Chapter Twenty-Five
“Maribelle!”
I didn’t even have time to identify the source of the voice. I was crushed in a hug that snatched me from Fauna and swept me off my feet. I felt like a startled kitten cuddled by an over-excited toddler. I lost my equilibrium as the unidentified speaker twirled me in a tight circle before setting me back down on my feet. The man held me at arm’s length to drink me in, but I’m sure all he saw was a mouth opened in shock.
I struggled to understand whose presence I was in.
While other demons had opted for horns or a tail, the person before me had enormous, feathered wings. Their wings were so black that they refracted the rainbow iridescence of an oil slick. I almost missed the thin, silver ringlet of his crown contrasting against his golden-brown skin. Had it not been for the crown, I wouldn’t have realized that I was staring into the pale, sapphire-blue eyes of the King. They sparkled at me with true joy as he gave in to the urge to squeeze me once more, crushing me against himself with more intensity than I could possibly understand. This impossibly beautiful, ageless man with wings larger than life was the first person I’d met who looked the part of a true fallen angel.
When he finally released me, the smile didn’t leave his face.
“And you must be Fauna,” he said, catching her hand and clasping it in both of his in a warm, friendly shake.
My brain tipped and whirled as I tried to make sense of events.
The man was too happy. The gigantic, modern-Gothic room with silver filigree on the ceiling and dangling chandeliers was too beautiful. His sleek, black suit was too perfect, its chain, his watch, his crown too chic. His irises were too blue, particularly starkly contrasted against his features. His youthful skin was too golden. His smile was too white, too even, too kind. Even his eyes crinkled with too much gentleness and joy.
As I looked at him, I was thirteen years old and in my kitchen all over again. My mother’s question rang through me, chilling me as I regarded the King.
Did you know that Lucifer was the most beautiful angel?
Was this him?
“I’m sorry, I…” I hedged in honest confusion. I shook my head, not in rejection but in utter lack of comprehension. I’d expected a throne. I’d been ready to fumble through a botched curtsy while I trembled in terror. I’d expected a swimming pool of blood and a harem of Soul Eaters.
“Of course,” he said, leading me away from Fauna as he pressed a hand to my lower back. He gestured to include her as he led us to a collection of tufted couches, ushering me to my seat before settling into the chair beside me. “We did meet once, nearly two thousand years ago. I don’t suppose you remember, but of course, why would you? Most of those caught in the mortal loop don’t. You weren’t ready to join us at the time, and my son is not one to rush perfection. He’s my better in many ways. But, by the powers, you’re as splendid now as you were then.”
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever had a glass of water in my life. My tongue was made of paper and sand. I blinked at him without a drop of comprehension and tried to remember what my therapist had taught me about grounding myself when the world spun out of control.
I was supposed to name the five senses.
What could I see? I saw the loveliest man with the loveliest wings and the loveliest…office? What was this? A desk, couches, a chandelier—no, three chandeliers—pillars, floor-to-ceiling windows…yes, this had to be an office.
What did I smell? Well, there was Fauna’s scent of winter and sea. There was the lingering smell of Chanel No. 5. There was something sweet, like pomegranate maybe, or dates…
I heard laughter. I felt soft, comfortable fabric. I tasted sticky dehydration as I attempted and failed to swallow.
My therapist had been wrong. The spin hadn’t ended. I was not grounded. I would be requesting a refund for her services.
“Sorry,” the King amended. “I apologize, Maribelle, truly. I can imagine how overwhelming this is for you. I know some experiences are more enlightened than others. I can’t tell you how hopeful I was when I learned you had fae lineage in this incarnation. To not just be able to see him when he reveals himself but even of your own accord… It was the bridge we’ve needed for millennia.”
I looked to Fauna, but she only offered an unhelpful shrug.
“Of all the names you’ve given my son,” said the man, “Caliban is one of my favorites. I’ll add it to my repertoire! He liked Kit, Vulpes, and Nyx the best. Oh, and the cycle where you named him Fluffy! I’m almost certain it was before your people at the time crossed the Bering Strait, though I get the dates mixed up. Of course, the Qawiaraq word for ‘fluffy’ you used was…what was it? No bother. Was that the one where he remained a beast and never took one human form? Oh! Do you remember when you were in Haiti—no, of course you don’t.” He shook his head in jubilation, tilting it back as he let another long, happy laugh escape his belly. “Maribelle, sweet Maribelle, the joy of our kingdom, please, tell me you’ve come to join us at long last.”
