Chapter 49
FORTY-NINE
Traditional nish thatsha betrothal vow:
As each nish builds on top of the others, so too shall I support you.
MALACH
“I should have packed a sniper rifle.” Celine rips into a slice of toast with bared teeth while stroking the pistol with her non-dominant hand. She glances at Ciprian. “What do you think the range is on this thing?”
He shrugs, eyes gleaming malevolently as he looks out at the gate. “No clue, but I swiped it from Quaid. Knowing him, it’s top-of-the-line.”
S’lach is camped outside the estate, and he’s not alone.
Assembled in a loose, uneasy clump are an assortment of pop-up shelters—designed by the orik and assembled by the eluun.
The technology is fascinating. Starting the size of a suitcase before expanding to house multiple angels. I’ve never seen this many in action.
The message is clear: S’lach is forcing his allies to heel.
Celine drops her toast, lifts the pistol, and flicks the safety off. “Let’s do an experiment.”
My eyes widen. “I’m not sure that’s a good—” She pulls the trigger, cutting off my objection. I sigh. “Idea.”
Someone screams, and movement at the makeshift camp escalates. Grinning, Celine blows over the barrel. “I expected more smoke. In the movies, there’s smoke.”
“Okay, Annie Oakley, calm down, put the safety back on, and eat your toast.” Ciprian massages his temples. “My ears are ringing now.”
Celine crosses her arms and glances over the balcony railing with narrowed eyes. “They’re violating thatsha law and about fifty different customs by camping out there. Ignoring that would make me look weak.”
“S’lach publicly disavows the old ways,” I say. “Most find his plans reprehensible, but there are others . . .”
Celine growls. “Losers searching for boots to lick so they can feel important.”
“The bullet passed through the shield.” Riven drums his fingers against the table. “The estate’s magic is discerning.”
“It’s connected to those who came before me.” Celine’s eyes take on a faraway gleam. “No one takes their magic with them when they go. It goes into the family stores, protecting the estate and powering any descendants.”
“He’s trying to rattle your confidence,” I tell her.
She scoffs. “He’s failing. After the monster realm, I’m not sure I can be rattled, and he only has himself to blame for that.”
“He’ll use us to distract you.” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “He’ll make digs about my betrayal and Riven’s face—he’ll want to humiliate you, Celine.”
She puts the gun down and covers my hand with hers. “Let’s get a few things straight: you never betrayed me, Malach. You did a selfless, stupid thing. His silence brand, the control—those things weren’t your fault, they were his.”
I flip my hand and pull her knuckles to my lips. Tomorrow, they’ll be bruised and bloody, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Ignoring his goading is good, but he won’t play by the rules either,” Riven adds. “The attacks on the gates show his desperation. He may face you tomorrow at dawn, but he’ll have safeguards in place, and none of them will be honorable.”
Celine surveys the estate grounds and sighs. “I’m not honorable, either. Not anymore.”
My back throbs, phantom aches where my wings used to be.
Celine thinks she lacks honor, but she’s wrong.
Though no longer a monolith, her moral code is set in stone.
Celestial heritage, life in the Fringes, and surviving the monster realm—she’s a product of everything she’s been through, and there’s nothing dishonorable about that.
I would trust her moral compass over anyone else’s, including my own.
“I’m going to address the staff,” Celine says. “Everyone needs to be focused tomorrow.”
She pushes back from the table and disappears through the balcony door. When Alistair moves to follow her, I shake my head and hold up my hand. He settles back in his chair.
“What’s up?” Luca asks. Without caffeine, he’s quiet in the mornings, but he’s awake enough to be visibly worried.
“This is Celine’s fight.” I flex my hands on top of the table.
“We know that.” Ciprian cocks his head. “What are you getting at, Malach?”
I glance out at the makeshift campground and crack my knuckles. “The fight belongs to Celine, but so do we.”
Riven sits back in his chair, assessing me coolly. “You don’t want to wait for S’lach to reveal his deception.”
I shake my head. “We should have a deception of our own in place. Precautions, contingencies . . .” I swallow before meeting their eyes one at a time.
“I lost her once, and I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone.
I won’t lose her again.” Celine doesn’t think twice before throwing herself into the path of danger for us. It’s time we returned the favor.
Alistair nods, and Luca pulls his lip ring into his mouth. “I don’t like going behind her back. Why not talk it through together?”
