Archangel's Storm (Guild Hunter 5)
Page 4A single word. A name.
Eris.
The only significant Eris that Jason knew of was husband to Neha, the three-thousand-year-old archangel, the sole member of the Cadre who had chosen to follow the mortal ceremony of binding. Eris was also her consort, but he hadn’t been seen in public for some three hundred years. Many believed him dead; however, Jason knew the male lived, imprisoned in a palace inside Neha’s sprawling fort. Except for when he’d attempted to escape early on in his captivity, he had not been physically harmed.
Neha loved Eris too much to hurt him.
It was also why she hated him so violently for his betrayal.
Eris.
Sliding into the shadows of the trees that edged Raphael’s property, a welcome respite from the light, Jason took out his cell phone. In earlier centuries, even with his considerable mental abilities, it had taken him days to communicate with his men and women, weeks to gather a single piece of information. Technology made it so much simpler—unlike some angels of old, and though his chosen weapon remained a sword, Jason did not abhor the modern world.
Now, he saw that he had a number of missed calls that must’ve come in during the ceremony, while his phone had been in silent mode. All were from Samira—she was a servant with clearance to work in Neha’s private quarters and technically his highest-ranking spy in the other archangel’s court, though Jason had his doubts about her continued efficacy. “Samira,” he said when the call was answered. “What has happened?”
“Eris is dead.” A hushed whisper. “Murdered inside his palace.”
“When?”
Jason had never spoken to Mahiya, but having done a subtle investigation when Neha first adopted her just over three centuries ago, he knew the princess was of Neha’s bloodline. That relationship was accepted knowledge, but the facts behind it had long been buried. Many in Neha’s own court chose not to remember, not to see the truth—that Mahiya had been born of Nivriti, sister to Neha and dead as long as her child had been alive.
No terrible secret that . . . except if you knew the name of Mahiya’s father.
Eris.
2
Though Mahiya was the fruit of Eris and Nivriti’s forbidden relationship, she was, to all outward appearances, treated as a beloved princess by her aunt, the title a courtesy to elucidate her status as kin to Neha. “Is there anything else?”
Samira’s breathing went very quiet for a minute, and Jason waited without interruptions or demands, knowing she had to be concerned about being overheard. “Neha is half insane,” she said at last. “I’m worried she’ll release her power.”
Knowing as he did the depth of the archangel’s emotions where her husband was concerned—she’d neither been able to forgive him his infidelity, nor set him free after centuries of confinement—Jason shared Samira’s concern. And Neha was a being of immense power. If she gave voice to her agony, she could lay waste to cities, and it was near certain she would aim her rage toward those she held responsible for another terrible pain—the execution of her daughter, Anoushka.
Raphael had delivered the final blow that reduced Neha’s daughter to dust.
“Tell me the instant she makes a move.”
Raphael didn’t pause, his expression giving nothing away. What is it, Jason?
Eris is dead. Murdered. He knew Raphael had seen Eris court Neha, win her, and Raphael understood the twisted emotions that had tied the two together.
The archangel’s reply was swift. Meet me in the study.
Two minutes later, when Jason slipped into the study through the French doors that opened out onto the lawn, he did so with a stealth that meant no one would’ve seen him, though the sun rose higher on the horizon with every breath. That was as it should be—it was his job to be unseen, unheard, a shadow among shadows. After six centuries, his status as Raphael’s spymaster was no secret when it came to the oldest immortals, though that knowledge gained them nothing and had even less impact on Jason’s activities. While people focused on him, his operatives quietly found places in courts and towers across the world.
Raphael entered the room at that moment, closing the door behind him. “Neha was already on the edge of madness after Anoushka’s execution.” The archangel’s tone was unforgiving in its honesty. “This may well push her over.”
Jason had seen other archangels lose fatal control, had walked through devastated cities full of rotting corpses, watched an entire country fall into a dark age in which all hope was extinguished, children’s eyes dull with despair. Even if Neha chose a target outside Raphael’s territory, the world could not suffer such devastation so soon after the destruction of Beijing without breaking—and regardless, the ensuing archangelic war would engulf them all.
His phone purred discreetly at that instant. Answering it, he heard Samira say, “She’s left the body—her eyes are of madness.”
“Get her to the room where she has her communications suite.”
“Jason, she won’t see reason.”
Samira took a deep breath. “I might be able to do it if I stretch the truth and say the Cadre wishes to speak to her.”
“Do not linger, Samira.” In this mood, Neha would kill her.
“I’ll leave as soon as the words are spoken.”
Hanging up, he looked at Raphael. “If we make the call now, we have a chance of catching her before she can no longer see or hear through the rage.”
“I can divert her,” Raphael responded, “but it could involve your presence in her territory.”
“I’ll go.” While the risk to Samira was now too high, Jason was far stronger, knew he garnered a certain respect from Neha.
Raphael nodded and waited for Jason to retreat out of view before he input the call on the large screen in one corner of the study, for Raphael, too, understood the value of technology. The answer took so long in coming, Jason thought Samira must’ve failed in her task. But the screen cleared at long last to show Neha as he’d never before seen her.