Incorrigible woman. He hoped she never changed.
The Irina were still singing when Malachi felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned. Damien nodded.
It was time.
Chapter Twenty-four
AVA WATCHED THE THREE MEN slip out of the chamber while every eye in the scribes’ gallery was glued to the Irina singing below. She’d never heard anything like it. Voice after voice, climbing and reaching. The Library soared with the ancient music of heaven.
She couldn’t understand everything, but she didn’t have to. The tone of their voices said it all.
The Irina had returned. They sang with the voice of the angels. And they would not be ignored.
Searching for reactions, Ava scanned the scribes’ gallery. Most of the younger scribes stared in shock, the rumors of the elder singers no match for the reality. A few were openly scornful. Others only looked confused. But it was the oldest scribes, the ones who had allowed themselves to age, who caught her attention the most.
Malachi had explained to her once that most of the aging scribes she saw were men who had lost mates and children in the Rending and had chosen not to extend their lives with more magic. They didn’t age as fast as humans, but eventually they would pass to join their families. For many, the time could not pass swiftly enough.
It was those scribes—the ones who had lost the most—who arrested her attention. Their eyes were bright. Their faces full of longing and joy. Heartache and resolve. For a moment, she remembered her own mourning, and she ached for them.
As the voices died down, the elder scribes were already rising to their feet.
Konrad was the first to speak. “We welcome our sisters and give thanks for their return.” He walked over to Kanti, the elder singer from Africa, and embraced her. She smiled and spoke quietly to him. Obviously, the two were friends.
Jerome and Constance nodded to each other but did not offer formal greetings, and Ava wondered if the two were already fighting about something. Oddly enough, that was reassuring.
Sari, who was standing next to her, explained more to Kyra, whose hood was raised. The kareshta was trying to remain inconspicuous, though she’d garnered more than her fair share of looks among the singers gathered. No one, after seeing she was attached to Sari, stopped to question her.
“Konrad and Kibwe are traditionalists. They have been staunch Irina supporters and do not favor forcing us into retreats. Rafael usually votes with them but has been hesitant to expand Irina participation in the scribe houses. Like Daina, he questions whether Irina are suited for battle.”
“And the others?” Kyra asked.
“Jerome is the leader of those who favor compulsion. He would vote to censure any scribe whose mate did not enter a retreat and register herself like an animal,” Sari said with a growl. “Edmund and Rasesh vote with him, and they can usually gain Anurak’s support. Though he has shown more independence lately. It is believed his mate lives quietly in Thailand and does not favor compulsion. That may be part of the reason he hesitates.”
“Can the elder scribes really do anything now? The Irina Council is back.” Ava smiled. “I mean… game over for them, right?”
“They can still force compulsion if they want to be nasty. They still run the scribe houses. If they invoke censure for noncompliance…” Sari shook her head. “It would be bad.” She looked across the gallery. “They’re gone. And now we wait.”
MALACHI followed Damien down the hall, his heart racing even if his body could not.
“Do you know where we’re going?” he murmured.
“Yes.”
Farther and farther they traveled into the labyrinth of the Irin headquarters. They passed quiet study rooms and meditation chambers. Offices and guard rooms. Most people didn’t seem to take any notice of two scribes and a Rafaene wandering around the hallways. If a guard did catch Damien’s eye, all they did was offer him a respectful nod.
Malachi wondered just how much more there was to know about his watcher. “Were you really a Templar Knight?”
Kostas’s head came up. “Really?”
“That was a long time ago,” Damien said. “We need to go down these stairs. Kostas, shut up.”
The look the man gave Damien was priceless. Malachi wondered when the last time was that anyone had told the Grigori commander to shut up.
“That wasn’t a ‘no,’” Malachi said.
“You really do have a death wish,” the watcher said.
“My mate would say, ‘Been there. Done that.’” He couldn’t stop the grin. He’d forgotten how fun it was to irritate the man.
They climbed down wood-paneled stairwells and into the belly of the Library. The hallways became narrower and the wood paneling ceased. What was left was stone and plaster chilled from the winter temperatures. One long hallway speared into the darkness, smaller passages running off either side. Every single passage looked identical, and every single door looked the same.
Old wood with intricate spellwork written in blood-ink. These were dangerous rooms.
“Here’s where things get complicated,” Damien said, turning left down one empty corridor and huffing out a frozen breath. “I have a theory. It will either work or bring down the whole of the Library Guard on us.”
“That sounds promising.”
Kostas said, “Can I speak now?”
“Yes. And to answer what you’re probably wondering, no, there are no guards in this section. They would be redundant. Magic protects each of these doors. This corridor”—he spread his arms out—“leads to Mikhael’s armory. The armory holds all the heaven-forged weapons the Irin have collected over the years. It has seven doors that correspond to the seven cardinal archangels. Malachi and I would go through Mikhael’s door, except it is guarded against any Irin who does not have the password.”