“Adelina.”

She turned to the potent voice of her lover and felt her heart rip in two. “What have you done?”

“It was necessary.”

“No!” The ground fell from beneath her feet and her mind spun. The faint hope she’d harbored was as dead as her child.

The Fallen gripped her wrists, holding her effortlessly as she tried to beat his chest. Damn him! Damn his angelic brothers! Damn them all to the depths of hell! How could he?

“He was an abomination,” the Fallen said coldly. “He was not meant to exist. The havoc he would have wrought—”

“You don’t know that!”

“I have seen it.” A hint of emotion cracked the angel’s voice. “I saw what he would become.”

“You’re a monster.” She fell to the ground and ripped at her hair. “Leave me before I kill you. Like you killed our son.”

The monster stood like a statue before her.

“Leave me!” she screamed. “You are dead to me. Go back to your brothers and your sycophants. Leave me to die alone.”

Adelina wanted to die. Wanted to rip the earth with her fingers and tear the stars from the sky. And she wanted his comfort, which made her rage harder. She screamed at the angel, hurling spells at him that did nothing.

“We are bound,” he said simply. “Your magic does not work against me.”

She spit on him. “I curse the day I gave you my song.”

“I know.”

The keening cry tore loose from her throat as angry magic gave way to unrelenting agony.

My child. My child. My child.

The angel spoke softly to her. “Meera.”

“Why won’t you leave?”

He stepped closer, his cold expression never changing. “Meera, you must wake.”

* * *

She woke from the memory with a gasp.

Rhys gripped her wrists. She was gasping for breath, her eyes darting around the tent.

“Rhys?” She folded into herself when she realized where they were.

Rhys and Meera were still in the mating tent. They had been there two nights, and today was their last day in seclusion. Rhys had tattooed his mating mark the day before, then made love within the heady rush of magic tattooing brought. Meera had fallen asleep, peaceful in his arms, only to step into the deepest well of memory, pulling him with her.

“That was Adelina,” Rhys said softly. “The Adelina.”

Meera nodded. “She was one of the first keepers.”

“Have you shared her memories before?” Do you know what that was?

She sat up, drawing the silk sheets with her. “Adelina’s memories are some of the few that come like that. Usually—like I explained yesterday—they only come when I seek them. They are… intense. And engrossing.”

Yesterday had been the host of more than one very complicated conversation. Rhys was still confused how he could share Irina memory as a scribe, but Meera could only explain so much. As far as she knew, no other of Anamitra’s line had ever been mated to her reshon, especially a reshon rich in Chamuel’s empathetic blood. So while other bonded mates like Firoz would have experienced memories as Rhys did, none of them were as intimately involved.

For the time Meera and Rhys had been in Anamitra’s memory, Rhys had been Firoz. He’d had no knowledge of Anamitra’s memories that Meera shared later. No idea what their child’s fate would be. He had experienced that moment as Firoz had. No more and no less.

And he’d been Jargrav, enamored of his mate, dedicated to discovering the sacred and numerous ways of bringing pleasure to the mating bed. Knowledge that had led to more than one very arousing episode once Rhys managed to conquer the creeping sense of voyeurism.

Rhys stroked Meera’s hair. “You told me you had to open up for the memories to come. That your shields protected you from being taken over by the past.” The idea of Meera locked in some memory with no control over it terrified him. Would there come a time or a memory where he could not reach her?

“That is what happens.” She glanced at him. “Most of the time.”

“But not with Adelina.”

“She was one of the first somasikara,” Meera said. “I carry her blood. There is a very deep connection.”

“I didn’t know any of her children lived.”

“They did.”

“But not the one in that memory,” Rhys said softly.

Meera looked up suddenly. “You were there. You joined his mind like you did with Firoz and Jargrav the first night.”

Rhys nodded slowly.

“Rhys…” She blinked. “Heaven above, you know what that angel saw. You know why he did it.”

His heart sank. “Do you need to know?”

“What?”

“What I saw in his mind…” Rhys shook his head. “Ask me later, Meera.”

