Chapter 39
Being a child among angels is a joy. Children are petted and generally spoiled.
—Raphael to Elena (Once, before a Hunter became a Consort)
Half the Legion would come to the Refuge with Elena.
To ensure their presence wouldn’t be taken as a declaration of war on Raphael’s part, Raphael called a meeting of the Cadre—with Elijah joining in from the Refuge, where he and Hannah had been for the past two weeks.
Close to the Medica and its healers as Hannah’s due date rapidly approached.
“They are a protective force,” he said to the others. “The Primary has confirmed to me that they will protect both Elena and Hannah, and the babes, with equal fervor.” He’d already spoken to Elijah about this, had the other man’s agreement to the arrangement.
“I have never felt such fear, Raphael,” Elijah had admitted, always the wiser “big brother” who’d gone first in such matters of trust. “To have your Legion watching over them? It is not something I will ever forget.”
“To have you on this journey with me,” Raphael had said in turn, “has made it easier. I, too, am afraid, Eli. In this, I cannot protect her.”
So it was that, once again, another thread of trust, of loyalty, wove its way into the bond between Raphael and the man who had once been Caliane’s most loyal general.
To Raphael’s utter shock, it was Aegaeon who spoke first in the Cadre meeting—saying, “Of course the Legion must go! To have two consorts with child at one point in time? It has never happened in all my years!”
“I have never heard of such, either,” Alexander agreed. “The only question is, do the Legion know where the Refuge is, or will we be exposing it by telling them?”
Raphael had the answer for the Archangel of Persia. “They were born in the Refuge. In Marduk’s forge—he told me once that they were but fragments of thought when he first created them, that they grew to become what they are in the ocean.
“When I asked the Legion about the Refuge, they pointed in the exact direction and said that they always know where it is”—he took a deep breath—“because that’s where the others Sleep.”
Deathly silence—followed by a chaos of questions.
Raphael rubbed his forehead. “I don’t have any idea and I say that on my honor,” he said when the Cadre finally quieted down—after Illium put two fingers to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle.
“I asked them, but those of you who have interacted with the Legion know that they do not think as we do. When I asked them which others, they simply said, ‘the ones who rest.’ ”
“Ancestors?” Suyin murmured. “It has always been legend that they Sleep below the Refuge.”
“More to the point,” Titus boomed, “are your Legion aware of any stirrings among whatever—or whoever—it is that Sleeps below the Refuge?”
Everyone went silent again, looking to Raphael. “No,” he said. “We knew previously that they rise for war and other such terrible events, but it turns out they can also rise for the purpose of protection.”
“Good.” Zanaya’s dress glittered a dark purple as sparks of light danced in the darkness of her eyes.
“I know none of us here would ever attack an angel who is with child, but a bloodlust-ridden vampire for one could be a threat. As well, the Legion may come in useful should a natural disaster strike.”
None of them had forgotten the quakes that had hit the Refuge in the last great upheaval.
Even Aegaeon nodded. “Yes, the mothers must be protected.” It sounded pompous, but that was probably just because Raphael didn’t like Aegaeon.
“So we are in agreement?” Elijah said, having quietly taken up Caliane’s mantle as the one who chaired the meetings.
Aegaeon had muttered something about Eli “acting the first general” at the time, but he hadn’t brought it up again.
There was no dissent, and the questions that came next were more curious, both about the Legion and the soon-to-be-born children. The general sense of goodwill was a stark difference to the tension that had simmered in every single Cadre meeting since Aegaeon began to stir on Illium’s border.
Michaela lingered after the others had signed out, her face and body as flawless of form as always as she stood in front of him dressed in a simple black bodysuit. And yet…there was an alteration.
“I congratulate you, Raphael,” she said.
“Thank you. I hear Gavriel is to spend more time in your territory.”
“I am grateful my son wishes to know me.” Her eyes turned stark, stripped bare in a way he’d only ever seen once before—when they’d found a very young Sameon broken and stuffed into a trunk in her Refuge stronghold.
Then she’d frozen in horror, her voice trembling as she asked if Sam was alive.
Today, she said, “I went into death trusting in the goodness of your consort to get him into Keir’s hands.”
Raphael didn’t interrupt, having the sense that Michaela needed to say this.
“Even when I had so often been nothing kind to her,” she said, “I knew she would keep her word to me—because she is a being of honor. I knew this even then, and when I am…more rooted in this time, I will say these words to her myself. But for now, I would ask that you tell her that I will never forget what she did for my son, and that none of you ever have to fear I will be as I once was.”
Raphael would’ve shrugged off that declaration at any other time—Michaela was a capricious creature. But…she’d never been this Michaela before. “You are changed.”
“I died.” Flat words. “Archangels aren’t supposed to die, not in such a way, but I died.” A wry smile. “Perhaps it has humbled me.”
Odd as it was, he would not see a humbled Michaela. That wasn’t who she was—but a wiser one? Yes, that would be welcome. “I wish you every happiness in your journey with Gavriel. He was a fine boy we loved fostering—and he’s grown into a man Illium is proud to have at his side.”
Michaela’s face glowed. “All I hear of him makes my mother’s heart beat with pride. I know I must earn that right, for I did not have the raising of him, but no one can begrudge what I feel.”
She smiled. “You will understand soon, when you hold your child. Even the merest movement of the babe’s finger or toe will make you the proudest being in all this universe.”
Raphael laughed, the two of them in harmony in a way he would’ve never predicted.
* * *
“I hope Michaela’s transformation lasts,” Elena said as they sat on their Tower balcony that night, the city glittering around them.
“At least we know Gavriel will be a good influence.” She put down her mug of a hot herbal tisane that Nisia had recommended for a restful night’s sleep now that her pregnancy was in the advanced stages.
