10. Zariel
Chapter ten
Zariel
“ Y ou risked everything, and you may yet ruin it all,” the High Artist said to me from behind his black wooden desk. On either side of him were two Artists that I knew by reputation—these Artists didn’t deign to spend time with us mere archivists and scribes. The High Artist tapped his desk with his fingers. Hard. “The humans were looking for her already, even before the summit was over. Luckily, they assumed she had left on her own. And with even greater luck, no one from our world was there—I doubt your little trick would’ve worked on them for long.” He frowned and clenched his fists. “The humans will discover the truth soon enough, as dim-witted as they are. And then what are we going to do? Starve? Abandon the mountain? Why—tell me why you were so reckless.”
The High Artist was Cael’s father, my father’s close friend, and had known me from infancy. Without his recommendation and emphasis on how I proved myself in my studies, I wouldn’t have my position in the mountain—the mountain didn’t care about noble birth alone, as intellect did not care one bit whether one slept on rushes or a feather bed. But our history didn’t change how the High Artist—who was practically a king—was barely restraining his fury. He had been back in the mountain for less than half an hour before he demanded to see me. Alone.
“She is my mate,” was all I said in reply. I let them fill in the rest as I humbly hid my hands in my garment’s folds. Now I was wearing my daily archivist robes, flowing things of white and silver that had far too many draping layers, but blissfully resulted in less chafing than the tight clothes we wore for flying. I had left Cat in my rooms with instructions to open the door for no one other than me, not even Cael. I wasn’t worried that Cat wouldn’t listen or try to leave the room—my mate had sense. One reason I loved her. Liked her.
“Mate?” The High Artist sighed and rubbed his face while the others watched expressionlessly. “Yes, I know.” Of course, he did. A mate bond was something that some of us could “hear,” in a sense, and that sense tended to appear as angels aged. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you should’ve waited before pursuing her and addressed this matter through the proper authority. She was in no danger—her position among the humans seemed to be respected. She could’ve waited for you to court her properly, without putting the rest of us in danger.”
“By our laws, she was entitled to be by my side from the first instant I recognized the bond for what it is, if I have her consent,” I said. “And I do. I did not force or threaten her—I’m prepared for you to judge this for yourself. I never would’ve been expected to wait for any such approval at our home.”
“There is no need to bring her into this directly,” the High Artist said, resting his head on clasped hands, elbows propped on his desk. “I saw her leave with you. She went willingly. But your statement reveals a key difference—we are not home. We must be careful. And she isn’t one of us.”
The room fell silent, the awkward truth of that statement rippling through the air. The other angels crossed their arms. What were they thinking? If they thought anything at all, they kept their own counsel.
“… Do you know what caused this?” I dared to ask. “Our mate bond. Has this ever happened before?”
“No. I cannot claim to understand this unfortunate mystery.” At that, the other Artists regarded each other with looks I couldn’t decipher. “But neither can I change the fact that she is indeed your mate, and thus we must come to an understanding. We may not be home, but as High Artist I have an obligation to respect our laws. And”?he swallowed?“your rights. It is done—she has been taken, and there’s no point in violating our laws regarding your bond by sending her back now. The questions from the humans will be the same regardless.”
I stiffened, even as part of me exhaled with relief. I was disgraced since Aniela had committed her crime, but I caught the layers under the High Artist’s words—forcing an angel to send his mate back would cause a stir he couldn’t ignore. Not when he needed us united.
The High Artist paused, watching me from behind his desk. His words were kind enough, considering, but that was the thing about the High Artist—he was always kindest right before he struck, a predator who comforted before he killed. Truly, it was impossible to guess what he was thinking, what course of action he’d take. He was either going to let me leave this meeting with nothing more than a lecture, or he could just as easily be getting ready to throw me into the mountain’s prison with Aniela. Considering that she did try to murder him, it wouldn’t have surprised me if he wanted to get rid of the reminder I embodied. History and friendship with my family or not, my father wasn’t here to protect us, and her crime shadowed me from the moment she committed it. I wouldn’t be the first inconvenience the High Artist decided to remove rather than navigate, especially with the tension that came from guiding a community in exile.
“We’re preparing to go home,” the High Artist suddenly said.
