“What is it?” Kyra asked. “Is it for the kitchen?”

The basket was tangled with ropes and looked like it was made from the grasses by the beach. Parts of it were worn with age, and parts of it were green from repair.

“No.” Artis picked up the hook and lifted it. “It’s a cradle.”

Of course it was. Kyra felt a smile spreading on her lips. “A basket cradle.”

Sturdy rope suspended the finely woven basket, and colorful strings and trinkets were hung on the outside and the base. It was oblong and quite long, large enough for a toddler.

“I don’t know what you use in the south, but we liked these kind of cradles when we had babies,” Artis said. “You could put a hook anywhere in the house but also take it outside and hang it from a tree. They’re light because the basket is made from grass, not branches. One of the women in the village patched the places that were weak. It’s watertight too, as long as you let the grasses swell up before you put the baby in. Evelina used one like this and tied the ropes to the rocks by the stream. The water put the girls to sleep.”

“So clever.”

“You’ll be able to use it for your baby. If you want it.”

Kyra swallowed hard. “I love it. Thank you, Artis.” She fingered the colorful strings stacked with beads. There were tiny bells and decorative metal pieces hanging all around the basket. When the wind blew, they would act like little wind chimes, tinkling in the breeze. “I will enjoy taking it out to the garden, and I’ll make sure Leo puts a hook from the ceiling in the house.”

“This was his mother’s.”

“Then I like it even more.” Kyra smiled at Artis, and the old man almost—almost!—smiled back.

“It’s sturdy.” He lowered the cradle to the floor and bundled the ropes inside. “We had big babies, Evelina and me.”

“I consider myself warned.”

When Leo had told his grandfather that Kyra was having a baby, the old man hadn’t said much. But he’d nodded and rocked in the old chair by the fire, and Kyra didn’t think she was imagining the emotion in his eyes.

Peaceful. He looked peaceful.

He’d spent the next two days opening cedar trunks with Leo and Max, pulling out old things that had belonged to their family. A set of silver spoons. Blankets knitted by Evelina and her mother. Wooden cups and small toys that had belonged to Lauma and Stasya. Artis had kept it all hidden away.

Renata and Kyra had sorted through the treasures, putting some things back in storage and packing others. The basket cradle, Kyra definitely wanted to take.

“Leo is talking about driving back,” Kyra said. “We can’t take all these things on the plane.”

“You shouldn’t be flying,” Artis said. “A car would be better.”

“It’s three days of driving. Probably four or five.”

“What is a few days?” Artis shrugged. “You have time.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She put a hand on his forearm.

At Renata’s suggestion, she was trying to touch Artis more. Irin scribes and singers needed contact with each other. They were not designed to be a solitary race. It was possible it had been over two hundred years since an Irina had laid hands on either Peter or Artis, which would leave the men so severely out of balance it was detrimental to their health. Just like she needed Leo to ground her energy, Leo needed her to balance and lift him.

“Can you feel what is in the woods?” Artis asked her. “Do you fear it?”

“Fear it?” Kyra shook her head. “If it is Azril, he is familiar to me.”

She hadn’t been surprised to feel Azril’s presence around the house. It had grown stronger every day, but it did not frighten her. The angel of death was neither Fallen nor Forgiven. He played by neither set of rules but lived in a limbic space between the heavenly and earthly realm. And if her father Barak had anything like friends, Azril had been one.

“He is familiar?”

“He often visited my father,” Kyra said. “I do not fear him. He was always gentle with my sisters.”

Artis’s eyes were wide. “I see.”

“Are you afraid?” Kyra laid a hand on her belly. “Or reluctant now? I told Leo I didn’t want to tell you about the baby because I wasn’t sure if you would feel obligated.”

“My great-grandchild will be well protected. Of that I have no doubt. I am ready.” He took a deep breath and slowly released it. “I have been ready for hundreds of years.”

She nodded. “I promise, if you welcome him, he will be kind to you.”

“I will remember that.” He laid a tentative hand on Kyra’s shoulder. “Thank you, daughter.”

“You’re welcome.” She looked at the cradle. “And thank you. I will treasure it.”

* * *

Max and Renata sat in the woods, perched on logs in the middle of a ring of trees where the strange presence felt strongest.

“What are we doing here?” Renata asked. She wasn’t afraid, but she was uncomfortable. Something about waiting for death scraped on her nerves. Death was a thief, stealing her family from her. It had stolen Max’s mother and father, stolen any kind of childhood from him.

“Wait,” he said. “Just wait.”

When her mate had become a Zen master of calm was a mystery to Renata. They had been at the farm for seven days, having one-sided conversations with Artis and Peter, milking cows, and taking care of repairs. Kyra had baked enough bread to feed a small village, and Renata had spent time caring for the animals, which was soothing. Leo sat in the smithy with his silent father, and Max had spent most of the week walking through the woods.

