Meera sat in the library with Roch, Damien, Sari, and Rhys. “Go over what we know,” she said. “And tell us what Ata said to Sabine, if that’s within your rights to tell.”

“What passed between Ata and Sabine doesn’t relate to any of you,” Roch said. “But I need tonight to myself. I’ll make our excuses to Patiala.”

“It’s the welcome feast,” Meera said. “The whole haven will be there. We’ll miss you, but if you need time, take time.”

“Thank you.”

Sari said, “Why has killing Bozidar become a priority? He’s existed in North America for centuries. Irin have had their skirmishes, but by and large, he’s kept a lower profile than most Fallen.”

“The lower profile has also allowed him to grow in numbers and strength,” Rhys said. “We were talking with Zephirin—one of the New Orleans scribes and a friend of Meera’s—about what they know and what kind of resistance is in place.”

“Is there anything?” Damien asked. “If he’s alive, his sons are still under his control.”

“If he even knows they exist,” Meera said. “Zep says there is already a contingent of Bozidar’s sons who aren’t free of him, but they aren’t loyal either. They’re rebels who’ve escaped his attention. Flying under the radar, so to speak. They don’t make trouble. He forgets they exist.”

Roch said, “He does have a lot of children.”

“Daughters?” Damien asked.

“A few,” Rhys said. “But there is no organized protection for kareshta like Kostas has developed or what’s happening in Thailand. It seems that most of Bozidar’s female offspring are simply abandoned. They wouldn’t have any idea who they are.”

Sari shook her head in disgust. “Those poor girls.”

Meera continued. “These rebels have been tracking Bozidar’s movements for the past decade. He’s increased his numbers, spread his influence. He’s been slowly working his way down the center of the country from Chicago.”

Roch said, “He’s counting on infighting between eastern and western Irin communities, and he won’t be disappointed. There’s no love lost there.” Roch stared across the room. “He’s moving down the river. Splitting the continent in two. I bet he’s got his eye on Houston.”

Sari asked, “If he wants Houston, why would he be in New Orleans?”

“A flank attack,” Roch murmured. “The Fallen would see New Orleans as the soft belly of Houston. Less guarded. More lazy.”

“The scribe house in New Orleans isn’t lazy,” Meera said.

Rhys said, “Maybe not. But I wouldn’t call them vigilant.”

“They haven’t had to be.” Meera spoke up in their defense. “They try to keep the peace. If a Grigori isn’t causing problems, live and let live.”

“Except,” Roch said, “this angel is using that peace-loving attitude to lull them into complacency.” The scribe rolled out a map on the library table. “I’ve identified as many new nests of Grigori with Zep and his Grigori associate as I possibly can.”

Meera had to admit she was shocked. There were far more red markers on the map than she’d expected. Like the New Orleans scribes, she’d been lulled into thinking lack of deaths meant lack of Grigori. It clearly wasn’t the case.

Nearly two dozen red areas were highlighted, most in the industrial zones of the city. Warehouses, abandoned apartment complexes, and condemned houses.

Sari asked, “Have you looked into unremarkable deaths?”

Meera asked, “Unremarkable deaths?”

Sari said, “Grigori trying to remain hidden often feed from the homeless and the poor, who usually don’t have good medical care. Particularly the homeless. Humans might die unexpectedly, but their deaths will be attributed to liver failure, heart attack, or some other consequence of poor health, not anything unnatural.”

“I’ve checked into it,” Rhys said. “Higher than normal, but not enough to raise any human alarm.”

“There could be an epidemic of Grigori,” Damien muttered, “and it wouldn’t raise human alarm.”

“Right now we can’t do anything about the human deaths except to recommend upping patrols,” Roch said. “Which the scribe house is already doing. I don’t know how much further we want to drag them into your plans, but if you want to keep the haven hidden—”

“We want to keep the haven hidden.” Meera didn’t even want to think about telling her mother she’d revealed the location of Havre Hélène to Zep and his brothers, who would immediately report it to their watcher in New Orleans. “We can do this on our own.”

Rhys nodded. “Fine. We have resources.”

Meera leaned over the map. “So what do we do? What is the plan?”

“He knows you’re here.” Vasu appeared in the corner of the room.

