Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jophiel flinched, alarm flashing over his face.
Luce thought, for a moment, the young man might refuse.
His hand wavered over the hilt of his sword, fingers twitching slightly.
But then Jophiel closed his lips, pinching them tightly shut, and drew his weapon.
He turned to Uriel, expression carefully smoothed into a neutral mask, and Uriel sighed.
“One stroke, please, Joph.”
“Do you question my ability?” He stiffened, offended.
“No, my apologies.” Uriel looked at him for a long moment, searching that blank expression for.
.. something, and then finally turned his back on the blond.
Lucifer wanted to look away, but something kept him fixed on the scene.
His back itched in the exact spot where he bore his own ragged, silver scars.
Ezekiel averted his gaze, and Ithiel turned completely away, looking like he might be violently ill.
Poor kid, Luce thought, with just a smidge of pity. Never even seen combat before, I’d bet.
Jophiel, to his credit, took both wings in one fell swoop.
He made no spectacle of it, but neither did he offer any warning.
There was simply one moment where Uriel stood, stiff-backed and tense, waiting for the strike, and then in the next breath, two gorgeous russet wings lay severed on the grass.
Luce—and his Fallen, of course—knew what was yet to come. Michael had watched, stubbornly and perhaps with a touch of masochism, as the wings had been severed. He closed his eyes now, as Uriel dropped to his knees, a scream of agony ripping from his clenched lips.
Across the field, Remi flinched, coiling in on herself. Rag shuddered, and Balthazar dropped to a crouch, ducking his head into his knees. Luce felt the phantom pain slice through his own back and rolled his shoulders to assuage it. It was a specific agony that you never quite forgot.
Jehovah looked away, refusing to acknowledge his former soldier any further. “Ithiel,” he murmured. “Please help Mary Magdalene from the ground.”
The young angel scampered to do as he was bid, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to help Mags up. She accepted his hand hesitantly, and a bit awkwardly with her own still bound.
“Oh!” Ithiel pulled out a small dagger. “Allow me to remove this.”
“No.”
The angel froze, dark hair falling in his eyes as he hesitantly turned to look at Jehovah. “No, my King?”
“Did I stutter?” Jehovah spoke coldly, giving Ithiel a heavy glare beneath his arched brow. “I do not see the purpose of unbinding her before she is placed in her cell.”
Judas cursed. “You swore to Uriel that she would go free! Is your word so worthless now that you could dishonor his last request as your servant?”
“I swore that Ezekiel would not touch her again. Is that not being honored?”
Uriel groaned, shivering on the ground as he wrapped his arms tighter over his chest. Golden blood trailed slowly down his back, dripping onto the dirt. “You and…your damn loopholes…”
“Bastard!” Remi wailed, banging her fist on the barrier Luce still struggled to maintain. “You insufferable, awful bastard!”
“Rem, please!” Rag tugged at her shoulders, but she shook him off with an agitated snarl.
“Shut up!” She shoved at his chest, fury boiling over to its limit. “Where is the man I bound myself to? Where is the man who sliced off his own wings to throw them at Jehovah’s feet? Stop shushing and restraining me and dig your balls out of whatever hole you’ve buried them in!”
Rag reared back as if she had struck him. “Remi…”
“I told you she was a bitch.” Ezekiel frowned intensely. “I told you it was foolish to follow her into oblivion; that you would come to regret choosing her over everything Heaven could offer.”
“Heaven is fickle.” Bal spat on the ground, then placed his hands on the barrier, leaning as close to it as he could. “Says something that Jeho is content to let Uriel bleed out, while Luce is giving more than he even has to protect us. I would choose this side a thousand times over.”
“Then you would be a fool a thousand times,” Jophiel sneered, marching up to stand toe to toe at the barrier with Bal. “As opposed to just twice.”
“Twice?”
“To defect,” Joph said, ticking off the offenses on his fingers, “and then to run your mouth as if Lucifer’s protection doesn’t wane with each minute passing.”
“Your lack of comprehension is astounding,” Luce grunted. Slowly, achingly, he leveraged himself from his knees to his feet. He was utterly drained—between the barriers around the property and his Fallen, and healing Michael, he had nothing left to give.
But he did not waver. Carefully watching each step, Luce picked his way through the debris until he reached Uriel’s side.
“Hurts,” Uriel muttered, shivering against the pain that wracked his back; the searing heat of his wing stumps where the nerves were flayed and exposed.
“I know,” Luce said gently, and placed a hand on the other man’s arm. “But I have something for you.”
