Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
Make your own rules.
CELINE
Tires whir against the pavement, and I drum my fingers against the steering wheel. Mentally, I’m back in the arena, putting my life on the line to save theirs.
The mood in the car is bad, but I can’t worry about that.
This is about Malach—my Malach. He’s hurting on my behalf, attempting something I’ve never had the strength to do. He deserves my focus.
“I’m recognizable in my echelon. There won’t be much stealth involved,” I say.
I wait for Riven to respond, but all I get is silence.
The leather of the steering wheel groans in my grip. Awkwardness, I can handle, but tension could get us killed. “You’re mad at me,” I acknowledge. “Will it get in the way of us working together?”
“It will not.” His voice is colder than the ice pellets in the monster realm. It scrapes against my skin and makes my hair stand on end. Focus, Celine, focus.
“With any luck, my father won’t be home,” I say. “The estate is magically constructed around my thatsha bloodline. He can’t lock me out because everything there is connected to my radiant heritage.”
“He’s manipulated the magic before, no?”
I swallow my annoyance and remind myself that he’s not questioning me to pick a fight. He’s not from the celestial realm. This is information he needs to know.
“The realm runs on a combination of magic and technology,” I explain.
“The tier of engineers, nish orik, are incredibly skilled. They merge machinery with magic to create tools—gateways, for example. Theoretically, anything built can be broken or altered, but there are other forms of celestial magic that are less malleable, like radiant words or power derived from a family line. An ancestral home built around bloodline magic can’t be messed with; at least I’ve never heard of it happening. ”
Riven glances at me. “But if it’s your blood that unlocks the gateways and the estate, why wouldn’t your father be able to manipulate both?”
I frown. Why couldn’t he have taken my word for it? I’m positive I’ll be able to enter the estate, but I’d rather not explain why. The silence between us grows until I can’t stand it any longer. Malach. This is for Malach.
“The estate is from my mother’s line,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Father only has access because of their marriage. He holds the key to a door that will never be his.”
The vault in my head rattles—the veins pulsing, red and angry, as the door threatens to burst open and spill all my memories.
Riven doesn’t respond. His silence is the final straw.
“You think she was weak, don’t you?” I snap, unable to help myself. “Because she married him and let him take everything from her, you think she was weak. Her health. Her power. Her independence. Even her voice.”
Especially her voice. I swallow and tell myself to shut up, but now that I’ve started, I can’t make myself stop.
“By the end, she’d stopped fighting him at all, Riven.
And it happened in her own home while her kid watched.
Day in, day out, do you get that? She could have left or kicked him out at any time, but she didn’t. You think she was weak.”
This time, Riven looks at me, the faint glow from the dashboard turning the angles of his face a deeper shade of amber than usual. “It doesn’t matter what I think,” he says softly. “The only opinion about your mother that matters is yours.”
His words cut me deep enough to scar, and the veins of my memory vault thrum angrily.
I open my mouth to tell him nothing about my mother was weak, and he’s crazy for insinuating I’m the one who thinks that.
But my heart is pounding, my back is itching, and I’m nauseous.
If I tell him he’s wrong, will it be a lie?
I can’t risk finding out. I’m in too deep already; if I wade in further, I might go under.
We do the rest of the drive in silence.
The coordinates lead us to an abandoned construction site. It’s not far from the main road, but not close enough to draw unwanted attention either. Dark, with uneven, jagged rocks and big clods of dirt, it’s creepy to say the least.
I park the SUV and get out, grabbing my stuff as my heart thumps unsteadily. With a bag on my back and a gun tucked into the holster beneath my shirt, the collection of straps is the only thing holding me together.
Riven gets out, glances around, and shifts. Pale white wings erupt from his back. They’re smaller than mine, the feathers thinner. He isn’t mimicking a thatsha, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Members of the other six nish often commute to the upper tier if they have clearance.
“I might have to treat you like a servant,” I say with a wince. “I won’t mean it.”
He nods, but no expression crosses the unfamiliar face he’s wearing.
My stomach flips. Breathing through my nose, I bend to touch the rune etched into a stone and activate the gateway.
It flickers to life; a graceful arch made of glittering golden magic. Lead. Plan. Inspire. Protect. Heal. Build. Sustain—there’s a rune for each nish. They’re meant to emphasize a shared sense of purpose, but it’s been a long time since it was that simple.
On the bottom, hovering above the ground and stacked two runes high, are the words chosen to represent the gateways when they were invented millennia ago.
Explore and connect on the left, and journey and home on the right.
The first time I saw a gateway, those words made my heart swell.
I was awed by the magic, and the possibilities felt endless.
Now, all they bring me is dread. It’s laced with determination, but there’s no joy anymore. No desire to walk where my ancestors did. My memories of the celestial realm are tainted by my father, I’m not sure how to sever the two.
“Are you ready?” I ask Riven.
He nods, and I link our fingers. His grip is limp. My stomach churns. Leave it, Celine.
Together, we step into the gateway. The shine gets brighter, burning my eyes until I’m forced to cover them with my free hand. My skin tingles as the magic reads me. Then we’re shooting into the light, rocketing away from this realm in a movement too fast to describe.
Gravity loses its grip on me. I focus on the straps wrapped around me and the press of Riven’s fingers. He’s clinging to my hand now, or maybe I’m clinging to his. My bones ache from the pressure.
The soles of my shoes land on solid ground as gravity slams back into us.
The urge to keep my eyes closed is hard to resist, but I’m tougher than that. Peeling them open, my shoulders droop when I recognize the clean lines and shiny metallic accents of my home realm.
The golden pathways buzz with energy, but something is off—almost stale. I remember them sounding healthier. The edges are chipped, flakes of paint worn away, leaving a scuffed, tarnished look.