In unison, Damien and Rhys muttered curses and flung silver daggers in the direction of the voice. The Fallen disappeared and the daggers embedded in the toile-covered wall.

Roch shouted, “What was that?”

“Will you stop?” Meera asked. “My mother is going to murder you all if you ruin her library. Vasu, what are you doing here?”

Roch pointed at the angel. “Is that what I think it is?”

Vasu appeared behind the scribe. “Yes,” he whispered. Then he disappeared again and reformed standing behind Sari.

“Don’t”—she raised her staff when the daggers pointed her direction—“even think about it. Vasu, you pain in the ass, don’t make me hurt you.”

All weapons were lowered, though the temper of the room remained high.

“Explain yourself,” Meera said.

“No,” Rhys added, “explain what you mean about Bozidar knowing we’re here. Explain why this is all happening now, Vasu! What have you done?”

“Me? Nothing. What makes you think this is my fault?” He turned to Meera. “Bozidar knows about Havre Hélène. He’s known for years.”

“So why—”

“He can’t be bothered.” Vasu waved a careless hand. “Or… the wards are too strong. Or he knows you’d kill too many of his sons before he could do anything. Something like that.” The angel sat on the library table and swung his legs back and forth. “This table is sturdy.”

“He knows the haven is here?” Meera felt her stomach drop. The singers. The children. The hidden ones.

“Why now, Vasu?” Rhys wouldn’t let up. “If he couldn’t be bothered before, why now?”

“Maybe… he likes parties.” The angel grinned.

Meera’s mind was spinning. “Rhys, what are we going to do? He knows we’re here.”

Rhys didn’t answer, but Meera saw him having a wordless conversation with Damien and Sari. There were raised eyebrows, frowns, and head shakes.

“You have a veritable army coming to your mating ceremony,” Damien muttered. “It could work.”

Rhys said, “If he’s coming anyway—”

“He wouldn’t be able to resist.” Damien shook his head. “I see your point, but I can’t be a part of this decision. It’s not my haven to protect. What you’re thinking carries a lot of risk.”

Meera tried not to lose her temper. She hated being left out of the conversation. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

“There are warriors in this haven,” Rhys said quietly. “Legendary heroes.”

Sari let out a long breath. “Wow. That is… bold.”

Meera knew enough about how Rhys’s mind worked to imagine what he was thinking. “You’re suggesting we somehow tell Bozidar that the Painted Wolf—the last warrior of the Uwachi Toma—is here and… what? Use her as bait?”

“I could tell him,” Vasu said. “I’d be happy to tell him.”

Meera rounded on Vasu. “Is this why you’ve been poking your nose in all this? Because you’ve been wanting to draw Bozidar into a fight?”

“Bozidar is a vile, ugly creature with a self-inflated sense of his own importance,” Vasu said. “He engenders no love anywhere, not even among his allies. They are squabbling, petty, power-hungry sycophants with no higher purpose than the satisfaction of their own squalid appetites.”

Roch said, “So… he’s an angel.”

The Fallen grew several feet, his presence filling the room as power poured off him. “Are you comparing me to Bozidar? My people once worshipped me as a god. Do you know who I am?”

Well, Meera thought, this has the potential to get very ugly.

“I know who you are,” Rhys said. “You’re a Fallen with vendettas and no army. How did Bozidar offend you, Vasu? What made you decide to use Meera and her family for your own twisted purposes?”

“She was mine before she was yours, scribe.”

“I don’t belong to either of you, so stop fighting.” Meera stepped between Rhys and Vasu. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

The room was silent. Not even the angel spoke.

It didn’t matter. Meera looked at Vasu with no illusions. She knew he wasn’t her ally or protector. That role belonged to the man at her back who was fighting for her at that very moment. Rhys was her ally. Rhys was her protector.

Vasu was… Vasu. It was entirely probable that her reshon was correct. Vasu had drawn this attention. Vasu had caused this conflict.

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. The angel was coming and he had Havre Hélène in his sights. “Vasu, am I correct that you think you can draw Bozidar to the haven? You and he are clearly not friends.”

“I’d hardly have to crook my finger.” Vasu smirked. “Bozidar will do anything if you flatter him. He lives for it. He was voted Most Easy to Manipulate in the heavenly realm.”

