Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Unsent correspondence, translated to English, and addressed only to My Truth:
I expanded the scope of my mission and became a sharper weapon. In the process, I warped myself until I no longer recognized my own reflection.
MALACH
Stomach churning, heart racing, I try not to let the tight space get to me. From my spot inside the hidden panel in the wall, I peer through the two small holes drilled in the plaster. This is it. My first opportunity to prove my usefulness to S’lach. And I’ll be hidden the entire time.
It’s smart on his part.
I’m known on sight by most of the angels in our echelon, a side effect of being part of the smallest celestial tier. It would bring up questions for S’lach if I were spotted on his estate. Especially given the magnitude of the speculation that followed Celine’s disappearance.
Doing this for him makes me nauseous, like I’m betraying my magic and Celine’s at the same time. But if it brings me one step closer to ending her father and his reign of terror, it will be worth it.
Keep telling yourself that. Eventually, you might believe it.
Sweat trickles down my cheek. I know it’s not hot in here, but the space is too tight. It reminds me of being locked up in S’lach’s dungeon. The pressure of the hollow wall against my back is impossible to ignore. There’s nowhere for me to go. My nose grazes the plaster, and I can’t get enough air.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
The urge to tear the wall down with my bare hands is hard to resist, but I know why I’m here. My truth. I won’t let her down.
“It’s about time.” S’lach’s oily voice is muffled but clear as he speaks to his guest in the traditional thatsha dialect.
His visitor scoffs, but there’s an undercurrent of nerves he can’t fully hide. Deep brown leather blocks my view as the angel steps in front of my hiding spot. His shirt is stitched together with golden thread, and the surge of claustrophobia from losing my view steals the air from my lungs.
Sweat drips off my palm, and I press it against the wall.
Ballind’s voice is familiar to me, although I haven’t seen him in years.
A greedy angel with a mean streak, somewhere between my age and S’lach’s.
He took his seat on the thatsha council after the sudden deaths of his parents.
I don’t typically lend credence to gossip, but I’m not the only one who wonders if their deaths were as accidental as he portrayed them to be.
Through shallow breaths, I activate my word.
My magic slithers inside him eagerly until I’m face-to-face with motivations that turn my stomach.
So many shades of green: greed with different roots.
Emerald ambition coats his insides, threaded with darker shades of avarice and excess.
Curled around the center, like a living bruise, is a thick layer of swirling purple deceit.
Beneath it, silver globs of fear tremble violently.
I search for even a trace of compassion or empathy and find nothing.
Only a hollow, cold gray abyss where most carry their softer emotions.
There’s a spike of orange anger when S’lach questions him about being late, but it’s quickly choked out and devoured by the voracious green.
Gods, he’s as despicable as I feared.
Salty sweat drips into my eyes, but I don’t dare try to wipe it away. Two things are clear to me: Ballind will never be satisfied, and I have no qualms about revealing his motivations.
He and S’lach have a lot in common, but I’m unsure how two angels who only care about themselves can ever trust each other. S’lach will kill Ballind once he outlives his usefulness, and part of the greedy thatsha already knows it.
Ballind leaves, but S’lach makes no move to release me from my cramped hiding place. It’s a punishment and a test. I can force myself to endure it quietly, but there’s nothing I can do about my body’s reaction.
By the time he gestures for Lyklan to slide the hatch open, I’ve sweated through my shirt, and the sickly sweet stench of my panic threatens to choke me.
S’lach takes great delight in my visible discomfort.
Standing before him in his study, I lock my knees, lock my jaw, and beg the lock on my emotions to hold, too.
“Tell me,” he says.
And I do. I explain the colors, the pops of fear and anger, dominated by the endless, voracious greed. “Ballind is loyal to Ballind alone,” I say.
S’lach steeples his fingers on the desk but otherwise shows no reaction. “That will do,” he murmurs. “I’ll call for you again when I need you.”
I stride from the study, shivering as cool air rushes against my drenched skin.
I can do this. I am doing this. It will work because it must.
I discover I’m a good liar. It comes as a surprise, and not necessarily a welcome one, because it’s not a skill I worked to develop. For most of my life, telling the truth has been the right thing to do.