“How can you say—”

“It’s not important now. I’m still processing what being in that creature’s head means.”

He could tell Meera didn’t want to leave it, but she nodded. She’d put it to the side.

For now.

“There’s one more thing we need to do today,” Rhys said. “Before we rejoin the others tomorrow.”

“Only one? That’s not very ambitious.”

Rhys smiled. “We’ll be doing that for the rest of our very long lives. But right now …” He ducked down and kissed her neck. “I am very curious what it was that Ata gave you.”

She perked up. “The present. I’d almost forgotten that. And I love presents.”

Meera climbed out of bed wrapped in a sheet and walked over to the table by the tent doorway. Rhys watched her walk, delighted by the sway of her backside. He’d explored every inch of her body over the previous two days and nights.

He still couldn’t get enough of her.

“I really am extremely fond of your bottom,” he said. “I’m considering an ode.”

She looked over her shoulder. “An ode to my bottom?”

“A song perhaps. Poetry of some kind.”

Meera shook her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No, I’m quite serious. If an ode to that bottom doesn’t exist somewhere in Irin memory, it’s a glaring omission in the historical record.”

She bent over—yes, please, and thank you—and retrieved the small leather-wrapped package Ata had given them. She wasn’t wearing any undergarments, and the sway of her full breasts as she walked back to him had Rhys transfixed.

“You’re staring.” Meera climbed back onto the bed.

“I’m newly mated.” Rhys tugged the sheet away and bent his head to kiss her belly and her breasts. “I’m allowed such indulgence. I only get you to myself for another day.”

She ran a finger through his tangled dark hair. “We’ll make the time. Even if life gets busy, we need time for ourselves.”

“For ourselves. For our families. For our children.” He looked up. “Please tell me you want children.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You, the cynic? Don’t tell me you harbor a soft spot for little ones. I assumed you enjoyed the role of cranky uncle.”

“I adore children,” he said quietly. “Before you, they were the only thing that gave me any kind of hope.”

“Rhys.” She drew him to her shoulder and he rested his head over her heart. The quiet, steady beat that had become the siren song of his life. “I love children and have always imagined becoming a mother when I mated, though I have no idea what I’ll do with them. The singers of Udaipur would be charged with raising them, I imagine.”

“We will raise our children,” he said. “The two of us. Others can help, but they’ll not be reared by nannies or guards.”

“Do you know about babies?”

“I am a very accomplished uncle,” he said, trailing a finger around her belly button. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“Very well.” She played with his hair. “The heir of Anamitra, changing diapers and cleaning spit-up. Udaipur won’t know what to think.”

He looked up and smiled. “We’ll enjoy turning them on their heads. Now, where is Ata’s package?”

She handed him a leather-wrapped parcel no larger than a deck of cards. Rhys unwrapped the ties holding the bag together and unrolled it.

A plain, chalk-colored stone fell into his hand. It was worn smooth by magic, its seemingly plain surface pulsing with power.

“Uriel’s light,” he said softly.

“Rhys, what is it?”

“A memory stone.”

He’d never held one in his hand. They were an object for textbooks, the magic so old it was considered too inefficient for modern scribes. Rhys touched his talesm prim, felt his newly charged magic wake. The words etched under the surface of the stone came to life before his eyes, each line glowing silver for a few moments before it faded and the next one came to life.

“Ata’s mate knew that Grigori could have free will,” Rhys said quietly. “He wrote that it was the Creator’s intention that the Grigori rejoin the Irin.”

Meera scooted closer. “What is this, Rhys?”

“This is the magic they used to kill Nalu.” His fingers traced the edges of the stone. “This is the scribe’s role, the part Ata can’t tell us. Get me a paper, a scroll. Anything.” He looked up. “This is going to hurt.”

Her eyes went wide. “For me?”

“For both of us.”

