Hawkyn’s heart was heavy as he stepped out of the light and into a completely empty room. There was literally nothing but white nothingness. White nothingness and his mother, dressed in more white. At least her ruby red wings added some color.
“Hello, my son.”
She really wanted to play the family card right now? Okay, he could do that. “Hey, Mom. So you drew the short straw, huh?”
“Short straw? Is that a humanism?”
And in those two short sentences, he truly understood why, until recently, Memitim had been raised by humans. Angels who rarely left the luxury of Heaven could never understand them.
“Yes, it’s a humanism,” he said as he looked around, marveling at all the nothing. “This isn’t the Ascension chamber, is it? So I’m guessing I’m here for punishment, and you are the one who gets to deliver the sentence.”
“This is most difficult,” she said softly, and the first thread of oh-shit ran through his system.
What if he didn’t make it back to Aurora? What if she really was left by herself to raise a half-angel child? And as much as he liked Maddox, the guy wasn’t the most responsible angel who had ever existed.
“Tell me, Hawkyn. What rules have you broken?”
He snorted. There was no sense in lying, so at this point, he might as well go all in. “All of them, probably. So if I’m here to lose my Memitim status, can we just get it over with? I have somewhere to be.”
“Yes,” she mused. “With the mother of your child. How sweet.”
“Says the person who tossed me away like garbage in a rainstorm.”
Yeah, there was a little resentment there. It was stupid, probably, given that centuries had passed. But now that he had made a child, he couldn’t understand how anyone could intentionally make a child to be given over, intentionally and knowingly, into harsh conditions.
He would protect his child—and its mother—with his life.
Centuries of anger spilled over at the thought, his abandonment issues rising to the surface like lake pollution after a storm.
“You know,” he continued, because what the hell—if he was going to lose his angel status, he was going to make sure the Council knew exactly why it was bullshit. “Memitim deserve better than the kind of crap we’ve had to endure for eons, starting with the day we’re born and abandoned in the worst conditions imaginable. We suffer only to be rescued from our situations and used as pawns in a game we aren’t allowed to understand.”
Ulnara’s blond brows arched, but if she was annoyed by his tirade, it didn’t show. “And what don’t you understand?”
He nearly laughed. Where to even start…
“I want to know why we can’t be told the reasons why the people we protect are Primori.”
“And if you knew?”
“If we knew there was a good reason to protect evil people, then maybe it would be a little less soul-withering to watch them slaughter and torture and cause pain.”
Clasping her delicate hands in front of her, she studied him with something he might have thought was affection if he didn’t know any better. “Thousands of years ago, the very first Memitim were given that information.” She sighed. “But we discovered that when they knew the future, they sometimes tried to change it. They always believed they could make bad things better. They didn’t understand that real change comes from tragedy. It’s how humans grow.”
Okay, Hawkyn didn’t like the rule, but he at least understood it. They could, however, make it more palatable and less “do it because I said so.”
“Couldn’t the same be said about angels?” he countered. “You people are stuck in the human dark ages, your rules and laws barely changing, while Memitim are moving forward because of human advancements in technology and science and social norms.” He shook his head in frustration. “Can’t you see what you’re doing to us? We don’t want to follow your rules anymore.”
She tucked her hands behind her back and started to pace. Reminded him of himself, actually. “We’re starting to see that.” She looked over at him. “What would Memitim like to see changed?”
He stared. Was she serious? And was this why he’d been summoned? To brainstorm options to raise Memitim morale?
“Well?” she prompted.
Right. He ticked shit off his fingers. “First off, we’d love to have sex. Like, we’d really love it. Second, we need access to Primori records. Even if we can’t know why our charges are special, it would be helpful to know their histories, especially if we’re their first guardians or if their previous guardian didn’t keep detailed notes.” He’d been lucky with Drayger that Atticus had been so obsessive about record-keeping, much like himself. Some Memitim, like Journey, half-assed their notes while others took none at all. “It would be especially helpful if we can see, in real time, if our Primori have gone off track. Third, why the hell can’t we have an occasional margarita? That’s some serious bullshit right there. Fourth—”
“Okay.” She held up her hand to cut him off. “I think that’s enough.”
Now that he was on a roll, he didn’t want to stop. “It’s not nearly enough,” he said, more harshly than he intended. “But hey, I can submit the rest to you in writing.” He snorted. “Except you guys never acknowledge anything we send you. That’s another thing; maybe you could actually respond to our summons? Reza waited at the Summoning Stone for three full days after sending a request, and she never did hear from you. That’s unacceptable. If this were a human business, you’d go under within a year.”
Suddenly, his tongue froze and his lips stopped moving. Ulnara smiled. “That’s better. When I tell you enough, it means enough.” She flicked her fingers, and his oral bits started functioning again. “Perhaps you’d like to know why you’re here?”
No shit. “That’d be great.”
She ruffled her wings, the sound whispering through the great empty space. “You impregnated a Wytch.”
Here we go. Now they were getting down to it. “Yeah, and I don’t know how it even happened. I mean, aside from the obvious. I shouldn’t be fertile.”