“Any discussion of the border situation between Illium and the ass?”
“The babes have bought us a little time,” he said, one hand playing lazily with her braid. “No one wants to be the archangel who started a war on the eve of such a joyous double event.”
“Let’s hope the asshole gets caught up in baby fever and gives up on the whole idea of starting a war.”
Raphael didn’t think that would happen. “Hope is a good thing.”
Elena laughed. “Nice diplomatic way to tell the hormonal pregnant woman that she’s delusional.”
“Come on, hormonal pregnant consort of mine. I brought you a treat.” Tugging her back into their suite and through to the living area, he picked up the distinctive blue box on the coffee table.
“Eee!” Elena grabbed the bakery box from his hands.
“Angel-wing alfajores…special ordered with pickle juice in the dulce de leche mix.” Raphael shuddered.
He’d sent a junior from the Tower to place then pick up the order, well aware that he’d send the city into a furor should he turn up at the little bakery in Harlem.
Everyone would also then know that Elena was with child, a fact they’d managed to keep from the general populace thus far due to both Elena beginning to show so late, and her keeping to high elevations during the later stages.
Because per the junior—who’d been delighted to be assigned the covert task—the first thing the baker had done when he placed the order was raise an imperious eyebrow and say, “Hope it’s not your girl who’s pregnant. You’re too young.”
“This is so dewishous,” Elena said around a mouthful of the signature cookie—sans pickle juice—that had been part of New York since Illium’s time here.
The entire city knew not to mess with the little bakery. Once protected under wings of silver blue, it now bore the viper green symbol that was Venom’s. The times he was out of town, Dmitri stepped in.
No one would ever dare harm the little bakery that held a piece of Illium’s heart.
“I don’t think the herbal tisane will do for this—I’ll get you a glass of milk,” Raphael said with a grin as Elena sat down on the sofa with the open cookie box perched on top of her bump.
First, however, he nudged over an ottoman so she could put her feet up onto it. Then, awash in love, he bent to press a kiss to her hair.
She looked up, her eyes a luminous silver alive with wildfire as they became at times. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, you,” he murmured back before going into the kitchen.
He had staff aplenty. Any one of them would love to do all these tasks—but Raphael wanted to do them. He was going to hate being away from her for even the short periods they’d decided would be necessary in the aftermath of childbirth.
He simply couldn’t relocate to the Refuge for the full year they’d decided their infant would spend in the concealed angelic bastion, close to the Medica and all its specialist healers and equipment.
“I am going to miss you so, Elena,” he said as he sat down beside her after placing the glass of milk on the side table.
Her lips drooped. “Same.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “But it’s only going to be two-week stretches, give or take. I keep telling myself it’ll go by fast, especially with the obsitru room they’ve set up at the Refuge stronghold.” Her lower lip quivered. “Shit. Emotion.”
He held her as she sniffled, well aware that she’d be mortified should anyone else see her right now. His own chest tight, he said, “Yes, it won’t be for long periods.”
They’d decided that his visits to both New York and the Refuge would be erratic, just in case someone did have evil intent. They’d never be able to predict when he’d be in either place. Having the Legion would also make life infinitely easier.
No army wanted to go up against fighters who were near impossible to kill.
“We’ll get through this,” Raphael said, talking to himself as much as Elena.
She drank the milk, then put aside the box and just snuggled into him. “Oh, I forgot to tell you—Majda called me while you were in the Cadre meeting.”
“How is she?”
“Excited. She offered to be with us at the birthing if I wanted it. Do you mind?”
“Of course I don’t mind.” He knew she missed her mother desperately at this time, and Majda was her mother’s mother, with whom she’d formed a bond so deep it transcended Majda’s ageless appearance. “I can think of no one better to join us on this journey.”
“Me neither. I’ll tell her yes. Eve’s going to be at the Refuge, too, of course, but I’m not sure I want to traumatize her with the reality of birth.”
Her laughter had him grinning. “Still the big sister, hmm?”
“I think this time she’ll agree with me. She can help babysit when we’re sleep-deprived.” Settling deeper against him as the sound of a car horn somehow whispered up all the way from ground level, she said, “Have you thought about what we should name our little spark?”
“I thought about looking into the past,” Raphael murmured, “into the people we’ve loved…but…”
“…but I don’t want to put that weight on our child,” Elena said softly.
“Exactly so.” Dmitri had chosen to pass his son’s name to one of Naasir’s cubs, and Raphael knew he’d done so in joy both for the wild boy he’d helped raise, and the cherished son he’d lost, but Raphael hadn’t lost a child.
The names under consideration on his side were both adults who had done terrible things, his feelings for them complicated.
Nadiel, archangel gone mad.
Caliane, another insane archangel with a history of mass slaughter.
“I thought about Ari and Belle, Sara and Demarco, all of my family and friends,” Elena murmured. “But it just doesn’t feel right. I want to give our baby a name that’s new, all their own.”
“Agreed.” They sat in silence for a while before he said, “Perhaps while we are at the Refuge, we can borrow Jessamy’s name books and see if we can find one that speaks to us.”
“Yes. We can look at more modern sources, too.” A grin. “Our spark is, after all, going to be born of an archangel and a hunter. Kid’s going to have an edge to them.”
He chuckled. “Or perhaps you will birth us a scholar.”
“Then they’ll be one hell of a scholar—twin doses of determination and all.
” A long exhale, echoes of the terrible darkness that had ended her childhood in her voice as she added, “I just want them to grow up happy and healthy. They can become whatever and whoever they want to be—scholar or warrior, playful or serious. Whatever path they choose, they’ll be our heart. ”
“Yes. Forevermore, a piece of us that is external to us.”
“Terrifying.”
“Quite.”