Page 14 of Seraph's Tears
I nodded again. Several of us had injured wings so badly they had to travel on foot. I’d bound more than one pair of wings to their backs, supporting the heavy but limp muscles so they could walk. Our feet, unused to long distances, bled all the way to Alba. We’d hidden in the highlands as we recovered, nursing our wounds and raging at the sky. I had no idea where the Gar combatants had gone. Perhaps they’d fared worse in this human world and were all dead now. I found I could not care anymore, not when we were cut off from our home and I’d failed to lead my sedge back safely.
“I wonder how it happened,” Eve whispered half to herself.
An angry laugh tore out of my throat, rubbing my flesh raw. “We all wonder that.”
“We’ve always had stories about angels,” Eve told me. “Vague ideas that celestial beings exist. Maybe there used to be a path between our worlds. Maybe the ancients knew of you. You may not be a herald for Erlik, but the idea of angels had to come from somewhere.”
I shrugged. I’d had this conversation with my warriors many times. “Seraphim have stories about some of us Falling from the sky, never to be seen. There’s old stories we’d frighten children with—about being sent to a small, dark crevice so deep in the earth you couldn’t see the sky. That monsters roamed down there. Monsters from other worlds, trapped with us. If this had happened on a scouting mission on land or even to someone banished into the earth, perhaps it would be easier for us to believe. But a crack in the sky?” I shook my head. “It defies belief. And yet here I am.” A bitter smile graced my face. “After fifty years of seeking seams in the sky to pick apart, here I am.”
Eve stared at me, face inscrutable. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “That sounds miserable. I’ve always lived in the same place with the same people. Being ripped away from all that—it would be shocking.”
“I’ve gotten used to it,” I grunted. I scraped the plate clean with the edge of my fork. When had that happened? Maybe she was a witch and had enchanted me to eat and enjoy her food.
A laugh burbled out of the alluring housekeeper, and I realized I said the words out loud.
“There’s no such thing as witches,” she said. “Magic doesn’t exist in this world.” Her brow furrowed. “There are stories of women long ago who worshipped the mother goddess, Emmas, and received her special powers, but they were dangerous and wicked. They’re all gone now.”
Hmm. I wondered what “they’re all gone” meant. A coven of Emmas worshippers had helped us recover. Latent magic still slept beneath the earth; I could feel it. I just couldn’t use it anymore. No longer did lightning crackle or thunder roll when I plucked the world’s tapestry of magic.
Fifty years of time to think about the war and my role in it made me skeptical of higher authority—something a younger me never would’ve believed. I’d eaten, slept, drunk honor and duty. Now I was a dried up husk. I couldn’t bear to look at my sword, a weapon of such quality it sang as it had cut the air. It was an heirloom, a gift from the Royal House. I had no business touching its hilt. Not anymore.
“Your family must miss you.” Her soft voice should’ve grated on my nerves, but instead it reverberated in my chest. “How awful to be ripped away from them like that. I know you were a warrior, so they must be prepared for something terrible. But disappearing like that? Your poor family.”
I flushed as she stared steadily at me across the tiny table. My wings had started tight against my back, but now they’d relaxed to the point a few feathers trailed the floor. Sloppy. I tightened my muscles again. I was only this haphazard with my wings when drunk or…I couldn’t remember the last time. What was she doing to me?
“They’re used to my absence,” I told her. “Like I said, I was raised to be in the military and spent many of my early years away. I scarcely know my younger sisters. My older brother spent most of his time at academies or locked in the study with our father. My mother flitted between our country estates.”
Eve’s mouth formed a small O. “You’re from the nobility?”
I nodded. We had a very strict social hierarchy, and the military was one of the few ways to scale it, which was why so many second children joined without protest. “But I consider my sedge my family,” I added, though I didn’t understand why I felt so compelled to tell her these things.
“Your sedge?” Eve glanced around, as if some of them were hiding within the room.
“They are not here now. They’ve journeyed around the world.”
“To look for a way home,” Eve breathed.
I turned in the chair as best my wings would allow it and reached for a brass amulet on the nightstand. Its chain rattled as I dragged it over to me. I set it on the table between myself and Eve.
She leaned forward, curiosity shining in her eyes. “What is that?”
“A sort of portrait. Of our sedge. We all take an official portrait before deploying to the warfront. But this time I paid for the group to have a second one taken. I had copies made for everyone.” I flipped the lid on the amulet. It was similar to what humans called lockets, but slightly larger.
When the fastener fell back and the lid clicked open to the table, a tiny beam of light shot out.
Eve gasped, jerking backward.
Ah. The humans didn’t have this. They had odd, moving mechanical objects designed as curiosities or rich men’s toys, gracing shelves and littered with jewels. But they didn’t have this.
The light blossomed into a sort of sphere, and a portrait of twelve seraphim shifted in the light. The breeze blowing from the open door to my right made the light shimmer and ripple, as if a reflection in water. In muted tones, the seraphim emerged. Me, on the left, arms crossed and wearing the military-issued leather vest and thick trousers. A torc clipped on the crest of my right wing, signifying my command within the army.
To my right, the seraphim warriors formed two loose rows as we leaned against one another. We’d been standing in a meadow, one of the few wide, flat areas in our realm. My second in command, Daniel, grinned as he threw his arm over Castiel, my third. Their wings brushed one another, showing how close their relationship had been. Before we Fell and Daniel disappeared on a mission a decade ago.
Then the others: the cousins who looked like brothers, the two women side by side, stiff and silent Azrael, and the rest. My friends, my warriors, my comrades. My failures. The pride I used to feel at this image twisted and inverted, turning to barbed shame that caught in my flesh and stung.
Eve reached out and touched the light with a finger, as if expecting the sphere to be solid.
I smiled, pushing away the shame and focusing on the wonder in her eyes. “It’s projected light. Not a physical painting.” My arousal had not abated, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat to relieve the pressure.