Meera blinked. “Was that… a joke? Did you make a joke on purpose?”

“Are you saying I make jokes accidentally?”

Meera couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him that wouldn’t lead to far more conversation than she wanted. She turned to Sari. “What do you think?”

The other singer raised her eyebrows. “I think nothing. It’s not my haven. But if you’re asking what I would do, I’d speak to your mother first. She’s the one tasked with guarding this place. I wouldn’t even dream of revealing its location to one of the Fallen—”

“He already knows,” Vasu said. “I told you.”

“—without full knowledge and permission of the elders here,” Sari continued as if Vasu hadn’t spoken. “If Patiala is in favor of this plan, then talk to Ata. She’s not alone anymore. She has allies. The Wolf might want the chance to slay Bozidar herself. She’s done it before.”

Damien said, “And if you decide to go forward, you have both of us with you. You know that. What I don’t have is my black blade.”

Rhys asked, “You came here unarmed?”

“I came for your mating feast, dammit! Some vacation this is turning out to be.”

* * *

Meera took a deep breath and clutched Rhys’s hands. “So I’m going to go in there, tell my mother and father that one of the Fallen has been my… associate—”

“Friend seems too generous.”

“—for most of my life, that he knows our location has been compromised to another one of the Fallen, and that we could potentially draw said Fallen to the haven by revealing the location of a legendary warrior, who is staying in my parents’ house as a guest at our mating celebration.”

“When you string it all together like that, it does seem like an incredibly bad idea,” Rhys muttered. “Maybe lead with having discovered a way to kill an angel and free hundreds of Grigori and unknown numbers of kareshta from the influence of the Fallen.”

Meera nodded. “Good. I like that.”

“But they’re going to be upset about the Vasu thing,” he said. “There’s no getting around that. You should probably leave out our suspicions that he goaded Bozidar into this fight.”

“This is Anamitra’s fault!” Meera said. “It’s not like I found Vasu on my own. I… inherited him.”

“Maybe mention that too.”

She squeezed his hand again, then entered the tent where her mother was directing the cooks for the dinner that night. The scribes and singers of the haven had been gathering food for days. Though the guest list wasn’t large, the feasts would still be elaborate.

“Mother,” Meera called.

Patiala looked up and smiled. “Hello.”

“Can Rhys and I speak to you and Father for a moment?”

“Is everything all right?” She frowned and glanced at their joined hands.

“We’re fine,” Rhys said. “It’s about the larger issue we’ve been talking to Roch about.”

With a businesslike nod, she followed them out of the cooking tent. “Your father is in the fields.” She pulled out her phone. “I’ll call him and tell him to meet us.”

Rhys led them to his cottage and cleared off two chairs so Patiala and Meera could sit. Maarut joined them a few minutes later, and Meera gathered her courage.

“So,” she began. “Rhys and I are fine and very happy with our mating celebration so far. We’re looking forward to everything. But talking with Roch and the scribe house in New Orleans has clarified some of the problems the city is facing, which might explain what happened the other night in New Orleans.”

Maarut nodded gravely. “I have a few questions.”

“That’s understandable,” Rhys said. “You might have more before this conversation is over.”

* * *

Meera had seen her mother angry. She’d thought she’d seen her shocked. It was nothing compared to the utter and complete silence that greeted her after she’d outlined the problem the haven was facing.

“And how long,” Patiala said, her voice measured, “has this… creature been known to you?”

“When did I go to live with Anamitra?” she asked.

“When you were three.”

“Since then,” Meera said in a quiet voice. “You have to understand, Anamitra told me that Vasu was a secret only the two of us could know. That he was useful and he would not harm me.”

Maarut nearly choked on his anger. “And you trusted him?”

“When I was young? Yes. To a degree. As I grew older, I saw what Anamitra did. Vasu was odd, but also oddly loyal to those who entertained him. Anamitra and I entertained him. We were interesting to him. And he offered information and perspective at times. I wouldn’t call him a friend—”

Patiala let out a very loud expression of disbelief.

“—but he was useful. And he seemed to be able to find me wherever I was. He found me here, even with the wards. But it would be years sometimes between visits. Often he’d come and tell me stories for an afternoon, then be gone for a year. Other times it seemed he was living in my pocket.”

