Chapter 20
The invitation appears on my pillow three days after Croesus walks away from me.
Black parchment. Gold ink. His handwriting is elegant as usual and reveals nothing.
You are required to attend the Convocation of Houses tonight at sunset. Formal attire will be provided. Do not be late.
No signature. No explanation. Just orders.
I find Nat in the library. He takes one look at the invitation and winces.
"Convocation?" I ask. "What's that?"
"Political theater." He closes his book. "The Seven Houses gather every few years to discuss territories, disputes, treaties. It's mostly posturing and power plays. Very formal. Very dangerous if you say the wrong thing to the wrong angel."
"Great. And I'm required to attend because...?"
"Because you're Croesus's sin eater. His...asset." Nat's expression is sympathetic. "He'll be showing you off. Proving he has something the others don't. Expect the other angels to test you. To see if you're worth the trouble Croesus went through to steal from Seraph."
My stomach drops. "All seven of them will be there?"
"All seven." He stands. "Be careful tonight, Raven. These aren't like Croesus. Some of them are crueler. Some are kinder. But all of them are dangerous. And all of them will want to know what makes you special enough for the lord of greed to break centuries of protocol."
The dress arrives around six when I return from the dining hall after dinner.
Not delivered by servants, it simply appears on my bed, like the house itself conjured it.
Gold silk shimmering like liquid metal, cut in a style that's both ancient and modern.
The neckline is high, almost modest, but the back is completely open, plunging to just above my tailbone.
Sleeveless, leaving my arms bare and every tattoo visible.
A skirt that flows like water when I move.
It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And yet another way of marking me as his possession, his acquisition, his thing to display at a gathering of immortal beings who will look at me like I'm prey.
But I put it on anyway. Because refusing would be worse. And some traitorous part of me wants him to see me in this thing and still look at me with those cold, gold eyes.
The silk feels cool against my skin, almost alive.
It clings in some places, flows in others, and when I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself.
The woman staring back looks like she belongs in this world of gold and angels and impossible beauty.
Like she was made for this. Just because I find a pretty pair of strappy heels, slick my hair back from my face, and apply a little make up. I look like I could be dangerous.
There's jewelry on the dresser. Gold, of course. Delicate chains for my throat and wrists. Cuffs that wrap around my upper arms, emphasizing the tattoos rather than hiding them. I put them on with shaking hands.
When I'm finished, I look like a treasure. Like something that belongs in Croesus’ collection. The thought makes me want to tear it all off.
A knock. I open the door to find Croesus standing there, and the sight of him steals my breath.
He's dressed formally, all black and gold. His hair is pulled up in that top knot, revealing the sharp lines of his face. Gold rings on his fingers. Gold cufflinks. Gold threading through the black fabric of his jacket. He looks like a king, a god.
Like something I should run from.
His gold eyes sweep over me, but I remember what he told me.
He's blind. Can't see color, can't appreciate visual beauty the way humans do.
He's looking at my shape, the way the dress fits, the positioning of my body in space.
But the shimmering gold silk, the way it catches the light, the visual splendor of what he's put me in, he can't see any of it.
Something flashes in his expression anyway, heat, possession, maybe pride in knowing how I must look even if he can't fully perceive it.
"You'll do." he says, voice carefully neutral.
"That's it? I'll do?" I gesture to the dress, the jewelry, the effort I've put into becoming whatever he wants me to be tonight. "You dress me up like a doll, and all you can say is, ‘I'll do?’"
"I could say you look beautiful. Exquisite.
Like you were made to wear gold." He steps closer, and I get a whiff of smoky incense.
"But you'd hate me for it. And I can't even see the gold properly, just shadows and shapes and the way the fabric moves against you.
So instead, I'll say you'll do. And we'll both know I'm lying. "
He offers his arm. "Shall we?"
I take it because I have no choice. His arm is solid under my hand, warm through the expensive fabric. We walk through shifting corridors in silence, and I'm hyperaware of everything, the slide of silk against my skin, the weight of gold at my throat and wrists, the heat of him beside me.
"Rules," he says as we wander through the halls until we approach a set of massive doors carved with images of all seven sins. "Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't make deals with any of them. Don't let them touch you. And stay close to me."
