Vasu showed up when Rhys was changing the diaper of his only son. Quick as a wink, a dagger escaped its sheath and flew through the room, lodging in a chink in the wall just as the angel darted away.

“I’m telling her you did that.”

“It makes the baby laugh,” Rhys said.

Bodhi Anil, tiny scribe of Udaipur, did laugh. He grabbed his chubby feet and rolled to the side, watching the angel who’d taken the form of a bird and hopped up and down on the window ledge in Bodhi’s room. The bird seemed completely content to play the clown for the little round baby whose belly shook at the bird’s antics.

And that, more than any strategic reasoning, was the reason Rhys put up with Vasu.

“Why are you here, Vasu?”

The bird transformed into a slim young man in his early teens. It was the most common disguise Vasu used in Udaipur. Rhys had been surprised to see the angel running among the gardens and walkways of the fortress with little to no notice from anyone other than Meera and himself.

“I just wanted to visit the baby,” he murmured, leaning over Bodhi’s crib. “His dreams are beautiful.”

The fear never left him. No matter how many times Vasu visited their household, Rhys felt the clutch of it in his throat. It was the instinct of a father, fierce in his love for his mate and his child. He knew Vasu was more powerful. No matter how many of the Fallen Rhys and Meera had slain, Vasu was more powerful than the others. And Vasu had aims none of them could predict. If he chose to harm Meera or Bodhi, it was out of Rhys’s control.

It was a hard and humbling reality.

And yet… Vasu didn’t. Instead, he’d appeared the night of the baby’s naming ceremony and stood over his cradle with the closest expression to tenderness Rhys had ever witnessed from the inhuman creature. There was something about the little boy that drew the angel, just like he was drawn to Matti and Geron in Istanbul.

Rhys picked up his son and bounced him on his hip. The boy was eight months old and the star of Udaipur. The light of his grandparents’ lives and the favorite of every scribe and singer in the fortress.

“He’s hungry,” Rhys said with an obligatory scowl. “I’m taking him to Meera. Come along if you want.”

“Fine.” The young man followed Rhys from the room.

All the way to Meera’s teaching quarters, Rhys did his best to avoid the curious scholars and warriors who populated the castle. Every single one of them would want to hold the baby. Everyone would offer to take him to Meera. If Rhys and Meera weren’t careful, their child would have been raised by everyone in the fortress except his parents.

“I think I’m beginning to like you,” Vasu said. “You’re the only being on the planet who dislikes people as much as I do.”

“I don’t dislike people.” He looked down at Bodhi. “I don’t dislike you, do I, little man? I like you and your mama the best.”

“Meera and Bodhi don’t count.”

Rhys glanced at Vasu. “I don’t dislike most people.”

“You just don’t have any patience with their foolishness.”

“If you’re referring to that emissary from Jerome’s staff, he had it coming. He interrupted her five times during an audience that he’d requested. If you’re not going to let the Sage of Udaipur speak, then why waste her time?”

“Do you want me to kill him?”

Rhys took a deep breath. And this is why my guard is never down. “No, Vasu, you cannot kill him. He had a political disagreement with Meera, he wasn’t threatening her.”

“But he was still annoying.”

“Yes. Annoying is not a threat.”

“It’s a threat to my sanity.”

Rhys wondered if it was a bad sign that he was beginning to agree with Vasu more than he disagreed. Bodhi reached for the angel, and Rhys reluctantly let him go.

Vasu brightened immediately. “Hello, little wisdom.”

The baby began babbling to the angel, who answered back with just as much sincerity as the child was exhibiting. Rhys was beginning to wonder if Vasu was playing along with Bodhi or honestly understood something his parents didn’t.

“I know.”

“Bah!”

“I’m saying I agree with you, child.”

“Guh ish pfffffft.”

“That’s not part of our agreement. You’ll have to speak to your parents about that.”

What agreement? Rhys shook his head. Having an infant had clearly been a strain on his sanity because he was starting to feel left out of a conversation between an angel and an eight-month-old. “I need more sleep,” he muttered.

But as he turned the corner, he was reminded why he didn’t waste time with sleeping.