“I can hear you thinking,” Max said. “You need to quiet your mind.”

“I can’t quiet my mind.”

“Then sing something,” he said. “Sing a song that Azril might like.”

“Why do you want to meet him so much? Do you have a death wish I need to know about?”

Max chuckled. “Not at all.” He put his arm around her and grabbed a handful of her backside. “I have too much living to do right now.”

“Then why—”

“I have a theory,” Max said. “And it has to do with two baby boys left after a massacre. Boys that Death didn’t take when he came for their mothers. Boys who disappeared for some time and then reappeared, completely unharmed, at a scribe house near their destroyed home.”

Renata’s eyes went wide. “You think Azril is the boy you remember?”

Max’s eyes danced. “I don’t know. But he would have been there, wouldn’t he? To carry their souls to heaven. He would have been with them. He would have seen us and… I don’t know. Done something.”

She couldn’t ask why knowing mattered so much to him. She had books of history written in her heart. She knew every story about her birth and childhood. The roots of her family were dug so deep that even when the tree had been chopped at the base, it had sprung up again in her, too strong for death to kill it.

Max’s roots had been ripped out and never truly replanted.

So Renata did the only thing she could do. She opened her mouth and sang a song to welcome Death.

As Renata sang in the Old Language, she felt the air stir around her. She blinked and saw a man who was not a man appear in the middle of the clearing. He was beautiful and his face was unlined, though the silver eyes that watched them through thick black lashes bore the weight and bearing of eternity.

Far from a celestial being, he seemed to grow from the earth. He sat on the ground. His face was unlined, with light brown skin and Baltic features as familiar as Max’s. He was shrouded in a cloak made of fine bark and grass, but when he moved, it sounded to Renata like a bird taking flight. An eight-pointed star shone on his forehead. His presence was immense, though he appeared no taller than Max.

“You’re Azril,” Max said. “But you’re not the boy.”

The angel smiled. No.

The words didn’t leave the creature’s mouth, but he spoke them into their minds. Renata knew Max had heard the same voice, because his shoulders slumped in disappointment.

Wait. The angel raised his hand. Wait.

They waited for what could have been minutes or hours. Renata had lost all sense of time and space as she stared at Death in corporeal form. “You took them all,” she said quietly.

He nodded. It is my purpose.

“Did it hurt?”

This earthly realm offers pain, but my touch is gentle. Do not fear me. When I come for you, I will be a welcome friend.

“I may have sung the song,” she said. “But I’m not ready. Not nearly ready. So don’t remember where I live, do you hear me?”

Azril smiled, and a laughing voice echoed in her mind. I never forget anything, but I’ll do my best to misplace you. Will that do?

Max grabbed her hand. “That will do.”

In the distance, Renata heard footsteps rustling through the forest. Leo’s voice was the first thing she recognized.

“…don’t like it when he just shows up like this.”

“I didn’t call him this time.”

“This time? You mean the other times you did call him?”

“Leo, he’s young! I think he gets lonely.”

“That’s not true.” A clear voice rang through the woods. “I don’t get lonely.”

Leo, Kyra, and a very sullen-looking Vasu stepped into the clearing in the middle of the pines.

Max immediately tried to stand, but Renata kept him next to her.

Vasu walked into the clearing and pointed at Azril. “He called me.”

There are stories that need to be told, little brother.

“Why?” Vasu leaned on a tree, his arms crossed. That day, the fallen angel appeared to be little more than a teenager and entirely deserving of the sullen label Kyra had given him. His hair was thick and black with gold streaks woven through it. He was dressed entirely in black and looked far more like an angel of death than the wild creature in the middle of the wood.

Tell them.

“Does it matter now?”

That is not for you to decide. Tell them because they want to know. Azril looked at Kyra. And she needs to hear it.

Vasu huffed out a breath. “I don’t know where to start.”

Then I will start and you will finish. Azril stared directly at Max. Picture a forest very much like this one.

Max closed his eyes, and Azril’s voice flowed over them, lulling Renata into a kind of trance.

She hid you in the forest while her mate fought them back. They had already killed her twin. She felt her soul tear in half, but she was determined. Though she called out for my mercy, she was adamant. They could not have the children too.

Max said, “My mother. You’re talking about my mother in the forest.”

I was there to take their hands, son of Leoc. If you reach very far, you might find their last moments. Your blood would allow it, but do not look for them; remember their bravery. Your father fought so your mother could escape with the babes. She heard them in the woods. I saw them run after her.

“But you did nothing?” Leo said.

Azril cocked his head. It is not for me to intervene. That is not my purpose.

“But you did intervene!” Vasu shouted. “You and Barak both. You called him and he came, and was that His will? Was it, Azril?”

Renata felt the chill in her bones as Max gripped her hand. Barak? What did Kyra’s Fallen father have to do with this?

Azril continued as if he’d heard nothing.

