She shook her head. “You’ve been playing me all along. And Malachi?”
Jaron waved a careless hand. “I owe your Irin mate no protection. He is not mine.”
“Do you know how—”
“I have no idea how you were able to call him back. It was unexpected. But your blood holds the power of two archangels, and through your bond with this scribe, you were given the power of Mikhael’s line as well.” Jaron stared at her. “You are utterly unique, Ava. There are thousands of him, and only one of you. I do not care about him, but as long as his purpose helps mine, we are in accord.”
Malachi said, “I would say the same of you, Fallen.”
“Then we understand each other.”
Ava rested against a flower-covered wall. “What is your purpose? What are you after?”
Jaron said nothing.
“I know,” Malachi said, leaning against the bed, his arms crossed over his knees. “He wants to kill Volund.”
“Yes,” Jaron said.
“And he needs our help.”
The angel’s face was blank.
Ava asked, “Why should we help you?”
“Volund masterminded the Rending,” Jaron said.
A vein pulsed in Malachi’s forehead. “And you had nothing to do with it?”
Jaron smoothed the hair back from his daughter’s face. “I didn’t stop it, but I refused to use my sons to participate. I knew the Irin would kill many of our children, even in a surprise attack. Volund and his allies didn’t agree. I suspect they had some deal with whatever Councilors had power at the time, though I hardly think the Irin knew the extent of his plans.”
“You lie.”
“Do I?” Jaron asked. “Are your elder scribes so incorruptible, son of Mikhael? Are they not hungry for power?”
“We are not Fallen,” Malachi said.
Jaron only smiled.
“You didn’t participate in the Rending,” Ava said. “But you found me. You were looking for Fallen daughters in the human world. Why?”
“After the Rending, I began to see a way I could use the loss of the Irina to usurp Volund’s power,” Jaron said. “He had grown very powerful.”
Malachi said, “It wasn’t revenge for your daughter?”
“I didn’t have a daughter then. I simply saw the females as an asset.”
“How?”
“The Irin had lost most of their women. The Fallen had women it didn’t want, some of whom still clung to their fathers out of loyalty. How better to gain power over our only adversaries in this world than by giving them the females they so desperately wanted? Females we could track. That we had influence over.”
Ava’s stomach turned. “You were going to use them like cattle. Pawns for your political games.”
“Yes.” Jaron’s expression was unapologetic. “I was well on the way to putting my plan in place—ferreting out the Grigora who had filtered into the human world—when my daughter was born.”
“Did you change your mind about using them?”
Jaron blinked. “No. I had no plans to use my daughter. She was to be protected.”
Ava shook her head. Typical.
“What about me?” she asked. “Did you plan to use me when I came to see you in Istanbul?”
“You were unexpected. I had connections all over the world searching for women with Grigori traits, but I didn’t expect my own granddaughter to be one of them.”
“Why not?”
“Your human guardians had always seemed quite protective. The fact that they let you travel surprised me.”
“I used Jasper’s money. They really couldn’t control me after I got that.”
“Ah.” A slight smile lifted the corner of the angel’s mouth. “And we come full circle. Volund’s son draws you into the game, no matter how much I try to avoid it.”
“He’s your grandson too.”
Jaron’s face grew cold. “He is an abomination. No one like him should exist. My daughter’s torment will not be repeated.”
“Of course not,” Malachi said. “Because if you convince the Irin to take in the daughters of the Fallen, you know we’ll protect them. We may not be perfect, but we value our women. And we won’t let even the daughters of our enemies become victims.”
Jaron cocked his head. “You’re very predictable. It’s useful.”
“And to protect them, we’ll even help you kill Volund.”
“He did mastermind the slaughter of your innocents.”
“Volund needs to die,” Ava said, her eyes glued to the sleeping form in Jaron’s arms. “He has to. Not only for killing you and masterminding the Rending. When Volund dies, your daughter might finally live.”
III.
“WHAT NOW?” VASU WORE the face of a petulant child. Thin and black-haired, he kicked at the post that stood innocently on the sidewalk.
Barak was walking along a curb, his arms held out for balance. That morning, he wore the face of a French schoolboy, waiting at the bus stop. “He’s told them everything.”
“What will they do?”
Barak shrugged his small shoulders. “They’re flying to Vienna now.”
Vasu scowled impatiently and a car traveling the road near them swerved on the icy road.
“Well, what can we make them do?”
“Nothing,” Barak said. “They are not our children. They have free will.”