“Welcome to the varek echelon.” Lyklan startles me, speaking in heavily accented English.
I whirl to face him. “Where is he?” I demand.
“S’lach’s estate.” I look around, bracing for an attack, but Lyklan is alone.
I nod. It’s odd to speak English here, but if someone’s listening in, they’ll be far less likely to understand us. And beyond a few words here and there, I can’t understand or speak the guardian dialect. “You betrayed him,” I snarl. “How can I trust you?”
A muscle in Lyklan’s cheek flexes. I’ve struck a nerve. “Test me,” he says through clenched teeth.
I activate my runes immediately. Riven’s chest grazes my back as he spreads his wings to hide my glowing skin from anyone who might wander down the nearby pathway.
“Lie to me, and you won’t like the consequences,” I warn.
Lyklan tilts his head and scoffs. “Threats? Like father, like daughter, it seems.”
I see red. His words are disrespectful and overtly incendiary—some thatsha would even consider them treasonous. My father would strike him down. I’m not my fucking father.
I smother my anger by pure force of will.
Lyklan is free to dislike me. I’m not blind to the flaws of my echelon.
And I have no patience for the backward traditions that put some angels on top and leave others scrambling for space on a ladder that wasn’t built for them.
If living in the Fringes has taught me anything, it’s that you only get one life, and no one should be able to tell you how to live it.
“Tell me what happened,” I say, pleased when my voice comes out calm. “Leave nothing out.”
Lyklan raises his eyebrows. I’ve surprised him.
Maybe I’m not the only one administering a test.
He clears his throat, nods, then tells me a horror story I’ll never forget.
Torture, Malach’s desperate plan to bring my father down from the inside, and the botched vote that got him caught.
Lyklan doesn’t spare my feelings. His voice is impassive as he explains his decision to go against Malach’s wishes and contact me.
It was that or let him die. From his trembling fingers, Lyklan is almost as horrified by that as I am.
Every word rings true, and my eyes fill with tears. This was never Malach’s burden to bear, and he’s carrying it all alone. I’ve got to fix it.
“I believe you,” I cut him off. “We need to go now. Every moment we wait, Malach endures more pain.”
Lyklan frowns. “Your father is still at the estate.”
“I don’t give a fuck!” I drop my magic and take a step toward him. “I’ll rip out his spine and hang him from the roof with it.” Lyklan rolls his eyes, and I narrow my own. “This isn’t a joke. I can’t leave him alone any longer.”
“I’m not suggesting a lengthy delay.” Lyklan glances around and lowers his voice as he says, “Your father returns to the thatsha summit tomorrow, Celine. We’ll be able to get in and out while he’s away.”
“What about guards?” Riven’s question surprises us both.
Lyklan tilts his head. “Nothing you can’t handle.”
I glance behind Malach’s guardian at the simple white house. It’s moderately sized with sharp angles and raised geometric designs scattered along the outer walls. “Is this your home?”
Lyklan hesitates before dipping his chin.
“And you set up a gateway in your front yard?” I hiss. “He’ll kill you if he finds out.”
“You think I’m a fool?” Lyklan spits. “I already got my family out. If I thought I could get Malach to safety on my own, I would, but we both know I cannot.” He glances back at the house, his eyes swimming with regret.
“I know the cost of doing what’s right, and I’m prepared to pay it.
Tomorrow, I’ll leave here for the final time. ”
My wings dip, and the tips graze the pathway. “Maybe you won’t have to.”
“I told you the truth,” he grunts. “The least you could do is extend me the same courtesy.”
I nod, accepting the implied criticism. Lyklan wants to help Malach, and I know he hates my father, but beyond that, I suspect he does whatever’s in his best interests.
It’s a popular mentality in the Fringes, and I don’t fault him for it.
Only here in the celestial realm will he find censure for putting himself first.
Maybe we’ll even learn to be friends.
Lyklan clears his throat. “Malach’s been gone a few weeks, yes? And you’ve already replaced him in your bed.” He narrows his eyes at Riven. “You work fast, thatsha.”
Never-fucking-mind on the friend part.
I grab him by the collar, and my wings burst into flames. “Thrak’nol sith.” There’s no direct English translation for the common tongue idiom, but it’s a cross between ‘none of your damn business’ and ‘go fuck yourself.’ There’s no way he misses my meaning.
Lyklan glances at my flaming wings, and a wry smile curls across his lips. One side is higher than the other, giving his grin a crooked look I’m sure he thinks is charming.
“Grath’nak, veyk thatsha.” He dips his head.
He’s full of shit, calling me a classy thatsha lady, even in a mocking tone. I roll my eyes. If I want to curse like someone from a lower echelon, I will, and I won’t be judged for it by a two-faced meathead guardian.
“English,” I insist, cutting my eyes to Riven.
Lyklan shoots him a surprised, suspicious look, finally figuring out that the average-looking guardian angel behind me is anything but, then leads us into his plain, white home.
My eyebrows shoot up. The inside couldn’t be less like the outside if it tried.
Vibrant colors cover every surface, creating a chaotic sort of cohesion that’s not easy to pull off.
The yellow walls have brighter spots every few feet—pictures recently removed?
—and the furniture is lived-in, as if someone loved it well and left it behind in a hurry.
“We’ll go first thing tomorrow,” Lyklan says stiffly. “My apologies about the accommodations. My mother gave the beds away.”
I shrug, sitting on the couch and placing my backpack between my feet. “It’s not a problem; I won’t be sleeping.” I don’t mention the gun strapped to my shoulder. Lyklan keeps plenty of secrets, and I can, too.
Riven joins me on the couch, sitting too far away to be accidental.
I keep my thoughts to myself. There’s no time for distractions.
I’m coming, Malach. I promise.