"Possessive much?"
"Practical." He stops, turns to face me. "They are not like me, Raven. I'm greedy, but at least my sin is straightforward. Some of them are twisted. All of them will see you as either a threat or an opportunity. Don't give them reason to think you're the latter."
"And if they ask me questions?"
"Answer honestly. They'll know if you lie. But be careful what truths you reveal." His hand comes up, adjusts one of the gold chains at my throat. The touch is impersonal, but I feel it like a brand. "You're mine tonight. Let them see that."
Before I can respond, the doors open.
The room beyond is vast and overwhelming.
Not a room, a cathedral. Soaring ceilings that disappear into darkness.
Seven massive thrones arranged in a circle, each one carved from different materials: gold, white marble, mirrors, black obsidian, deep red velvet, polished wood, and something that looks like solidified smoke.
Between them, smaller chairs and tables where other supernatural beings gather, demons, fae, spirits I can't identify. Dang. I blink and try to make sure my mouth isn’t hanging open.
I’ve never actually seen a fae. Heard of them, of course, but always thought they had died out or were simply myth.
I guess the same could be said about my kind too.
The air thrums with power. So much power that my skin prickles with it, my angel blood recognizing the presence of beings that could unmake me with a thought.
And on five of the seven thrones sit the angels.
I see Croesus' throne, solid gold, empty and waiting. He guides me toward it, and I feel every eye in the room track our movement.
"Croesus." A voice rings out, cultured and cold. "How good of you to finally arrive."
I look up and see Seraph on his white marble throne.
He's exactly as I remember, platinum hair, silver-mirror eyes, six white-gold wings spread behind him like a declaration.
He's wearing white and silver, every line of him perfect, and when his eyes land on me, I feel assessed and found wanting in the space of a heartbeat.
"Seraph." Croesus's voice is cordial but cool. "I trust I haven't kept you waiting long."
"Only an eternity." Seraph's smile is sharp. "And you brought your little sin eater. How... cute."
Other voices join in, and I force myself to look at the other thrones, to see the angels I'll eventually serve.
On the throne of mirrors sits a figure that's beautiful in a way that makes my eyes hurt, sharp cheekbones, perfect features, with hair that shifts color in the light like oil on water.
Idris. The Angel of Envy. Their lips move as if speaking, but no sound comes out.
Instead, a voice slides directly into my mind, smooth and androgynous.
Welcome, little sin eater. I've been so curious about you.
The mental touch feels like silk against my thoughts, invasive and intimate.
The black obsidian throne holds a figure that radiates heat I can feel from here.
Tall, heavily muscled, with dark red hair and ember-bright eyes.
Scars cover his visible skin, arms, neck, even his face bears burn marks.
Kael. The Angel of Wrath. He doesn't acknowledge us, just watches with the stillness of a predator, and I swear the air around him shimmers with heat.
On the red velvet throne lounges an angel who makes my breath catch.
Dark hair with red undertones, purple eyes half-lidded, full lips curved in a knowing smile.
He's wearing flowing clothes that look like he just rolled out of bed, and everything about him screams sensuality.
Lysander. The Angel of Lust. He winks at me, and even from this distance, I feel the pull of him, magnetic, nearly irresistible.
The wooden throne holds someone softer, golden-brown hair, warm brown eyes, a kind face.
He's wearing comfortable clothes, holding what looks like a wine glass, and he smiles at me with genuine warmth.
But there's something sad in his expression, something hollow.
Dorian. The Angel of Gluttony. He raises his glass in greeting, but the gesture feels empty somehow.
And on the throne that looks like solidified smoke... nothing. No one. Just emptiness and the sense of something watching from a void.
"Caspian never attends these gatherings," Croesus murmurs, following my gaze. "The Angel of Sloth. He hasn't left his house in decades."
So that's five of the other six. Five of the angels I'll serve. Five curses I'll have to navigate.
Six more opportunities to break or be broken.
I only know them from interacting with their sins. Now, I can feel them in the way I feel the chains with each soul I save. It’s disconcerting...like knowing someone you met on the internet well, then finally meeting them in person.