Sire.
Sliding out without disturbing his hunter, he pulled on a pair of black pants before walking out onto the balcony off the bedroom. His spymaster whispered out of the shadows, midnight wings folded tight to his back.
“I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.” He slid the mirrored door quietly shut behind him to block the cold from getting in, Elena’s body yet sensitive to the bitter temperatures.
“I find I am eager to return home.”
“Mahiya is now at the Tower.” Part of Raphael’s power came from his Seven, and Charisemnon was underhanded enough to attack that which each male held most dear in order to break them down. In Jason’s case, that position was occupied by the princess he’d brought home from Neha’s land. “I did it for her protection, but it’ll be more dangerous here very soon,” he pointed out. “I give you leave should you wish to move her to a safer location.”
“Our place is here,” Jason said without hesitation. “My Mahiya wouldn’t wish to be stowed out of harm’s way while her friends and family fought.”
Elena, Raphael remembered, had said exactly the same about Jason’s princess, his consort and the other woman having formed a budding friendship. “What news do you bring?” he asked, accepting his spymaster’s decision without question, for his Seven knew their own minds—and he was dead sure Jason spoke Mahiya’s true opinion. His spymaster and the princess had quickly become an impregnable unit.
“While Lijuan has always been treated as a demigoddess by her people,” Jason said, the swirls and curves of his facial tattoo barely visible in the dim light, “she now truly believes herself a god. Furthermore, she has begun to regard the others in the Cadre as lesser.”
“Caliane?”
“Her position on the Ancient remains unknown, but my instinct is that she plans to ignore your mother until she believes her power has developed to the point where she can kill Caliane in a single engagement. Though,” Jason added, “I have no doubt that you are right in your request of your mother—should Caliane leave Amanat vulnerable, Lijuan would strike at once and with vicious fury.”
Raphael nodded. “My ability to harm Lijuan threatens her delusion of godhood.” That understanding eliminated any hope of a peaceful resolution. “Her offensive forces?”
“On the verge of leaving her territory. If she uses both modern means and winged flight to get them here, she’ll be ready to strike within the next four to five days.”
“I think it’s time to recall Naasir.” His mother wouldn’t need the vampire while Amanat was safe under her shield, and Naasir was a berserker fighter on the ground. Then there were his more subtle talents, every one of which would be needed with so many of their winged fighters out of commission. “The question is, do I recall Galen and the Refuge squadron?” His weapons-master would be a lethal asset in combat, but it would leave Venom alone to protect Raphael’s Refuge stronghold.
“With her delusions of being a deity,” Jason pointed out, “Lijuan may not feel she needs to obey the rule that places the Refuge out of bounds of war. We can’t risk her viewing your stronghold as a weak target.”
“You’re right.” Especially since Lijuan and Charisemnon might not be the only threats. Every archangel had forces in the Refuge—pulling Galen and the squadron could well make Raphael’s stronghold too tempting a target for one of the others. Not only that, but the people who looked to him in the Refuge would see any such move as an abandonment, while still others would interpret it as a sign of weakness. And the fall of the stronghold would demoralize his Tower troops, for many had family within those walls.
No, Galen, Venom, and the squadron must remain to guard against a possible Refuge strike. Raphael would have access to Galen’s warrior mind, and Venom’s slyly inventive one, through the constant communications link between the Tower and the Refuge stronghold.
Jason, Naasir, Illium, Dmitri, and Aodhan, they were a formidable force. He knew each would fight with the fury of a thousand ordinary fighters. But as he’d pointed out to Elena, Lijuan, too, had men and women of power by her side. Even with the assistance Elijah had pledged, Raphael’s troops would have to fight with cunning and intelligence to balance the enemy’s greater numbers and strength.
That, however, was a conversation that didn’t have to take place right this instant.
“Go to your princess, Jason,” he told his spymaster. “We’ll talk of the rest come dawn.”
He felt the door open at his back even as Jason took off in silence, a winged piece of the night, and turned to hold out his arm. A sleepy-eyed Elena came into his embrace, the satin of her robe cool against his skin. “Jason?”
Enclosing her in his wings to protect her from the cold, he said, “He brought the news we expected.”
The sleep faded from her expression as he told her what Jason had shared. “I know this is a fight between immortals,” she said, “but I think you’d be remiss not to accept those from the Guild who want to join in the defense. This is a Guild city, too, home of our HQ.”
Raphael had, in truth, not thought of the hunters, dismissing the mortals from the field of battle as too weak, too easily broken. As Elena had once been broken . . . but before that, she’d fought with such heart as even an archangel couldn’t fault.
“Ask Sara to join us in the war room tomorrow morning—she can disseminate the news to her hunters.” He paused. “Ask Deacon, too.” The mortal male was a genius with weaponry, could well come up with innovative strategies on how they could best utilize the weapons at their disposal.