The Singer

“At the end of the day,” Astrid said with a smile, “this is really her house. Her land. She doesn’t force any of us to stay, but where else would we go?”

“What about the scribe houses? Or that council they told me about in Vienna?”

“The council?” She sneered. “Old men who think Irina shouldn’t leave the house. The council of the elders thinks the only thing Irina are good for is breeding little scribes and inventing things to make them rich. They’re the ones who isolated us in retreats to begin with. They’re the ones who allowed the Rending to happen.”

Ava was shocked by the ire in the woman’s voice.

“Okay, then what about the scribes? The ones in Istanbul—”

Astrid stopped walking. “The Irin are far from one mind about this. You’ve seen Damien and Sari. You know they’re equal partners. I’m sure your mate was the same. They keep to the old ways. Many of the scribes are just like that, because that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

“So—”

“But that’s not the reality. Before the Rending—even now—many Irin wanted the Irina powerless. If we were their equals, then that made the scribes less, in their eyes. Twisted, I know, but some of the sickness of the human world has crept into the Irin race, as well.”

“So why withdraw?” Ava asked. “You can’t change things if you just disappear.”

“We didn’t have much of a choice at first. And now?” Astrid shrugged and continued walking. “We change things. In our own way.”

“In secret. So that no one knows what you’re doing or where you are?”

“If that’s the way it needs to be? Yes. Do you think we want to paint another target on our back?”

“Why can’t you work with the scribes? Work together? Malachi said that Irin were most powerful when they were mated.”

“Yes, because we can loan them Irina power when they go into battle,” Astrid’s voice was acid. “Why do you think the Grigori decimated us as they did? Most of the Irina were weak from loaning our mates magic. So when we were attacked ourselves, we were vulnerable. You think we will chance that again? Think we will put our sisters and the few children we still have at risk so that the Irin gain glory?”

“Malachi loaned me his power,” Ava said. “And I gave him nothing. He went into battle weak so that I could be strong. And he died because of it. He sacrificed his own safety for mine.”

Astrid said nothing for a moment.

“Your mate will be rewarded in the heavens.” Astrid spoke quietly as she continued walking. “The Creator values nothing more than love. And what is love that does not sacrifice?”

“But you’re acting like he’s the only one.” Ava shook her head. “Malachi and his brothers treated me like some sort of royalty when I was at the scribe house in Istanbul. Don’t you realize? There are men—good scribes—out there. Fighting against the Grigori who harm people. Fighting against the Fallen. And they’re doing it alone. They’re mourning mates and children, alone.” Ava thought of the devastated faces of the scribes in Cappadocia. The longing she’d seen in Rhys’s face. In all of Malachi’s brothers. “They would give anything to have the Irina back.”

“They might, but you know little of the Irin world, Ava. One group of good scribes does not mean that we are safe from all. There are still those who want us silent. And that is something we will not be.”

Ava said nothing. Astrid was right. She knew little about the Irin world outside her own narrow experience. It was an argument she couldn’t win. At least, not at the moment. Plus, she was tired. The time change, the travel. Her restless nights all seemed to be catching up with her. It must have shown on her face.

“Come,” Astrid said. “You’re tired. We’ll go to the house for lunch. Then you can rest.”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed in the house.”

“No.” Astrid smiled. “Damien isn’t allowed in the house—for now—and he insisted on staying close to you. Which is why you’re in one of the cottages. You’re Irina. You’re always welcome in Sari’s house.”

“But her mate isn’t?” Ava shook her head. “I gotta meet this woman.”

Astrid’s smile was mischievous. “You will.”

When Ava walked into Sari’s house, the energy of the place almost knocked her over. Her exhaustion fled immediately, even before Astrid led her to the dining hall.

Far from institutional, the dining hall in the house was attached to the kitchen. So while some of the women cooked, others sat at the table, some chatting and keeping company with the cooks, others working on their own projects. Ava saw one black-haired woman working on a laptop and slugging coffee back, seemingly oblivious to the chaos around her. Another was knitting an intricate scarf. Still another was playing a guitar in one corner while two others listened. The whole mess created a lively hum over Ava’s skin that echoed the sudden jolt of power in her blood.

And sitting at the end of the table, braiding the hair of a girl no older than twelve, was Sari. Her long blond hair fell almost to her waist, and her face was softer than the first time Ava had seen her. The girl tilted her head back and Sari kissed her forehead before she shooed her away. She wore a soft blue sweater that brought out the color of her eyes. She noticed Astrid and Ava, and her eyes narrowed a bit as she waved them over.