I had no idea what to say. The ringing in my ears was almost too loud for me to hear the King. To both my surprise and my relief, Fauna spoke on my behalf.
“If you’ll forgive my intrusion, Your Highness,” she began.
Her politeness and formality were enough to wake me from my stupor. I blinked the shock from my eyes as I trained my eyes on their exchange.
The reluctance at shifting his attention away from me was unmistakable, but the King was a gentleman. He turned to her cordially.
“Unfortunately,” she said, “her fae lineage in this cycle has led to a few complications. I’m not sure what you know of Maribelle, but with a clairsentient mother who has strong feelings for the opposing side of your war, Your Grace, Maribelle has gained an angelic tracker. It’s part of why I’ve been unable to leave her alone for more than a minute. She’s at risk.”
The joy smoked out. A chill settled over us. At first I thought it was my imagination, until I saw the goose bumps on not only my arms but on Fauna’s. Even the arched, picture windows that belonged in a sanctuary showed the bright, blue day as clouds crept in to cover the sunlight. Gray light filtered into the room.
Gravity weighted his question as he repeated, “An angel is tracking her, and my son is not here with her?”
Fauna emphasized her seriousness by remaining reverently still.
I could nearly see the puff of her breath when she spoke through the chill. “Yes, Your Majesty. I can’t speak to her former lives, but I don’t expect her other forms have been at risk of bonding with an angel. You know as well as I what this would mean for her cycle. If the angel succeeds…”
“Which angel?” he asked, voice low as an oath.
“He’s going by Silas. You may have known him as—”
He held up a silencing finger as he looked from her to me.
Despite the grandeur of the room, everything felt too small, then too large. At first it pressed in on me, making it difficult to get the air or space I needed. In the next breath, everyone was too far away. I was so alone, so distant from Fauna. If I fell through the couch and tumbled into the awaiting galaxy, I wouldn’t be able to grab anyone for help. I chafed my arms for warmth, hugging myself for comfort in more ways than one, wishing Fauna were beside me. I longed to have her arm around me while I tumbled into the impossible, unable to connect with reality.
He exhaled slowly as he said, “I’d always expected that when you were ready to leave your mortal cycle, you’d join us here. Now you’re here with a Norde and, if she’s to be believed, which”—he patted her comfortingly on the hand—“I do entirely…” He frowned. “This could be your last cycle, Maribelle. And not for the better.”
The spinning intensified.
Against my will, a hand went to my chest, as if to feel for the thread of yarn that my mother had always been able to pull, unraveling me into my childhood. I’d grown up hearing the petition, the dream, the plea that our souls would only continue amid the heavenly hosts after we passed. Now at twenty-six, I was hearing that such a life-long prayer might be answered, but as a punishment.
Fauna had said it before, but hearing it from the King took the air from my lungs. I’d fallen in love over and over again with the same soul—connected to him through time, through body, through country, through language, since the sands of time had flipped from BCE to AD. I wasn’t sure if I was honored or horrified. The room swam, filigree bleeding into the black around it, furniture wiggling, floor rising up to meet me as if it were little more than the celestial whirlpool in the lobbies. I grappled within myself for stability. Nothing about it made sense. Nothing about it—
“Oh.” Fauna leapt to her feet in the same moment the King grabbed a vase that had to be worth more than Azrames’s Bugatti and shoved it in front of me just as I emptied the coffee, bile, and crumbles of cookie into the beautiful piece of priceless art. It took a second attempt for her to catch the rest of my hair, removing what still dangled near my face as I retched a second time. “Mortals,” she said apologetically to the King as she patted me on the back.
“I’ll take responsibility for that one,” he replied. “I should know better by now. It’s just not every day I get to see…” He stopped himself from reigniting the same fire that had set my belly to curdling. I apologized weakly through humiliation and twisted guts before my third and final emission, relinquishing whatever tiny bits of liquid remained in my stomach. The muscles in my neck, back, and abs all strained against the effort as my body lost the battle against the supernatural. “And with the Prince absent…”
I wiped my mouth with the back of my head, burning with humiliation. The King had already snapped his fingers and the sullied vase vanished. He procured a handkerchief and glass of water, both of which I was almost certain hadn’t existed a moment before. I made the snap decision to do what I’d spent twenty-six years doing and ignore literally every piece of information that had been offered to me so that I could plow forward as a functioning human. Unable to engage with a single topic the man had spoken, I straightened my back, rallied my courage, and did what I’d done best for years as a sex worker: I acted.