She lay on the forest floor and I came to her. She was angry and afraid. “You cannot take them,” she told me when I took her hand. “They are not for you.”

“She hid us in the forest,” Leo said.

In a cradle made of grass.

“A basket cradle,” Kyra said. “Like Artis gave to me.”

She put a spell over the babies. You slept for many hours.

“And then my father found them,” Kyra said. “Didn’t he? Vasu said you called him.”

I always called Barak; he listened.

Kyra reached for Leo’s hand. “He and the wolves came; he’s the one who saved Max and Leo. The boy with the golden eyes.”

His true visage would have been too frightening.

“But why?” Leo asked.

I could not take the children. They were not for me.

Max spoke in a hoarse voice. “But why did he save us? Hundreds of children died in the Rending. Maybe thousands. What were we to him?”

Vasu cocked his head and finally spoke. “The Rending offended Barak. He saw the world in a state of balance, and the massacre disrupted it. He withdrew from the world after it happened, killed any of his sons who had taken part. He let others take his territory. Eventually he even let his children think he was dead.” Vasu nodded at Max. “That was your doing. Both of you.”

“You think two Irin babies influenced the course of an archangel’s history?” Leo said. “You give us too much credit, Vasu.”

“Your blood mixed with his,” Vasu said. “It’s always the beginning of the end for us. Once we cross into the terrestrial realm in that way, we begin to feel things.” Vasu shivered. “That’s why I avoid Forgiven children as much as possible.”

Leo said, “What do you mean, our blood mixed?”

“You had a wound on your leg from one of the wolves,” Vasu said. “Barak kicked the wolf back and healed the cut with his blood because it had been his animal that harmed you.”

“And that was it?” Max asked. “Barak gave up his power on earth because Leo had a cut on his leg?”

Vasu frowned. “Blood has power, scribe. Barak gave his power to the powerless. He saved the children of his enemies. In doing that, he altered his history and your own. He tied your line together with his. If you think any of this is an accident, then you haven’t been paying attention.” And with that, Vasu blinked out of sight.

Leo, Kyra, Renata, and Max were left in the forest with Azril, whose eyes rested on Kyra.

She walked over and sat on the ground in front of Death, crossing her legs and putting her hands on her belly.

Leo started forward. “Kyra, don’t.” He reached out but let his hand fall when he saw the angel pass a hand over his mate’s head in a caress as maternal as any human or Irina mother.

Kyra smiled. “Hello, Azril.”

Daughter, you touch eternity.

“Do you know?” Kyra asked. “Can you see it?”

Yes. The joy in his voice was incandescent. The air around them shimmered with it. Your child will be blessed in this realm and the next.

“Thank you, Azril.”

It is good to see you so happy.

“It is good to see you.”

The shining note that echoed in Renata’s mind was nothing like a voice, though she knew it came from the angel. It was a pealing bell and an exuberant birdsong. A pure expression of joy so acute it made her eyes water.

Azril spoke to Renata. Thank you for calling me. Your song honors your mother.

“Thank you.”

Max squeezed her hand. “It’s been you in the forest this week, hasn’t it?”

I know the old one waits for me.

“Will you come when he’s ready?” Leo asked.

Of course. Azril began to fade from view. I will always come.

* * *

Leo lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling. His hand rested on Kyra’s belly, and he listened to the rapid heartbeat of the child in her womb. At first the pace of it had frightened him. Then the doctor assured them it was the way all babies’ hearts beat. His child was healthy. According to Azril, his child would have a long and blessed life. Or at least that was what Death had told his mate. And what had he told Leo?

So Barak and Azril had saved two children and returned them to half-dead men who raised them without evident love or affection. They had raised warriors who went on to hunt demons and bring down angels.

Leo rolled over and watched Kyra as she slept. Her dark hair splayed over the pillow beside him, and he tucked a piece of it under his cheek, smoothing the silk between his fingers. Reshon. Lover. Mate. Mother. She was all things to him.

Perhaps Barak heard the echo of the Creator’s will in a baby’s cry. By protecting Leo and Max, Barak had saved a life that would eventually connect with his own line.

Leo laid his hand on Kyra’s belly again. Barak’s blood. Fallen blood. Forgiven blood. They lived in this tiny child just as Jaron’s blood lived in Malachi and Ava’s children.

Who are we becoming?

Wiser men than Leo had tried to answer that. But maybe it came back to what Barak had believed. A world in balance. Life and death. Dark and light. One life entered the world as another life left it. He pulled Kyra closer as she slept.

“Leo?” she murmured as she tucked her face into his neck. “You all right?”

He took a deep breath and inhaled the sweet frangipani perfume she used in her hair. He ran a hand over her arm, which was growing plump and full as her body prepared for their child. His restlessness fled, and he felt a peace beyond understanding fill his soul.

“I am,” he whispered. “I’m all right.”

Joy could be built on pain, just as good could come from evil.

Leo finally believed that, and he slept.