He snapped his fingers and a little bottle appeared in his palm. Uriel laughed when he saw the familiar liquid within.
“Drink up,” Luce poured the sedative into Uriel’s trembling mouth, and the other man sighed in relief.
“That is the good stuff,” Uriel murmured weakly, and Luce pressed a soft kiss to his sweating brow.
Then without warning, he sent a quick blast of healing energy into the throbbing flesh of Urie’s back, making him gasp and flinch. The stumps of his wings crumbled to ashes, the dark flesh knitting roughly together where they had been.
“Those might scar,” Luce said. “I can try to do more once my magic isn’t so depleted.”
“That’s… okay.” Uriel tried to smile, giving more of a bared teeth grimace. “Makes me look more badass.”
Lucifer gave him a gentle pat and smiled kindly, but it vanished as he turned back to face his brother. “Would it have killed you to heal him?”
“He is your responsibility now.” Jehovah lifted his nose haughtily. “He should see the extent of your ability.”
“This is not my limit,” Lucifer laughed. “Not truly.”
“Is it not? Go on then. Lick your wounds, put on a show.” Jehovah scoffed. “It changes nothing. I am leaving here with my prisoners.”
Luce stilled. “Prisoners... plural?”
“Oh yes,” it was Jehovah’s turn to smile, a smarmy, nasty thing. This was the time to play his final ace. “Surely you didn’t think I would allow Michael’s crimes to go unpunished?”
A chill rolled down Luce’s spine, and he shifted his stance. “And if he defects as well?”
“That is not an option. He flouted my laws, not to mention my direct orders, and he will be held accountable. Jophiel?”
“My King.”
“Seize the traitor, if you would.”
There was no hesitation this time. Jophiel marched to where Michael sprawled in the grass, halfway between where he had fallen during his fight and where Uriel hunched on the ground.
Even with his wounds lingering, with his damaged wing dragging awkwardly in the dirt, he had been trying to crawl to his best friend.
“Give up, Michael,” Jophiel crouched beside him, digging his fingers into Michael’s golden curls as if trying to soothe him, in a strange way. “Aren’t you tired of fighting? Broken, beaten… and for what? Let it be over.”
The angel was tempted. Luce could see it in the exhaustion that settled over Michael like a weighted blanket. Hell, he felt it himself. The angel’s shoulders slumped, his chest falling into the grass when his arms gave out from the weight. Jophiel gripped his shoulder and pulled him up.
“Sometimes you need to quit, Mikey. Rest.”
Michael tensed, pulling away from Jophiel slightly, and looked to Lucifer.
Luce weighed the situation. He looked at Uriel, still kneeling hunched over, but no longer shaking.
He looked at the Fallen and found Remi looking back at him with tangible intensity.
He looked at his brother, smug and cold, and he looked at Mags, small and shrinking in his shadow. Then he looked back at Michael.
The few days he had spent with Michael—had it really only been two days?—had gone a long way toward helping them feel at ease around each other. Where things had gone wrong, the root of their falling out… Luce could say he understood things much better now, but it didn’t completely erase the pain.
A wounded part of him wanted Jehovah to take Michael, to punish him so that he could feel how Luce had felt. The sensible part of him knew that was vengeful and misguided. Similar feelings warred behind Michael’s eyes.
His angel had always been prone to self-sacrifice, especially for what he considered the ‘greater good’. Michael had sacrificed love for honor. He had sacrificed his morals for loyalty. Lucifer could see it right there on his face: he would sacrifice his freedom for peace.
“You have to,” Luce murmured sadly. “I cannot protect you from this.”
Michael shook his head. “I don’t expect you to. I knew I would need to atone, and I made my own choices.”
“I wish we had more time.” Luce swallowed harshly. “For what it’s worth… and considering what we’ve learned… I think I can forgive what happened in our past.”
“You… have no idea how much that means to me. I’m not certain I can even say I deserve your forgiveness.”
“Well, you have it regardless.”
“Yes, this is very touching,” Jehovah said, clearly at the end of his patience. “Can we get on with things?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, do you have better things to do?” Luce snapped, whirling on his brother in cold fury. “You are taking two of the people I care for most, to do who knows what to them, with the possibility that I never see them again. Forgive me for not moving at a pace that suits you, brother.”
Jehovah arched a brow, unmoved. “Are you quite finished?”
“You are unbelievable.”
“I have been called worse.” Jehovah shrugged, then extended a hand to Jophiel. “Come, son. Michael knows better than to fight his punishment.”