“So,” I said, feigning as though I hadn’t just vomited in front of them both, “you’re Caliban’s father?”
His expression softened. “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay with this. We value sincerity.”
Well, there went my plan.
I scrunched my face, closing my eyes. Sensing my struggle for normalcy, the King did me a favor.
“Yes, yes. I’m the king of the freedom fighters. My son—your Caliban—is their prince. As I’ve said, I am surprised to see you here at long last without him. He’s been in the mortal realm for some time now… Time”—he stopped, waving a hand to indicate his aside—“moves a little differently here than it does there. That said, he generally checks in when he isn’t with you. Princely duties and what have you.”
“Maribelle,” Fauna said carefully, “I think it would be wise for you to share what you said to Caliban with the King.”
I shook my head slowly before I even realized what I was doing. No? Was I saying no, I was refusing information to a monarch? To Caliban’s father? In direct disregard of Fauna’s request, when she’d never led me astray?
They both frowned at me before it struck me.
Shame dropped my words to a barely audible register as I said, “I’m embarrassed about what I said.”
Fauna blew out a breath and interpreted. “Maribelle here wasn’t quite familiar with how literal promises are to citizens of the nonmortal realms.”
The King shared a sad sigh. “That’s the blessing and curse of mortality, isn’t it. Your life is short, so you’re allowed to live it with little rhyme or reason. You can pay penance in your next life, or the one after that. When you live forever…” He looked out the window, gaze unfocusing as he regarded the blacks and grays, stone and steel, glass and iron of his city. Clouds continued to roll until they’d become bottom-heavy thunderheads. “You can’t say things you don’t mean. Words have consequences.”
“Tell him,” Fauna prompted once more.
I closed my eyes as if it would make the memory any less painful. I returned to the last night I’d seen him, to the smell of the forest, the cool rush of his skin, the chill of his kiss as he brushed his lips against my neck. I felt him hold me in those final moments as my shock melted into anger. My refusal to understand our earlier agreement—one wherein he’d bound himself to my verbal consent before any action in my life—had tied his hands from intervening.
“It was three-fold,” I said, eyes still closed. “I’d spent my life convinced he wasn’t real. I needed to believe I was crazy. I didn’t want to see him anymore, and so I didn’t. He continued to visit for years, but he was no longer visible.”
The king chuckled quietly at the loophole, but the laughter was not unkind.
“Then we made a deal that he couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t intervene, he couldn’t so much as lift a finger without my expressed permission. To be fair, it was his counteroffer. I’d told him I couldn’t do any of it anymore, and rather than lose us altogether, he’d allowed me to sequester him into a permitted box. And then, someone tried to murder me.”
Neither of them so much as breathed as they listened to my story.
“An angel—Silas—showed up at the last second and killed the human. I barely made it. He’d…been unable to intervene. He couldn’t help me beyond marking the would-be murderer. I don’t fully understand those implications, but when I’d learned he was there, that he saw everything, that he stood right there and didn’t help…”
The king patted me on the leg until I opened my eyes.
“He loves you deeply, Maribelle. To put out the sort of mark that even an angel could take is a harbinger of urgency and desperation that no one could pass up. The risk he put himself in…” He removed his hand, looking into the middle distance. “You haven’t seen him since then? Since he put out the mark?”
I frowned. “What does it mean? The mark, that is?”
Fauna twisted her mouth, but at the King’s forlorn look, she seemed to decide she would spare him the pain of speaking. “You know Azrames’s work? How it isn’t for money, the way mortals work?”
I nodded slowly.
“Marks are for favors. Azrames had answered a mark for Ianna, which is why she had to help us when he called in the favor. And if an angel responded immediately, I assume he’d valued the favor really, really highly.”
I swallowed, meeting the worry in her eyes. “If he owes the angels a huge favor, why would Silas still want to bond with me?”
After a long silence, the King said, “The war, Maribelle. Because you may be the pawn they’ve needed to turn the tide.”