Minor angels killed each other with alarming regularity. And if their daughters were lost in the human population, they could be helped without danger of their sire’s influence.

“She’s not even European,” Carmina protested. “She’s American.”

Carmina looked delicate, but Malachi had heard the singer carried Mikhael’s blood. Her looks were probably deceiving.

“She’s lived here longer than many natives,” Sari said. “And her mate has family ties in France. She’s a valid choice.”

Abigail snorted. “She’s a ninny. She’d lock every one of us in a retreat and throw away the key.”

Daina, a dark-haired former elder from the Caribbean was one of the more moderate singers on the council and the only calm voice in the room. “She represents many of our sisters who carry this same view. Are they not allowed a voice?”

The singer’s face was a stunning blend of African, American, and European blood. Malachi could tell she was very old. Her mate, a watcher of immense reputation, had left public life with her after the Rending. Rumor in Vienna was that Daina and Zamir protected one of the largest havens in the Western Hemisphere, somewhere in the southern Caribbean Sea. She’d been coaxed back to her former position in Vienna when South America had been given the seventh seat on the council.

“If you want to object to her seating,” Daina continued, “object to the fact that her mate is one of the elder scribes. There is a reason it is avoided. A mated pair can hold too much power if they speak as one.”

“Unfortunately”—Rhys decided to risk his input—“they both have political presences that are independent from the other. According to what Damien and I have been able to learn, they’re not seen as a single entity here. They’ve had years to develop their own allies, and they don’t agree on everything.”

“They agree on compulsion,” Carmina said.

Sari said, “Yes, but compulsion is not the only issue of our race. And on many of the others, Constance carries her own view and is admired for it. Further, she’s seen as the leading Irina mind in Vienna. She’s a medical doctor as well as a healer. Many of the women who’ve lived here since the Rending—”

“The ones who’ve lived in hiding?” Abigail asked. “The ones who allowed their mates to shut them up like prisoners in their own homes? Are we expected to take them seriously?”

“This is useless debate,” Daina said. “She will be chosen. She will serve. You can debate with her in the Library.”

Leo said, “Some of the elder scribes object to the council being reformed. They say it is not legitimate.”

Daina waved him off. “I’ve heard the objections, but they are ridiculous. The Irin elders have never had a voice in choosing the Irina council, just as we have never had a voice in choosing their ranks. We will take our place in the Library in two days’ time.”

“They do object to us,” Abigail said, her voice holding barely concealed pain. “Some object to our very presence in the city. My mother would be appalled.”

“Let them object,” Carmina said. “It is as Daina said. They have no standing.”

“What do you think they will do?” Sari said with a wry laugh. “Bar us from the Library? They could try.”

Daina said, “And they would fail.”

“And how do you feel about compulsion, Daina?” Carmina lifted her chin. “You have not spoken about it since we’ve been here.”

“I do not agree with compulsion,” Daina said. “Nor do I agree with those who would throw our singers into war. That has never been our role. You risk throwing artists and teachers and healers into a war that has torn most of their families apart. Are you prepared to truly hear what those sisters have to say? It might not match your plans.”

Sari said, “Some of those healers and artists have chosen different paths because of what happened during the Rending. Are you willing to stifle their desire to join this war?”

“Have they trained?” Daina asked. “Have they spent years in the scribe houses preparing for this as our mates have?”

Malachi leaned forward. “And what if there is a mission for which healers and teachers are the most qualified, Daina? What then?”

Diana cocked her head toward him. “I know of no such mandate. But I will be interested to hear you speak, Malachi of Sakarya.”

Malachi leaned back after giving her a respectful nod. Daina was not a singer who liked others to make assumptions about her, and she would keep her own council. She reminded Malachi a great deal of his mother. He had a feeling that revealing the secret of the kareshta was the key to investing the more moderate Irina in their battle against the Fallen. After all, would women lost in the human world need warriors or healers?

Glancing over his shoulder at his mate who watched everything with perceptive eyes, he was reminded of who she had been.

Hunted. Tormented. Lonely.

Malachi guessed that most of the kareshta were much like Ava had been.

Had she needed a warrior or a healer?

She’d needed both.

Chapter Twenty-two

SHE WALKED THROUGH THE FOREST AGAIN, her feet muffled by the dead leaves on the ground, the bare branches of the trees forming a canopy overhead. She could feel her mate at her side, but she did not hear him. She heard only the sound of her own footsteps on the path.

And his.

Her blood recognized his presence now. Her power tied to his.

“Not only mine now,” Jaron said.

“I know.”

“You’ve completed your bond with the scribe.”

“Yes.”

“Are you… happy?”

Ava stopped and turned to Jaron, not understanding the expression he wore. It was the most human he had ever looked. “I am. He makes me happy. I feel complete with him.”

Jaron nodded and continued walking. “I confess,” he said as he walked, “I did not understand your connection at first. When you mourned him, it made me curious.”

“Why? Don’t angels mourn?”

“No.” His hands were clasped easily behind his back. “I suppose some of us feel a sense of… longing for what we no longer have. That is a kind of mourning.”

She knew he was talking about heaven.

“Do you think the Creator longs for you?”

Jaron paused, as if the idea surprised him. “We are His servants. We long for His presence alone.”

“Even the Fallen?”

“Especially the Fallen. But longing, if frustrated for millennia, can easily turn to rage.”

She stepped in front of Jaron, no longer afraid. “Why did you fall?”

He cocked his head, his brilliant gold eyes glowing in the darkness. “We were greedy. We were looking for something more.”

“What?”

“Connection, I think. The love humans are capable of, it was foreign to us. And fascinating. We were seduced by it, only to find that it was not what we were created for.”

“What were you made for?”

“Service.”

He moved around her and continued walking in the moonless night. The light from the stars was the only thing illuminating the path.

“That seems harsh.”

Jaron turned. “It is not for either of us to question the Creator. We see only the weaving of the tapestry, not its completion.”

“So everything has a purpose? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

Jaron bent down, pressing her cheeks between palms that were warmer than Ava expected. She lifted her gaze and met ruthless eyes.

“What I have seen, what I have shown you, is only a shadow of His mind. That was my gift. My purpose. To experience glory and show those who were less. I was… an interpreter. No human can know His mind. You would go mad.”

“So I’m lesser than you?”

“Less and more, daughter. For you have been given the gift of free will, while I only experience the desire for what I have lost.” He released her and stepped back. “I have used you, Ava. And I will continue to do so.”