“No,” Raphael agreed. “You might be one day, but your body and mind can’t handle the power at this age.” And with it living in Raphael now, Illium showed no signs of an ascension.
Having found a bottle of cold water, Elena gave it to her beloved Bluebell and, perching on the arm of his chair, gently patted his back, her fingertips brushing Illium’s wings.
“Did my mother say anything else?” Raphael asked her.
The gray of Elena’s eyes was dark, the ring of silver vivid. “She wants you to call.”
Not waiting in case Illium began to glow with power again, Raphael used his consort’s phone to make the call, putting it on speaker so all of them could hear what Caliane had to say. He expected to get the technician who monitored the communications system he’d had Illium organize for Amanat, but it was Caliane’s face that filled the tiny screen.
“Son,” she said, her expression drawn. “Is your city still standing?”
“Yes.” Her worried question made him understand the staggering truth: if he hadn’t been there to stop Illium’s premature ascension, the young angel’s death would’ve resulted in a catastrophic shock wave. “Have you seen this before, Mother?”
“Yes, in a Cascade at the very dawn of my existence. Before I was an archangel.”
Raphael couldn’t imagine that time—his mother had been a power his entire lifetime. “What happened?”
“An angel who was the commander of an archangel, ascended without warning. He was only seven hundred and his body could not hold the power.” Sorrow in her at the loss of that long-ago angel. “He died in a thunderous fury and he took over twenty thousand people with him.”
Blowing out a harsh breath, Illium rose to his feet. He was shaky but managed to make his way to Raphael’s side to face Caliane. “Lady,” he said, giving a deep bow. “You saved my life. I thank you.”
Caliane inclined her head as Raphael grabbed Illium before he would’ve toppled backward as he straightened from the bow. “Sit, child,” Raphael’s mother ordered. “You are damaged.”
Illium didn’t argue.
“Damaged?” Elena’s tone was sharp. “Is it something we need to worry about?”
“No. He should recover now that the power is out of him.” Caliane leaned back in her seat, her hair pulled back in a braid and her body clad in old combat leathers much like Elena. “Though the angel in my youth died, there were rumors of another young angel who ascended too early but who survived because he had a bond of blood—and of trust—with his archangel. He was weak after the power transfer, but made a complete recovery.”
She looked at Raphael. “The archangel, however, gained in strength.”
Raphael felt his blood cool. “I don’t intend to steal what is rightfully Illium’s.” He’d done what he had only to save Illium’s life.
“You may have it, sire. I insist.”
Ignoring Illium’s slurred words, Raphael held his mother’s gaze. “I can’t forcefully stop his ascension if this is what he’s meant to become.”
“The sudden ascensions of the too young occur only during a Cascade,” Caliane pointed out. “On all three occasions that I know of, the angel in question was either an archangel’s second or otherwise in his innermost circle.”
“You think the power transfer is the point.” Coming over so she could look at the screen, Elena stood with her body and her wings touching Raphael’s in a quiet, potent intimacy. “But what if Raphael hadn’t been here?”
“The Cascade is never predictable, Consort,” Caliane said, a sense of crushing age in her voice. “There’s no way to foretell if such an incident will reoccur, or if it was the only time and the boy is no longer in any danger.” Her eyes held Raphael’s. “All I can tell you is that if you don’t take the power, he’ll die and he’ll take tens of thousands with him. There is no other possible outcome.”
“The fact you can even absorb the power,” Elena said slowly, “that’s got to mean something, right?”
Caliane raised an eyebrow. “A salient point. A true ascension does not permit any interference, not even by the strongest Ancient.”
They spoke further, but Caliane knew little else. Signing off, Raphael turned to find that Illium had struggled to his feet again. His face was stripped of all shields, suddenly unbearably young. “I’m not ready,” he said again, his voice shaken. “I’m not ready to leave your Seven.”
Grabbing him by the side of his neck as he had earlier, Raphael hauled him into his arms. “I’m not ready for you to go.” His eyes met Elena’s over Illium’s head as the blue-winged angel held on tight. My mother is right. Now is not his time. Illium would become a power one day, but he had to grow into that strength, not have it forced into him by the violence of the Cascade.
Beside Elena stood a white-faced Aodhan. He’ll need you now more than ever, Aodhan, Raphael said. Keep him in the present, not in a future that may or may not happen.
Eyes of fractured blue and crystalline green, the shards bursting outward from jet-black pupils met Raphael’s. Yes, sire.
Releasing Illium only after the younger angel had stopped trembling, Raphael looked into eyes that were back to their usual bright gold, devoid of the dark red flame. “Go to your suite. Rest. We’ll speak more when you wake—but know one thing. If this happens again, I’ll be there.”