“Dueling customs.” I wince. “Before the fight, they will make vows on their radiant words. If she knows in advance, Celine’s truth will give us away. It must stay between us.”
Ciprian pats Luca on the back. “As long as we aren’t lying to her for no reason, she’ll understand.”
Luca nods, and the furrow in his brow smooths out.
Alistair leans forward, planting his elbows on the table. “We’ll need an intricate plan with backups in place. There’s no room for mistakes.”
A band of Riven’s real face rolls over the amber. “Let’s get to work.”
The day of the duel dawns the same as all the others, idyllic, temperate, and controlled by forces unseen.
I haven’t slept a wink. Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined S’lach outsmarting us. Ciprian stayed awake all night with me, his glittering black eyes focused on the door. If my fear kept him from sleeping, he was kind enough not to tell me.
My fingers clench around the hilt of my sword as I scan the courtyard.
The staff prepared the space well. Neatly placed stone benches labeled with silence or truth runes to indicate spectator allegiance line the edge of a fifty-foot square.
The boundaries are marked with hand-painted runes, each stroke interlocked with its neighbors to form an unbroken border.
I walk the perimeter, counting each pace as I go. There’s plenty of space for a duel, but I have no reason to believe S’lach will stick to it.
At least the spikes are sturdy. I knock my boot against the one on the northeast corner, but it doesn’t budge.
Bigger around than my wrist, the four spikes exist for one reason only: to hold up the speakers and create a conduction plane to broadcast the dueling vows.
Shaped like two bowls stacked bottom to bottom, the speakers are designed to keep dueling angels honest. Too bad S’lach has never been honest a day in his life.
If he thinks he’s losing, he’ll find a way to cheat.
The spectators must be watched, too.
Bringing supporters to a duel is a time-honored thatsha tradition.
It’s also the perfect opportunity for S’lach to sneak in henchmen or assassins.
Celine’s side may remain empty . . . except—gods, the staff are gathering, sitting in huddled groups on her benches.
They’re whispering nervously among themselves, but they’re here, and it means everything.
A chill runs down my spine, and I let my eyes flutter closed. They’re brave. This small show of defiance is proof that angels, no matter which tier they were born into or how long they’ve been pushed down, will always rise up.
The front door opens and closes and Celine joins me. Her gaze flits over the dueling ground briefly before landing on me. “I love you, Malach. I always have, and I always will.”
My heart shudders. She sounds like she’s saying goodbye. The urge to take her anywhere but here steals the air from my lungs.
“I love you, too.” The words come out rougher than I want them to, but Celine doesn’t mind. She squeezes my hand, the buttery leather of her fingerless glove grazing my calloused palm.
I swallow hard. This isn’t the end. It’s the beginning. And we’re already winning.
S’lach taught Celine that her wings were something to be hidden. That expressing emotion was shameful. By refusing to accept that, she’s reclaiming herself as much as she’s reclaiming me.
“I’d better go let him in,” she mutters. “He’ll want time to examine the dueling ground.”
I bite back my fury and nod. Part of me longs to find Ciprian and get him to make me invisible so I can sneak up on S’lach and shoot him in the head.
But the fallout would be too severe. A duel to the death is the only lawful way to permanently remove him without being banned from our homeland forever. I know that, but I don’t like it.
I trudge after Celine, the missing weight of my wings more noticeable with each step.
S’lach stands behind the gate, wearing a grim expression. Unlike the last time they spoke, he’s not alone. “It’s not too late to back out, Celine. I don’t want to hurt you. You’re my daughter, and I love you.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. He’s laying it on thick for his peons. The duel may not have started yet, but the mind games are well underway.
Celine’s wings twitch, but other than that one sign of discomfort, she doesn’t react to his obvious lie. “This is my ancestral home,” she says calmly. “I will do what’s necessary to reclaim it.”
A few of the angels behind S’lach mutter under their breath.
He silences them with a snap of his fingers. “Think of what your mother would have wanted.” He smirks for a split-second before flattening his expression into one of paternal disappointment.
Celine bares her teeth like a beast catching the scent of fresh blood. There’s nothing but menace in her smile. S’lach frowns, his composure slipping. She’s taken him off guard.
“In that we can agree,” Celine says. “I’m here to give Mom exactly what she always wanted.” She glances deliberately at the angels gathered behind S’lach and activates her runes so there’s no doubt who’s telling the truth.
