Let me rest. Enjoy the world I helped secure. Live life, take it and cherish it. Whatever awaits me, I welcome it gladly.”

It took effort not to unleash the sickness that stormed through my stomach.

“I can’t leave you.”

Rafaela’s back was exposed to me now, the wound not as angry as it had been. She was healing, slowly, but faster than the mortal she believed herself to be again. More proof that the Creator had not turned His back on her.

“I need you, Rafaela,” I persisted. “The world still needs you.”

“The world is perfectly fine without me.” Her voice broke as if she too couldn’t quite believe it. “Please, Robin. I am tired. I must pray in peace and beg for His forgiveness loud enough that Cassial is convinced he does not need to visit.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that it was no longer required. Rafaela was leaving Lockinge, with me. And yet something told me not to tell her, to ruin this clarity she believed she had here.

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