Things are different now.
S’lach has me judge a different angel every day, and I’ve grown so used to the routine, I’m almost comfortable inside the wall compartment.
It’s a new reality for me, filled with all the worst colors and motivations.
One where I meet S’lach’s eyes, tell him only what I want, and enjoy every second of it.
“Let’s talk about Elodius,” he says. “What does he think of me?”
I cock my head. “I can’t read his mind.”
S’lach waves his hand. “Yes, yes, I know that, but what did you get from him?”
He loathes you. When he sees you, his aura oozes malevolence. If every malady imaginable befell you, it still wouldn’t be enough for Elodius.
I say none of that and shrug. “He’s in alignment with your plans for the lower echelons.”
“So he says.” S’lach frowns. “But I’ve always suspected he disliked me. I know his type. Angels like him never have the stomach to do what needs to be done.”
He’s right. And I need to be careful.
Every day is a pulsing koil’nashra, primed to go off in my face.
Elodius is the tenth angel I’ve judged for S’lach, and the first one who is actively trying to oppose him. I need to be on guard. S’lach might know of Elodius’ plans and be using him to test my loyalty. Lying to him is a risk, but if I tell the truth, Elodius will be dead by morning.
And it will be my fault.
Without Lyklan’s intel, I’d already be in trouble. He’s kept track of the power struggles and politics, listening carefully for the whispers that cross echelons. From what Lyklan’s heard, S’lach—while suspicious of Elodius—has no reason to suspect he might be working against him.
“He’s aspiring,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “There’s greed within him that’s overpowered by his desire to remain in favor. Getting his hands dirty would be undesirable, but he has no problem allowing you to weather the backlash.”
S’lach strokes his beard. “I always knew he was a coward. But as long as he doesn’t intend to oppose me . . .” He’s talking to himself now, his eyes unfocused as he plots.
My desecrated rune taunts me from the wall behind him. I ignore it. If I embrace my fury, he’ll know. Predators always smell blood before it hits the ground. Like the cramped hole in the wall, I’ve gotten used to seeing his trophy.
“That will be all.” S’lach calls for Lyklan. The door opens, and my adrenaline spikes for successfully misdirecting him. I’m almost out the door when he raps on his desk. “What do you think she would think of this?”
My stomach rolls. I know exactly who he means, but I refuse to admit it.
“Who?” I need to buy myself time. If he says anything hateful about Celine, I might forget everything I’m working toward and try to snap his neck.
“Don’t be stupid, boy,” he booms. “You and I both know your obsession with my daughter has no limits.”
He sounds bitter. I wonder if there’s any part of him that misses having visitors who want to be there.
It’s been a long time since anyone came to this estate without being coerced, but there was a time when Valenara’s parties were the talk of the tier.
Her wit and charm were legend. It took S’lach time to dull her charisma.
“Celine won’t think of me,” I say, forcing my voice to remain flat. “She has others to occupy her thoughts and time. Soon, I’ll be nothing but a memory.”
“Bleak,” he scoffs. “I’ll call for you again when I need you.”
I leave without another word.
Lyklan knows to stay silent, and I chew on the inside of my cheek to give myself an outlet.
This is S’lach’s domain. I can’t let my guard down, not even for one second.
I’m in too deep. His continued obsession with Celine is a problem, though.
Bile coats my mouth, and the cold sweat I thought I’d mastered returns with a vengeance.
I can’t keep up this act if I’m worried she’ll return and fall into one of her father’s traps.
I need a guarantee.
“Lock her out,” I whisper.
“What?” Lyklan’s voice is barely audible.
I grip his arm and meet his eyes. “Lock. Her. Out.” I hold his stare ruthlessly. “If Celine returns to the celestial realm, I’ll never forgive you.”
“It will take time,” he hisses. “Each gateway will have to be reprogrammed, and I’ll have to be covert about it.”
“As a top-tier guardian, you have the security clearance.” I sneer. “So do it.”
Lyklan shakes my hand off and slams the door in my face.
I sink down on the small cot and put my head between my knees.
I saw him scowl. But I also saw him nod.
We can do this. We just need time.