“I have no idea why you are fertile,” she said. “My job doesn’t usually focus on how things happen. I’m more concerned with the results.” She studied him with hawklike eyes. “But it is curious. Did you eat or drink anything that could have altered your physiology? Has anyone cast a spell—or a curse—on you?”
“Of course not. I—” Oh, shit. The day with Darien. He’d spilled a drop of his mystery potion into Hawkyn’s wound. That had to have been it. Darien had said the elixir had unpredictable results, but holy shitmonkeys, fertility was one hell of a side effect. “Yeah, I think I figured it out.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It was meant to be. All of it. That’s why your Primori’s Fate Line didn’t change when you tried to interfere with Aurora’s abduction or when you rescued her. It was supposed to happen.” Shockwaves pummeled him in almost physical blows. He had been part of the historical grand plan? “That said, we have to punish you even though everything you did was according to plan.”
What kind of bullshit was that? “I don’t understand,” he ground out.
“Well, how could you? You’re a mere earthbound Memitim.” She adjusted her robes. Why, he didn’t know. They looked the same as they had before she adjusted the folds. Still fold-y. “You’re not going to Ascend. But you’re not remaining as you were. We’ve created a position just for you.”
“A...position?” He swallowed the lump of disbelief in his throat. They weren’t going to expel him from the Memitim Order? He was getting promoted?
“In part, you can thank your father for that. He’s been a supreme pain in the ass, and it’s become clear that we need a closer relationship. So you are going to be the liaison between the Council and Sheoul-gra. You’ll make the Council more accessible to Azagoth and your siblings, and you’ll help advise us to make policy based on Memitim needs.”
Holy shit. Holy shit! All his life, all he’d wanted was to be on the Council so he could be a leader for his un-Ascended brethren, making life easier for them, supporting them, making sure they were happy and functional. A job as a liaison would be even better, allowing him to still be with his earthbound siblings while advising the Council.
“We’ve heard you, Hawkyn.” She smiled wryly. “How could we not? You send missives on a weekly basis.”
“So you really do get those?” he asked, incredulous. “I assumed they get tossed out with the Heavenly trash.”
“We got every one of them. Including the ones in which you call us doddering fools who are out of touch with reality.” She sniffed haughtily. “We’re not doddering or fools, but we are, perhaps, a little out of touch with reality.”
“A little?”
“Watch it,” she warned. “The other Council members were skeptical of this plan. I stood up for you. I can stand down.” She flapped her wings in irritation, and he wondered how close he was to losing this. He should probably be a little more respectful.
Nah.
“When does this become effective?”
“Right now.”
Powerful waves of tingly energy rolled over him, rushing through his veins like a drug, filling him with new knowledge, new abilities, and, he was thrilled to find out, new wings. Cranking his head, he took them in, shocked to see that they resembled his old ones. Like his shadow wings, these were transparent, smoke-colored. But they were bigger, and they glittered, catching the white light like a disco ball.
“There are no feathers,” he said thickly, his voice heavy with emotion. “But they’re beautiful.”
“They are as unique as you are, my son.”
She smiled, and in that moment, he felt her affection surround him. Suddenly, hundreds of years of feeling as if he hadn’t mattered at all to the people who conceived him vanished, and he got it. He truly got it. He’d been raised by humans, so he’d applied human values to his situation and had been unable to fully understand angelic ways. That didn’t mean he liked the way angels did things, but he was at peace with it now.
And it was all because of Aurora.
He flapped his wings, closing his eyes as the breeze they made ruffled his hair and caressed his skin. He couldn’t wait to show her.
“What does this all of this mean for me now?”
When he opened his eyes, Ulnara was still smiling. “As an Un-Ascended Memitim, you don’t have access to all of Heaven, but you will be able to move around the Memitim compound and embassy freely. You can reside in Sheoul-gra or the earthly realm for now. When the time for the Final Battle comes, you’ll be granted full Ascension.”
“What about Aurora? I won’t give her up, even if she’s Primori.”
She shrugged. “She won’t be Primori for long. Her status will shift to the child she carries once it’s born. Be with her, Hawkyn. Should you choose to mate her, your eternal lifespan will be hers. Either way, I should like to meet my grandchild one day.”
Stunned, he barely managed a raspy, “Of course.”
“I hope you aren’t too disappointed in our decision.”
Disappointed? This...this was more than he’d ever hoped for. This was far better than Ascending, but he couldn’t let them know that. The Memitim Council thought this was a compromise between punishment and Ascension, and if they knew this was the ultimate reward, he’d lose some bargaining power.
Bargaining power he was going to use right now.
“Well, you’re saying I have to spend the next nine-plus centuries working as an Ascended angel but without all the benefits, right?” He affected a troubled expression. “Can we at least start this off with an olive branch between Azagoth and the Council? He’s pretty pissed off at me, and if I can negotiate a deal, it’ll go a long way toward making my position legitimate in the eyes of my siblings and my father.”
She appeared to consider his BS, and he was shocked when she nodded. “What is this olive branch you want us to extend to the bastard?”
He grinned. “You’re not going to like it.”
She didn’t. But he got it anyway.