Chapter 52
I thought you’d wish to see your Bluebell before we leave.
—Raphael to Elena (Once, at the Enclave)
Three weeks out from the birth, and Elena was sitting in a swinging rattan chair lined with plush cushions on one of the stronghold’s balconies, Phoenix in her arms and the area heated by the clay pots, when she glimpsed wings of distinctive blue against a cloud-gray sky.
She was certain she was hallucinating—because surely, with border tensions continuing to simmer, Illium would stay close to his territory.
The blue came more and more into focus.
Until there was no denying it. “Raphael! Illium is here!”
Her archangel, who’d been working inside the study just behind her, stepped out onto the balcony. “Of course he is,” he said in a wry tone.
Illium landed on the balcony with all the dazzling lightness of which he was capable.
A small blue feather floated up into the air, a dancer as light as their Bluebell.
“Would you believe I was in the neighborhood?” he said, his hair wild and his breath uneven—which indicated exactly how fast and hard he’d flown.
Archangels didn’t easily lose their breath.
Wanting only to hug him, she said, “You’re a lunatic.”
He grinned, unabashed, as he greeted Raphael the way the two always did when alone—with the forearm clasp of warriors that ended in a back-slapping hug. “Hello, fellow archangel who is not my sire,” Illium said, as cheeky as always. “I’ve come to visit my nephew.”
“Nephew?” Raphael raised an eyebrow, “How do you figure that?”
“Well, I am definitely going to be Uncle Illium, so he must be my nephew.” He was by Elena’s chair now, his eyes on a wide-awake Phoenix, who she’d wrapped in a soft yellow blanket gifted by Honor and Dmitri.
Smiling so hard that her face might crack, Elena lifted the baby toward Illium, knowing that Raphael—hyper-protective mode or not—would never worry while their Nix was with their Bluebell. “Here,” she said, “you can hold him.”
But Illium first looked to Raphael, who gave a small nod.
“Wait.” Illium stripped off his leather jerkin to expose a sleeveless undershirt of soft, well-worn cotton.
Then, taking Nix in careful hands, he cradled him to his chest as baby and Bluebell stared into each other’s eyes.
Elena’s heart swelled.
“Can you say ‘Uncle Illium’?” A deep murmur. “I’ll even accept ‘Uncle Blue.’ ‘Illium’ is a bit of a mouthful.”
“How did you get away?” Raphael put one hand on top of the swing chair. “Is Aodhan holding the territory?”
Illium made a funny face at the baby. “I flew out under cover of darkness using glamour. The dickhead doesn’t sit at the border, just has his troops there, and he’s the only one who would’ve been able to see through that, so my territory’s safe against a surprise attack.
I’ll be back before he even knows I’m gone.
” He nuzzled Nix. “Uncle Blue, Nixie,” he whispered.
Elena looked up at Raphael. Trust Bluebell to call him Nixie. It had thus far been her and Raphael’s private pet name for their son, but it seemed right that Illium should instinctively use it. He’s never going to change.
He did threaten just that when he first became Cadre. Raphael had worried for the man he’d watched grow from the time he was a tiny blue-winged boy, boisterous and loving; he hadn’t known how Illium would survive the lethal politics of the Cadre, not when his heart was so wide-open.
But Illium had been a first general. He knew how to lead—and how to deal with predators. It just so happened that he also led with humor and such good nature that his people adored him.
As did Raphael’s Elena.
He’d worried that he’d feel as dangerous toward Illium as he did even toward Elijah right now, but that had turned out to be a needless fear.
Because the primal core of him remembered that he’d once held a blue-winged boy’s hand, that he’d cradled a crying toddler against his chest, that he’d put a wooden practice sword in the hand of the child who would grow up into this archangel.
Then later, when it was time, he’d given the same child his first true sword.
Theirs was a relationship unlike that of any others’ in the Cadre, until when they were alone, and Illium still deferred to him.
As Raphael did to Lady Sharine, even though she was no archangel.
Certain things were beyond angelic law or tradition.
“I’ll get some food up here.” He was conscious that Illium had to have burned an incredible amount of energy with the intense speed of his flight. “When do you have to leave?”
“Within the hour. Can’t risk anything more with the dickhead massing his troops.”
Much as Raphael wanted to ask him about that situation, he decided to leave it for a later call. Today, this visit, it was about joy—and about their child meeting his Uncle Illium for the first time.
That uncle held Nix for the entirety of his visit, with their child quite content in his strong arms. “I’m going to give you your first practice sword,” Illium declared, then shared a glance with Raphael, his wide-open heart right there for all the world to see. “If your papa will allow it.”
Had anyone asked Raphael yesterday, he’d have said that of course he would be the one to give his son his first practice sword, but today, his chest expanded with the knowledge that this was right, was how it should be. “Yes,” he said, his voice rough. “It is tradition now, I think.”
Eyes shining, Illium looked down at Phoenix. “Your uncle Aodhan is already fighting with your honorary extra grandmother about which one of them will do your childhood portraits.”
His grin creased his cheeks. “I think they have come to a détente—to take it in turns.” Lowering his voice to a whisper, he added, “I don’t trust either of them, Nixie. Mark my words, they’ll be sneaking sketches whenever you’re around.”
I helped raise this man, Elena, Raphael said into his consort’s mind, his hand clenching atop her chair as his eyes burned. And he is extraordinary.
Elena lifted her head. Yes you did, and yes he is. Her smile filled his world. You’ll be an amazing father to Nixie, Raphael. The proof is sitting right in front of you.
Raphael took a jagged breath of the cold, clean air.