His mate, the love and joy of his life, sat on a low chair under an arching fig tree with three young singers on mats before her. She was singing the weaving song Ata had taught her so many years before and instructing the young women in weaving while they discussed the instrumental magic being developed by kareshta in Southeast Asia.

Meera looked up when she heard Bodhi’s laugh, and the smile that lit her face nearly stopped Rhys’s heart in his chest.

Rhys took the baby from Vasu and walked to Meera’s side. “Sha ne’ev reshon.” He leaned over as if he were bussing her cheek, but instead he ducked down and pressed his mouth to her neck in a lingering kiss. “We missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Her pulse fluttered against his lips. “Sisters, would you excuse us?”

The young singers giggled and picked up their books, leaving Rhys and Meera alone with Bodhi.

And Vasu.

“Depart, heavenly creature.” Rhys pulled a large cushion to his wife’s feet and lounged against it with the baby in his lap. “I want privacy with my mate.”

“Fine, but I’m taking Bodhi with me.”

Meera’s eyes didn’t leave Rhys’s. “Unless you’re going to feed the ravenous little man, I wouldn’t suggest it.”

Vasu grumbled and disappeared.

“It’s like having an infant and a teenager at the same time,” he said.

“I talked to Ava today. I’m not looking forward to the teen years.”

“The twins are only nine.”

“They’re precocious.”

Rhys frowned and kissed the mop of sable hair that covered his son’s head. “Our child will never be as unruly as the twins.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Yes, because his father was such a mild-mannered and calm child.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. I was an angel.” And we all know how much trouble they can cause. As if Bodhi were reading his father’s thoughts, the little boy let loose a peal of laughter and reached for his mother’s breasts. “Yes, I suppose he does take after me a bit.”

“Give me my boy.” Meera reached for the baby, her face alight with joy. “Hello, my darling. Have you been a good baby today?”

She’d been an unsure mother at the beginning, reluctant to make any mistakes or missteps. She’d never been around children and didn’t know their quirks and moods. She wanted to do everything perfectly and was often very hard on herself.

Luckily, Rhys was as accomplished at soothing the mother as he was the child. Over the early months of Bodhi’s life, Meera’s insecurity in her new role faded away, and she became a delighted and easy parent. She brushed away the offer of nurses and nannies, insisting that she and Rhys were more than capable of caring for their son with a little help from Patiala and Maarut.

Like so many other things in Udaipur, it was a change and not always a welcome one.

But under Meera’s leadership, many of the more formal aspects of life in the fortress had been quietly retired. Though a deep vein of tradition still flowed through the fortress and the library, new ways of life were blooming.

The first kareshta came to train at Udaipur a year after Meera and Rhys returned. In fact, it was his own brother’s mate, Kyra, who became Udaipur’s first kareshta pupil. Meera reasoned that if the library in Udaipur exhibited a willingness to train the daughters of the Fallen, soon other houses would follow suit, for who would question the wisdom of Anamitra’s heir?

Meera opened her tunic and brought her son to her breast. The little boy gave a sigh of contentment and settled his chubby palm on Meera’s chest, blinking up at her with dark, adoring eyes as he began to nurse.

And Rhys said the prayer he’d repeated every day since Meera had chosen him.

Creator, how have I pleased you? Show me, that I may always be so blessed.

Their world was changing rapidly. And while evolution was necessary, the history and memory of the Irina had become an even more important anchor for their world. Dozens of emissaries arrived in Udaipur every week, and it was Rhys’s job to sort through those who truly needed council and those simply looking for the tacit approval of a respected authority.

Rhys of Glast had no problem being the arbiter. In fact, on most days he quite enjoyed it. Meera’s role in Udaipur was complicated enough. Rhys was more than happy to be the bad guy.

After all, if he was the bad guy it was only in service to the woman who was the center of his world. Other people had their own interests. Politics. War. Rivalries.

Rhys had Meera.

He would always guard her. Always be her most honest counselor, her truest lover, and her most loyal friend.

It was worth it. Every trial and tradition, every formality and constraint. He would give her anything—the blood from his body should she ask—because she was still the most perfect gift he hadn’t been capable of imagining.

And she gave him hope.