Aodhan’s eyes remained golden, reflecting all the metallic surfaces here. Like glittering fire. And again, she remembered Illium’s words about people wanting to own Aodhan. “Give me a minute,” he murmured. “Any case such as this will have an official way to open it so the archivist can rearrange the objects within.”
Though it almost physically hurt her to do so, Elena wandered away from the case to look at a collection of gold-handled hand mirrors that Aodhan pointed out to her. If anyone was watching them, it’d appear as if she’d gone from one fascinating object to another. Nothing unusual. And lingering on this level could hardly be unexpected—it was a room designed to captivate.
The tiny hairs on her nape prickled the entire time, her skin tight, so when Aodhan spoke her name softly, she nearly burst apart. Turning with deliberate laziness, she strolled over to him. “Success?”
“I need a very thin blade, the thinnest you have, with the narrowest tip.”
Mahiya, Elena thought, I owe you one.
Reaching up to the hair she’d twisted into a roll at the back of her head, she removed one of the blade sticks. She was careful to keep the movements ordinary, everyday, nothing but a woman fixing her hair. Palming the blade stick while appearing to slide it back in, she passed it over to Aodhan by placing it on the very edge of the case, near the thick metal rim. Then she turned and, blocking the case and Aodhan’s hands with her wings, pointed out the carvings on the bottom of the staircase to this level.
“Look at that.” She didn’t have to pretend wonder. “They’ve utilized every surface.” Because the carvings weren’t on the area, they were attached to it.
A slight movement against her wings, as if the case was being lifted up . . . just as a pair of large wings was silhouetted against the lights of the chandeliers above. A gust of wind hit her face as one of the Luminata came to a hard, firm landing on the floor.
Folding back wings of dark gray scattered with feathers of white dotted with gray, the heavyset male with pale skin tanned to light gold looked more than a little abashed. “My apologies.” He bowed from the chest, his thickly silver hair falling over a face that appeared no older than her own. “I would not have landed so enthusiastically had I known others were present.”
Elena forced a smile through her thundering heart. “This place does encourage enthusiastic landings,” she said, stepping forward a little. “Aodhan and I landed there.” She pointed to the far end of the starburst on the floor and the man’s head swiveled in that direction as she’d hoped.
Elena couldn’t glance back at Aodhan, check it was done. Instead, she went to the Luminata’s side. “And,” she said, “I’m pretty sure the tips of my right wing almost brushed one of the paintings. Shh.” A finger lifted to her lips.
The Luminata’s dark gray eyes were warm when he met her gaze, his face not traditionally handsome in the angelic way, but compelling all the same. “You are truly unlike any consort I have ever met.”
She tilted her head to one side. “Have you met many?” Currently, there were only two: Hannah and Elena.
A small nod. “I am as old as Lumia, I sometimes think. My hair is a family trait, but these days, it also tells the truth of my years on this earth.” Tucking his hands into the wide sleeves of his robe as Ibrahim had done, he smiled. “But for once I am not the oldest in this place. Not with Caliane and Alexander in attendance.”
A slight rustle announced Aodhan moving about, but he didn’t speak and the Luminata didn’t interrupt him. Likely out of respect for quiet contemplation of art. Lowering her voice, as if she, too was being respectful of Aodhan’s apparent absorption in a piece, she made herself continue the conversation in spite of the clawing impatience in her gut. “Were you alive when Lumia was built?”
A gentle laugh, a shake of his head. “No, I am not that old. An exaggeration on my part earlier.” He paused, lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. “I was born in the same year as the Archangel Lijuan.” He released a breath. “We were playmates once upon a time, though that time is shrouded in the hazy mists of memory.”
Elena felt her eyes widen.
Intellectually, she knew Lijuan must’ve once been a child. Emotionally, however, it was difficult to accept that fact. “What was she like then?” she murmured and, when the Luminata’s face gained a subtle tension, added, “It’s just . . . I have difficulty imagining her as anything but the archangel she is now.” Insane and power-hungry and terrifying in her delusions of godhood.
Her companion’s expression softened, turning a little distant at the same time. “It was so long ago, Consort.” His voice was lyrical, that of a storyteller. “I remember, she was a small girl. One of the smallest in our class. And so clever. A nimble mind.”
Strangely, Elena could see that. No one could ever say that Lijuan was anything but fiercely intelligent. “Did you guess who she would one day become? I’ve heard people say Raphael burned with power from the instant he was born.”
“Those people are right,” the silver-haired Luminata confirmed, “but perhaps it is also true that he was watched far more closely for signs of power than other angelic babes for he was the child of two archangels.” Dark gray eyes locked with Elena’s, and unlike Ibrahim’s innocent peace, they held a darker, older wisdom. “You must know, Consort, such a pairing is beyond rare—usually lasting only for a short period. Even rarer is a child born of that pairing.”