Lucille #2
He inclined his head, giving me a meaningful look. “Same.”
After my split second of reprieve, the somber weight of tonight fell over me like a mourning shroud. Alexei, with his arm securely fastened around my waist to prevent another almost face-plant, led me out of my rooms, out of the castle, and into his sleigh.
His spotted Hellcats, Rosie, Jaz, and Scarlet, blinked us from the frigid castle grounds to the warm Eternal Forest.
The behemoths surrounding us stretched far into the night sky, shining with their signature blue glow.
Blood-banded and angelic souls soared around the large trunks.
Their dark navy attire faded into the darkness, leaving only their illuminated embroidery to stand out.
Much like the trees around us. They were like ethereal fairies descending from the heavens.
But I knew the truth. Beneath their beautiful attire were warriors and sinners, either sent to Hell or bound by a deal that cost them their freedom.
They drifted down near the line of sleighs and Hellcats, then followed the sea of bodies toward a gathering in the distance.
Had my mother known this many angels? Had they been part of her other life? The one that contained secrets, battles, and lies.
“Ready, beautiful?” Alexei asked from the ground, holding out his hand.
Rune stood beside him, her eyes lit with the golden glow of Ronen’s eavesdropping. I supposed I only told her to keep him out in my rooms.
“No.” I stood and took Alexei’s hand. He wrapped his other around me, practically lifting me out of the sleigh.
“Good answer.”
We walked with the crowd. Hints of lavender and something sweeter—vanilla—sifted into my nose the farther we traveled. It grew stronger with every step, as did my heartache.
Once we arrived at a large clearing, my pace slowed.
The trees were brighter here, more white than blue, and the ground hummed and shuddered with the same light.
Alexei grabbed my hand, tugging me along, while Rune led us through the crowd toward the middle of the clearing.
I knew who would be there. And I knew the moment I saw her, I’d never get the image out of my head.
So when Rune parted the rest of the bodies, I raised my gaze to the sky.
Snow fell softly, but only at the very center, as if someone had ripped a hole in the magical barrier that kept this forest warm.
The flakes sparkled in the surrounding light like falling stardust. A scene as beautiful as our illuminated embroidery reflecting off the delicate glass on our clothing, making us twinkle as if we’d stolen the missing stars from Hell and placed them in our suits and dresses.
We were one—the forest and its angels, honoring the angelic graveyard—or, more likely, honoring the souls that powered it.
Why did everything have to be so beautiful and lovely while I felt horrible and lifeless? It didn’t make sense.
None of it made sense.
Ronen’s shadows brushed my face, stealing my trailing tears and leaving damp tracks.
Why couldn’t he just leave me alone?
“Beautiful?” Alexei whispered, squeezing my hand. I had forgotten he was still holding it.
“I’m scared,” I replied just as softly, keeping my gaze on the snow and trying to sink into happier memories.
Memories of making snow angels with my mom, drinking hot chocolate, pulling each other in our sled.
Well, she pulled me, and I shoved her off every time she tried to ride. It wasn’t like I could pull her anyway.
Those were the memories I wanted cemented into my mind. Not her still face, pale skin, and sunken eyes.
“You don’t have to look, Hellion. But you might regret it.”
Alexei dropped my hand. I lowered my gaze only for it to land on the golden eyes of my so-called soulmate.
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” I said.
Ronen held me with his unwavering, gentle stare. An expression I would’ve melted for days ago, and now it only made me sad.
“I’m not a masochist. If I can ease our pain, I’ll try.”
Ease our pain. Right. Because he could feel all my emotions.
“You can’t do that from somewhere else?” I hissed, low and cruel.
His expression didn’t change. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he turned toward the center of the clearing and stood resolutely by my side. My eyes stung, and I clenched my fists, hating that for some reason those simple actions both moved me and made me feel worse.
“Honorem, sacrificium, et redemptio.” Lucifer’s voice rang out through the wide-open space, and so did every other voice except mine.
Lucifer stood at the head of the funerary dais, wearing a suit of glowing thread and sparkling beads like the rest of us. Only the crown of ice upon his head set him apart.
And his face.
I had imagined it would mirror mine—purple shadows under his eyes, red veining through his glassy whites, pain evident in every line. I imagined him devastated. Destroyed. Like me.
Instead, he appeared composed, the only fracture in his control the vicious glare he leveled at me.
“Tonight, we honor a warrior, known for her demon kills, her powers in empathy, and her esteemed work with the Council of Righteousness,” Lucifer announced, gesturing to the light at his waist. “Archangel Saraqael.”
That was it? That was all he was going to say about her?
I understood he couldn’t share that she had been a mother, a flawed but amazing one.
Or explain how she had been a survivor with unimaginable strength for what Michael put her through.
But to not even share that he had loved her?
To refrain from giving us an ounce of his affection for her?
To completely forgo honoring what she had meant to him, to me?
My mother had been more than her credentials with the damned council. She deserved a speech about how she loved, laughed, or, Heavenly Hell, her love for damned chickens and antiques!
“My general found her in The Divide, attending to a problem, and unfortunately”—Lucifer brought his glare back to me—“that problem killed her.”