“He lies,” Gian said again. “She is Charisemnon’s.”
This time, Raphael knew they couldn’t simply ignore the words.
Unexpectedly, it was Raphael’s mortal enemy who handed Majda her freedom. “Do you think me a fool?” Charisemnon said to Gian, his voice full of rage. “I will not be used by a mere angel who wishes to meddle in the affairs of his betters. The woman is yours, Raphael.”
Raphael turned to Majda. “Choose your allegiance—you are not under Contract, but you must be under archangelic oversight until you have passed ten decades as a vampire.”
Despite the fact Jean-Baptiste was free and clear of his own obligations to serve an archangel, he came immediately to kneel in front of Raphael. He had his hand clasped around his wife’s, and though it was apparent she didn’t understand the rules, she followed him without hesitation.
“I swear to be loyal. My blood is your blood,” Jean-Baptiste said, his wife repeating the words. “My life is yours to command. I will serve no other but you.”
Raphael nodded at the two to return to their previous positions. “Gian is mine to punish,” he said flatly. “However, the wider question of Lumia remains.”
“Raze it,” Favashi said, exposing the steel core that lived beneath her soft, elegant surface. “There should’ve never been a place on earth that wasn’t under Cadre control.”
Charisemnon nodded. “We are the masters of this world.”
“If I may . . .” The hesitant words were spoken by Donael, the eons-old angel having been hovering on the edge of the circle since the beginning.
Neha looked at him with a coldness that spoke of the poison that was her greatest weapon. “Speak, Donael. I give you this opportunity only because I knew you once as a man of great wisdom.”
* * *
Bowing his head lower than Elena had ever before seen one of the Luminata bow to anyone, Donael said, “The Luminata play an important role in angelic society. We are the seekers of knowledge and the keepers of art, and we are the one group that can call the Cadre to a meeting when things reach a breaking point as they have in Lady Lijuan’s territory.”
He breathed deep, exhaled. “Ending us will leave a vacuum. And even should we put all that aside, angels need a space where they can come to find their souls, a place where the mind can be free.”
Elena felt her lips twist at that pretty little speech, but she kept her silence. Surprisingly, it was Hannah who broke it, the other woman having come in with Elijah. “I would speak,” she said quietly. “Not as Elijah’s consort, but as an artist.”
When no one in the Cadre interrupted, she said, “I have been absorbed in the Gallery since we arrived. I found great joy in this place that safely houses so much of our artistic history.”
Elena saw Donael begin to smile. But Hannah wasn’t done.
“However,” she said, “even as I studied the astonishing array in the Gallery, I was aware that few eyes ever get to see these works of art.” A frown lay heavy on her elegant features. “The Luminata have become a more and more closed sect in the time since I have been Elijah’s consort, until ordinary angels do not believe they have the right to come here and interrupt the brothers’ contemplation.”
No smile on Donael’s face now, nothing but an insulted stiffness.
“That is not right,” Hannah said. “If the Gallery is a library of the greatest art produced by our people, then angelkind should be able to visit at will, should be encouraged to visit. It disturbs me that the Luminata seem to consider these treasures their own and that they, and they alone, are the ones who decide which works will be displayed and which won’t.”
The other consort’s gaze went to beyond Elena. “I would ask that Aodhan also be permitted a voice.”
“He is an artist,” Caliane murmured. “A respected student of the Hummingbird. I would hear his thoughts.”
Aodhan rarely spoke when he was with a larger group, but today, he said, “Lady Hannah speaks true. It is also regretful that the Luminata have discarded artworks without any oversight.
“While I was visiting with the healer who has been helping Ibrahim”—he indicated Laric’s small form, the healer almost hiding behind Aodhan—“I discovered a damaged painting by the Hummingbird. Laric saved it from a room that seems to act as a gathering place for things bound for destruction, was told he could have it as it was no longer good enough for the Gallery.”
The reaction to his revelation was visible and audible. Even Titus, who Elena hadn’t thought was particularly artistically inclined, fisted his hands. Illium’s mother is far more important to angelkind than I understand, isn’t she?
Raphael’s response held a gentleness he only ever betrayed when speaking about the Hummingbird. She is a treasure, broken perhaps beyond repair, but a treasure nonetheless.
44
“If we have made mistakes,” Donael said into the dangerous quiet, “we are happy to mend our ways. If the Cadre says the Gallery should be open to all angelkind, then it will be opened.”
“That is the problem, Donael,” Astaad said, his fingers stroking his goatee. “The Luminata should have come to that conclusion themselves. What is the goal of luminescence if not wisdom?”
Elena wanted to speak so badly that she could feel the words shoving at her throat, but she’d learned a few things about angelic politics in the time since she’d become Raphael’s consort. Her voice could well work against her interests—many of the Cadre still viewed her as too mortal to understand immortal concerns.