* * *

The next morning his new mate, splendid and glowing in the morning sun, sang a rising song passed down by Anamitra. They greeted the dawn hand in hand, family and friends gathered behind them. They were joyful and refreshed, full of newly shared power and knowledge Rhys knew would give them victory. Akune’s memory stone was safely stored with his most precious possessions and would stay hidden from everyone except Damien until he could place it in the most secure library he could find.

Until then, the magic Akune had written was hidden in his mind.

It was an ingenious spell. Wickedly simple and elegant in execution. It was a spell that turned an angel’s intrinsic nature against itself and used an Irin warrior’s humanity as a strength instead of a weakness.

Rhys held Meera’s hand, but his eyes were on Ata across the meadow. Ata watched Meera, not even glancing at Rhys. Her expression was nearly impossible to decipher. Why had she changed her mind about teaching Rhys and Meera? What had she seen between them? Or was she simply divesting herself of everything so she could die as she’d stated?

The breakfast served after the rising song was a simple one. Low tables had been placed under the oak alley with cushions and pillows scattered on the grass. The previous days had been filled with games, sport, and celebrations as Meera and Rhys had been in seclusion, and the easy familiarity of the guests was evident in the mixed company and lively conversation of everyone attending.

Even Ata looked more relaxed. She was speaking with Sabine and Roch, smiling at a trio of children who were tossing a ball over their heads while adults chased them farther onto the grass.

“Everyone is getting along,” Meera said.

“Which is exactly the point of leaving them all alone to socialize while we have copious amounts of sex.” Rhys sipped the glorious dark tea Patiala had served him. “Excellent tradition.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Something happened with Roch and Sabine.”

“I saw Ata talking to them.”

“She looks steady,” Meera said. “More so than she usually is.”

“She’s clutching Roch’s hand like he’s her lifeline.”

“But she’s not hiding. Normally with this many people, she would.”

Rhys raised his eyebrows. “Curious.”

“Very.”

The meal was winding down, and baskets of fruit were being passed around the tables when Ata stood. Though she didn’t step forward or make any loud noise, the entire gathering came to attention.

“I was reluctant to come here,” she said simply. “Not for any reason other than my own desire for solitude.”

Rhys glanced at Maarut and Patiala, whose faces were frozen in polite smiles.

“But I was wrong to be reluctant,” Ata continued. “This mating was ordained by the Creator. For this time. In this place. And I was meant to be here as well.”

Had Rhys imagined a collective sigh of relief or was that simply a breeze passing from the river?

“The singer and scribe we gather to celebrate come from two honorable lines and families”—Ata nodded toward Patiala and Maarut, then Angharad and Edmund—“but they have made their own powerful connections as well.” She nodded to Damien and Sari, Sabine and Roch, who was blushing furiously. “We honor those connections and marvel at the wisdom of a Creator who brings all these strands of fate together in this exact place.” Ata turned to Rhys and Meera. “Weaving them together for this precise time.”

What was she doing?

“I have spoken to my retinue,” Ata said, glancing at the Irin and Irina scattered at tables around her. “And we agree that a gathering of warriors such as this could only have been brought together to fulfill heaven’s purpose on earth.”

Gabriel’s bloody fist, she really was a direct one.

Rhys squeezed Meera’s hand. “She’s going for it.”

“Apparently.” Meera cleared her throat. “Damn.”

“We haven’t had time to practice.”

“She hasn’t even taught me my part,” Meera hissed.

Ata lifted her head. “Servant of heaven, come to me.” A black raven landed on the oak tree over Ata’s head. “Send whispers among the Fallen,” she said to Vasu. “Tell Bozidar the Uwachi Toma are rising to rid the world of his presence. In three days’ time, the wards will fall. Atawakabiche, the Painted Wolf, waits for his challenge.”

The raven flew off with a caw that sounded very much like a chuckle to Rhys’s ears. Ata looked at Rhys, nodded, and sat.

The entire party broke into frenzied conversation. Patiala and Maarut rose and rushed to Ata’s table where a small crowd was gathering. Damien and Sari appeared at Rhys and Meera’s table only seconds later.

“Well,” Damien said with a grin. “You two certainly know how to end a mating celebration.”