“Kind of like now,” Rhys muttered.

“And when did you learn of this?” Maarut asked Rhys.

“Not long after Meera and I began working together. But Vasu was known to me before. He was an ally of Jaron, who was the grandsire of my watcher’s mate. He feels a certain… proprietary interest in Ava. So far it’s an interest that has served her. But I’m always watchful.”

“Rhys throws daggers at Vasu nearly every time he shows up. Don’t blame Rhys for this.”

“Good,” Patiala said. “It’s good this… thing isn’t too comfortable with you. He shouldn’t be, no matter how long you’ve been familiar with him.”

“I understand your concern,” Rhys said. “Trust me, I share it. But so far Vasu has given us valuable information. And he hates Bozidar, which is why we’ve come to you. If he says Bozidar knows the location of the haven—”

“He won’t be able to enter it,” Patiala said. “The wards here have been built for centuries. Sabine renewed them just before our guests arrived. Despite her mental state, her earth magic is very strong, and we’ve been able to channel it into the land here.”

“He isn’t able to enter it,” Meera said. “Vasu confirmed that. Not unless…”

“Unless what?” Maarut said.

“Not unless we let him in.”

Maarut and Patiala looked at Meera with twin expressions of incredulity.

“Hundreds of Grigori,” Meera said. “Possibly hundreds of kareshta. All those souls locked to his power. If he were dead—”

“You’re assuming we can kill him.” Patiala said. “But though he is an enemy of your Vasu, he’s still an archangel. Who here has slain an archangel?”

“Damien has,” Rhys said quietly. “I have experience fighting one. And don’t forget Atawakabiche. She, more than any of us, would know how to slay this monster. She killed Nalu. She could help us kill Bozidar.”

“You said her magic only worked with her mate.”

“But she still holds knowledge.”

“Rhys and I,” Meera said. “Rhys and I will be mated soon.”

“But you’re not mated yet,” Maarut said. “And you won’t be at full strength after you mate. The bond needs time to develop and mature. You don’t understand what it’s like.”

But don’t you realize…? Meera thought about interrupting, but she wasn’t sure how much she could actually explain to her father. No one beside Anamitra understood her power.

Maarut shook his head. “This is a ridiculous conversation. We didn’t invite Atawakabiche to our home in order to ask her to fight a battle. It’s the height of arrogance to even speak of this. I will call for my brothers and the Tomir—”

“They could take weeks to gather,” Meera said. “Ata is here now. We could draw him out now. How many more humans have to die before we act? We have a gathering of warriors unlike this haven has ever seen.”

“Is this my daughter?” Patiala stood. “The pacifist? The singer who wants to find a peaceful way? Are you searching for war on the eve of your mating? I don’t even recognize you.”

“Even I acknowledge the better way cannot happen without freedom from the Fallen,” Meera said. “There can be no hope of negotiation or change until Bozidar is dead.”

“I suppose I should thank you.” Patiala turned to Rhys. “She’s finally being realistic about our enemies. The day before her mating feast!”

Rhys raised his hands. “I’m only—”

“Don’t blame Rhys for this,” Meera said. “And don’t blame Vasu. We are coming to you because you’re the guardians of this haven and I see an opportunity to rid the world of one of the Fallen. One of the most dangerous. Bozidar has grown quietly in power and now presses into the territory where this haven sits. If we succeed, we could usher in a new golden age, like the one Ata started when she and her mate killed Nalu. But ignoring Bozidar, even for our mating ceremony, accomplishes nothing.”

Patiala stormed out of the cottage and Meera started to follow her, but Maarut put a hand on her arm. “Don’t. Give her some time. Let her think. She’s angry right now.”

Meera looked at her father. “You know we’re right about this.”

“I also need time to think.” Maarut stroked his beard. “If we try this thing, the Tomir would still be useful. You know our reputation for secrecy.”

“How fast could they get here?” Rhys asked.

“Two days,” Maarut said. “A group of the guard are always ready to be summoned.”

“Call them.”

Meera glared at him, but Rhys only shrugged. “Call. It’s never a bad thing to have backup, and I trust your father’s men to be discreet.”