I blinked hard. Why was he saying this to me? And why now? “We’ve been scouring the archives, High Artist,” I said. “ While some promising documents are indeed missing due to them being in the other library, and their records on the elves of the Darkening Woods in particular likely have—”
“No.” Slowly, the High Artist leaned back to study me, the Artists flanking him as impassive as ever. “We don’t need anything from those gruesome creatures. We have a way to return on our own. And it will only be around a month before we’re ready.”
“You do?” My heart leapt as the High Artist nodded. “How? Why hasn’t this been announced? Instead of the summit—”
The High Artist held up his hand, silencing me. The other Artists didn’t react to anything he had said. Obviously, they already knew. “We will announce our plan formally, soon, and more details will be revealed as the pertinent time becomes closer and such revelations are necessary. The stakes are too high to risk our pursuits being contaminated.”
Contaminated? By who? Who here would want to stop us?
“As for the summit,” the High Artist continued, “you of all people should understand that one needs contingency plans. If our plan—the ritual—fails, we need to ensure that we will have a place here, and that our needs will be met as we consider another path. We’re going to find a way home—no matter what it takes.”
“This is wonderful, High Artist,” I said, bowing my head. “I am thrilled.”
Thrilled was an understatement, and the reality of what he said took time to comprehend .
How was it to be done? What did the High Artist discover? The elves of the Darkening Woods had the most extensive knowledge of how magic bonded with the earth, since they had used such magic to extend their lives, as merely one example. If anyone knew the roots of the world, and detailed records of such things when it impacted their Woods, it was them. This was hardly a secret, and I wasn’t alone in mourning that out of the millions of texts we had brought with, we were still missing the few that could possibly help us. Unfortunately, it seemed the texts were in our sister library, the one we had left behind when the worlds split.
But what other options existed? What did the High Artist discover that could be done? I was dying of curiosity to know. Was it a matter of triggering the right conditions for the worlds to revert? Did it take some sort of magic? The High Artist’s use of “ritual” implied a form of magic. Maybe it was something simple, that the right amount of weight needed to be placed at the right spots at the right time, and we just had to hop to trigger a shift, like a puzzle pushed into place.
Oh, that was a foolish thought, but sometimes foolish ideas worked.
“I’m sure you are,” the High Artist said, never taking his eyes off me. “As are we all.” He took a deep breath and glanced at his acolytes before continuing. “Zariel, you may keep your human for now. Maybe she can help you with your work—she was one of those humans from the university, I believe?” When I agreed, he continued, “You are correct—forcing you to abandon her now would be against our laws, as bizarre as this situation is. But my other statements stand—her people may insist on her return.”
“You would make me give her back?” A primal growl stirred deep within me, and I had to take a deep breath and bite my tongue to restrain it. The ferocity shocked me, the sudden willingness to taste blood. To kill. I would’ve attacked the High Artist then and there, if he had ordered her to be sent back. I would’ve fought the entire mountain if it meant being kept from her.
And I would have lost.
Such wrath over someone I didn’t know.
Mate bonds truly were illogical things.
The High Artist smirked, as if he knew the torment swirling within me. Maybe he did—he was mated, too. The current Lady of the Ashen Mountain enjoyed her title from our capital without ever having set foot in the mountain itself, and she was left behind when the worlds twisted. Mate bonds tended to be more manageable over time, allowing partners to separate. “I will do what needs to be done,” he said. “For all of us. Surely, you understand.”
For all of us, because Cat being here would complicate things with the humans? Or was it just because he didn’t want a human in the mountain?
I nodded, pretending to agree. Of course, I didn’t understand what he wanted. What he wanted was to take her away from me, and I couldn’t comprehend why someone would want to do such a thing. I was already picturing my hand in his chest, ripping out his still-beating heart. Give up Cat? I’d destroy everything first. She was mine.
Mine .
I shuddered.
This wasn’t me. These feelings, this wrath enveloped in lust—wasn’t me. Yet I feared that now it was.
The conversation lapsed, and I knew the High Artist well enough to know that I had been dismissed. I bowed and turned to leave.
“Zariel?”
Slowly, I turned back to face the High Artist, doing my best to continue to ignore the others who scornfully watched.
“I say this as someone who has looked after you since you were a novitiate, and who was— is —your father’s friend. And you’ve been a true friend to my son. Be careful.” His eyes darkened. “I do not want to see you suffer certain fates.”