Her face, she left untouched. Her eyes already attracted too much attention—she wanted no more.
“Such pretty eyes you have.”
A half-grown child, Mahiya didn’t know why the words made her sick to her stomach. “Thank you.”
A slow smile from the archangel who she’d been told was her aunt. “They are your grandfather’s eyes. The line, it seems, breeds true.”
Shrugging off the chill of the memory, she slid her feet into flat slippers, her toes fitting perfectly into the crystal-studded leather, the strap around her ankle similarly bejeweled. No one could ever say Neha didn’t give the child she’d “adopted” every luxury.
Less than seven minutes after she’d come upstairs, she ran back down—to find Jason standing in front of the courtyard pavilion, his hands behind his back and his attention on the palace that had been Eris’s prison. Relief had her releasing the breath she hadn’t been aware of holding.
He didn’t fit here, she thought, caught by the starkly masculine beauty of him as she walked to the pavilion. He was too untamed a thing for the polished elegance and polite rules of Neha’s kingdom. From the wildness of the tattoo that covered the left side of his face, to the implacable black of his wings and the clean lines of his clothing—simple black pants, a shirt in the same dark shade, black boots, no jewelry—everything about Jason screamed that he was a man, an angel, who made his own way, forged his own path.
He might offer Neha his respect, but he would never worship her as a demigoddess, Mahiya thought, her eyes going to the hair in its neat queue at the nape of his neck . . . which was when she noticed he wore a sword in a black sheath along the centerline of his spine, the straps merging into the black of his shirt. “Neha does not allow weapons in her formal court but for the guard.”
Jason’s eyes locked with her own, and though she knew it for an illusion, it felt as if he was stripping her down to the soul, seeing things she’d never shared with another living being. “Neha,” he said, “understands how I work.”
Mahiya doubted very much if anyone understood the spymaster in truth, but she gave a small nod, taking the opportunity to end the disturbing eye contact. “Shall we go?”
Jason said nothing as they left the courtyard, his silence so profound she knew it must be a part of him, not something created to unsettle her. Strangely enough, she didn’t find it disquieting in the least—Jason’s silence was an honest thing, unlike the lies that came out of so many other mouths. “We’ll find my lady in the public audience chamber.”
Neha was always available on this day to those of her land who would speak directly to her, a paradoxically fair queen whether the constituent was an aristocrat or a farmer. “It’s early enough that we may be able to see her unhindered,” she added as they walked through an intricately painted gate large enough for several elephants to pass through side by side.
The fort was alive and awake, and Mahiya nodded hello to any number of people. The women were all dressed in soft shades rather than the intense reds, yellows, and blues normally favored in this region, but styles varied dramatically. A number wore day gowns, several vampires neat suits that said they had business outside the fort, while still others wore plain work saris. Then there were those dressed in the uniform of the guard, complete with weapons—Neha did not discriminate when it came to skill and ability.
Everyone looked to Jason for an introduction, but Mahiya ignored the unspoken requests and continued on her way, well aware he wasn’t a man who would play the polite games of court. She was glad to get out of the thoroughfare when they reached the public audience hall, which was in actuality a large stone pavilion open on three sides. Six rows of seven columns marched across the floor, holding up the curved roof and, above it, a large terrace.
Neha usually addressed her supplicants from the high throne already set in place, but it stood empty at present. Instead of petitioning the guard standing in front of the door Mahiya knew opened into a staircase that led up to the terrace, she stepped out and flew upward, her wings aching under the strain of the vertical takeoff. Jason, of course, had no such trouble and landed on the terrace before her.
Her instinct proved right—Neha stood at the edge where the original lattice wall had been removed to provide an uninterrupted view. Her eyes were on the mountains, the hills a golden brown in the early morning light, the greenery sparse.
“His funeral pyre blazes tomorrow,” she said as Mahiya reached her. “You will not wear white. No one will wear white.”
It was no loss to Mahiya not to wear the color of mourning—Eris had been less a father to her than a tomcat was to his kittens. As for Neha’s own motivations, the archangel alone knew the truth, but Mahiya had seen her beside Eris’s butchered body, heard her distraught keening. No matter what she tried to portray in her pride, the same pride that meant Eris spent three centuries as a prisoner, Neha mourned.
“My lady,” she said, a sympathy within her that she didn’t attempt to crush out of existence. Her continued ability to feel for the hurt suffered by another being—especially when that being was the archangel who saw in her only an endless vengeance—was part of who she was, a tenderness of heart she’d nurtured with fierce devotion even when it would’ve been easier to have acquired a carapace of hardness nothing could penetrate.
Neha turned to face Jason, dismissing Mahiya as another person might an insect. “What have you discovered, Spymaster?”
10
“Eris’s palace might have been well guarded,” Jason said, “but it wasn’t impregnable.”
Neha’s lips curved in a humorless smile. “Only those without care for their lives would’ve broken the rules. Do you tell me there was more than one?”
“I can tell you nothing yet.” Jason held Neha’s gaze in a way Mahiya had seen no one in the court dare, not even the archangel’s most trusted advisors.