“I’ll call.” Maarut rose and kissed Meera on the cheek. “And I’ll talk to your mother. Just so you know, the welcome feast will still go on tonight and you’ll still be expected to attend. I do not want any mention of this to get to Atawakabiche until your mother decides. She’s the haven guardian. In the end, it’s her call.”

“And I’m the heir,” Meera said quietly. “I’m sorry, Father, but in the end, it’s actually my call.”

“Careful.” He gave her a half smile. “This isn’t Udaipur. The hierarchy here isn’t quite so settled. You push and you might find yourself facing a not-so-minor rebellion.”

* * *

The feast that night began with much ceremony and little conflict. Meera watched, her heart full, as the singers of Havre Hélène joined Patiala to sing a blessing over Meera and Rhys. They sat at low tables under the oak alley where the Tomir banners—written with her father’s spells of protection—fluttered in the breeze coming off the river.

Rhys’s mother rose and gave a formal blessing from the library of Glast, praising their hosts and the legacy of Atawakabiche. Meera hadn’t had much time to spend with her quiet mother-to-be, and she got the feeling that, outside of formal duties, Angharad would be someone she needed to meet in a smaller setting.

“Do you think we’ll have time to visit Glast soon?” Rhys asked quietly during a break in the speeches. “My parents tend to be very stiff at events like this, but I promise they’re not completely without senses of humor.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it. Your father looks like a meter stick has been glued to his back,” Meera said. “I’ve never seen posture so straight.”

“A stick glued to his back… Yes, that’s a much more diplomatic expression than the one I usually use.”

Meera elbowed him in the side.

“Ow. You’re small and mean, future mate.”

“You love it.”

Atawakabiche, the guest of honor, was quiet throughout the evening, though the various members of her retinue talked and socialized with the other singers and scribes of the haven. The Koconah Citlal from the South were decided fans of the spicy North Indian and Creole dishes. The Dene Ghal—a brother and sister from Washington State—were wonderful storytellers.

The wolves and foxes stayed back in the tent.

Meera noticed a large raven sitting on a low branch of the oak tree nearest the river.

Vasu.

It hopped and croaked every now and then. Meera wasn’t the only one who noticed. The woman from the Koconah Citlal leaned over to Ata, who was already watching the bird. They exchanged quiet words before the Koconah Citlal singer wandered over to Meera.

She greeted Meera and Rhys formally before she leaned in close. “I do not mean to alarm you, but do you know an angel watches you?”

“Yes,” Meera said simply. “It’s… complicated.”

“It can enter the haven?”

“He can.”

The woman nodded silently before she departed and went back to Ata’s side. They exchanged a few more words before Ata turned to them. Her eyes were narrowed and thoughtful.

“She knows something is brewing,” Rhys said.

“She does.”

Rhys leaned over and plucked half an apricot from Meera’s plate, feeding her as he whispered in her ear. “Wake tomorrow morning, go out to the cane fields, and sing the rising song she taught you. I’ll come with you. If she wants to talk to us without all the formality, that will give her a chance.”

“Good idea.” Meera took a piece of melon from Rhys’s plate and took a turn feeding him. “What a smart scribe my reshon is.”

“The very smartest,” he said around the bite. “Heaven above, Meera Bai, how did you get so lucky?”

“I love you,” she blurted.

The teasing light fell from his eyes. “Meera—”

“I mean, I think I love you. I…” She looked down, ignoring the festivities going on around them. “This moment was chosen poorly. I have been feeling… this feeling since the night we were first together in the bayou. I was resisting it because I didn’t want my emotions dictated by fate. Or my parents. Or… anything really.”

“You don’t love me because of fate,” he said roughly.

“No, I love you because you’re the one man who is a match for my mind, my body, and my heart. And I am the same for you.”

He fought against a smile. “Must you be such a know-it-all? Even now?”

“I’m only telling you things you already know.”

“Exactly.”

Meera asked, “So why are you arguing with me?”

The smile broke through. “Because you’re infuriating.”

“I am infuriating because I’m right.”

He slipped an arm around her back. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Blasted woman.”

“Heaven picked me. Blame heaven.”

“Never.” He leaned over nipped her earlobe. “You are my mate, Meera Bai. Tomorrow and for the rest of time.”