Her insinuation is clear: Valenara wanted S’lach dead and gone, and from the knowing glances being exchanged behind S’lach’s back, no one is particularly surprised.
Unless he silences everyone here, this gossip will spread.
And if he does silence them, he confirms his own guilt.
They’ll know the truth, even if they can’t tell anyone else.
S’lach’s face twists. He got outplayed by the daughter he despises, and he knows it.
“Dawn nears,” he spits the words through clenched teeth.
Celine dips her chin and unlocks the gate. The membrane of golden magic quivers before dissipating beneath her touch. “Come on in.”
She turns her back on S’lach and the others and strides toward the dueling ground. It communicates confidence, but I refuse to leave her unguarded. What her father lacks in honor, he makes up for with depravity. No one will slip a knife in her back while I’m around.
The walk to the courtyard is short and strained.
Once there, S’lach makes a show of squatting to examine the course, running the flat of his hand over the ground.
In his youth, he was renowned for his dueling abilities.
It helped distinguish him as a thatsha from a lesser-known family.
He never would have been permitted to marry Valenara without it.
My stomach twists. Celine is better. Celine is stronger. I lean into the reminder, making it my mantra and refusing to let my fear paralyze me.
“Who will serve as your second?” Celine asks.
S’lach smiles, and the hair on my arms stands on end. He’s the one scenting blood on the wind now, gearing up to make a preemptive strike.
I finger the hilt of my sword. He waves his hand. The small crowd parts, and everything in me grows cold as I take in my father’s familiar shape. Why is he here? How?
My stomach churns with nausea and bitterness I can’t show.
He’s aged since I last saw him, and the grim expression on his face is as unfamiliar as the silver in his hair. This is wrong. He’s meant for jokes and pranks—not S’lach’s calculated machinations. I never wanted him involved.
“Gavin will serve as my second.” S’lach looks at me with fake sympathy. “In circumstances like these, old friends are the only ones you can trust.”
Bullshit. They despise each other. Dad always warned me against getting involved with Celine because of his distrust for her father—a product of their youthful rivalry.
My feet move without instruction, and I grip Dad’s arm, speaking in our family tongue to maintain some semblance of privacy.
“Are you safe?” I demand. “What does he have on you?” I’m tempted to lift his shirt to see if he wears the same brand of silence that S’lach forced on me, but there are too many eyes on us.
He claps his hand against my arm, and the warning in his eyes is clear as he responds to me in the traditional thatsha dialect.
“Son, I understand your loyalty to Celine, and I applaud it. You grew up together, but I simply can’t stand aside while a thatsha who squandered her home returns to claim it. ”
The urge to drive my fist into his face takes me off guard. The heat, the pressure in my roaring ears . . . I can’t let this stand, even if it is part of S’lach’s scheme to tear us down.
“Thrak vel’kar ven. Yet thren vas kor. Vareth thal?” I hear myself shouting. Demanding he prove where his loyalty lies. Using our family language to tell him how S’lach cut the wings from my back.
I had hoped to tell my family about my severed wings in private, but there’s no hiding it now. My father needs to know. He can accuse me of childish fancy all he wants. I stand with Celine, not only because I love her, but because it’s the right thing to do.
“Ni vartel . . .” He swallows heavily, his gaze cutting to where S’lach watches us with sick delight. “Kor’ven na varyk thren.”
I suck in air and replay his words. My son. I cannot let him take you. He used the permanent word for take. He means death.
Sweat trickles down my back, running over the scars where my wings used to be. Angels will die today; and everyone knows it. Dad may think whatever deal he made with S’lach will keep me safe, but he’s wrong. Now we’re both standing in the line of fire.
Gods alive and dead, not my father. Haven’t I lost enough?
“A touching reunion.” There’s an edge to S’lach’s voice that’s impossible to miss.
Dad drops his hand from my arm and moves to S’lach’s side.
“Dawn blooms,” S’lach says. “Shall we begin, Daughter?”
Celine tosses me a worried look, then nods at him.
I swallow a mouthful of sour bile. S’lach with my dad as his second, and Celine with me as hers. The story of this duel will be told in every corner of every tier—shouted across eluun fields and whispered in the sickrooms of the salum.
It’s time to find out how it ends.