The Singer, стр. 24
“I’m not going to get into this argument, my dove.”
Sari slapped her hand on the table. “Stop calling me that!”
Orsala barked out something in Norwegian that made both Damien and Sari sit up straight. For a moment, they both looked like chastised children, then Orsala switched to English.
“So, while I am working with Ava and teaching her beginning spells, you two will continue to research her background. We have records, too. And you can speak to Candice.”
Sari’s jaw had clenched. “But—”
“Candice’s father was a historian and genealogist. One of the first in the Americas, so it’s possible she might know something about the families that Ava might have come from. Once I get a feeling for her blood, you’ll have more to go on.”
“And you want us to work together?” Damien asked quietly. “Are you sure?”
“I am quite positive,” Orsala said. “Why don’t you both finish your tea and start right now?”
“Together?” Sari seemed limited to one word answers forced out between clenched teeth.
“Yes. In fact, just take your tea with you and leave Ava and me alone.”
Damien couldn’t hide the pleased expression on his face as he rose and held out his hand. “Shall we, my dove?”
Sari was muttering under her breath. She ignored her mate’s hand and put her cup on the counter, then without a backward glance, she walked out the front door.
Damien turned to Orsala and smiled. “So good to see you again, matka.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Damjan. You have a long way to go.”
“Will they make up?” Ava asked after they’d finished their tea and been left alone in the cottage. The fire crackled in the hearth, and Orsala added wood to the flames before she settled in the chair across from Ava.
“Yes. There was hurt on both sides. They both made mistakes, and I understand why Sari feels the way she does. But now?” Orsala shook her head. “It is time. Damien is a different man than he was during the Rending. Sari needs to learn that some Irin grow from their mistakes, and that forgiveness isn’t something to be withheld from your mate, not even in grief.”
“Was it that bad? Really?”
Shadows flickered in Orsala’s eyes. “Yes.” Then the old woman shook her head and asked, “Are you ready to listen?”
“Do I need to take notes?”
Orsala smiled. “I imagine you’ll be sick of this history by the time we’re done. You have a lot to learn, but everything draws from this, so it will be repeated.”
“Okay, hit me.”
“There were twenty-one cardinal angels who fell to the earth from above. Twenty-one who defied the creator and took humans as mates. Had children. Many of them. Seven returned. Seven were killed. Seven remained. Others followed them, but they were the first. The seven who returned, we call the Forgiven. They are the fathers of the Irin race.”
“The ones who left their children,” Ava said.
Orsala cocked her head. “They were not creatures of this world. They had no business here. Sometimes leaving is the right thing to do.”
Ava ignored the twist of anger in her belly and asked, “And these seven gave their power to their children.”
“Uriel gave us the gift of life. Male and female, we can harness his magic to extend our lives. Gabriel gave Irina the gift of hearing so that we might hear the souls of the world around us to aid in their protection. The other powers are more specific and more rare.”
“Like empathy?”
Orsala nodded. “Chamuel gave a few of his blood the gift of empathy and influence. Rafael gave others the gift of healing, and also the ability to read the history of objects.”
“You’re talking about touch telepathy?” Ava was starting to get excited. It was real and unreal at the same time.
“In a sense.” Orsala continued without further explanation. “Mikhael gave his daughters the gift of strategy. Sadly, not a developed gift for far too long. It was not as respected as some of the others.”
“Why not?”
“Irina revere creation and prophecy. Seeing the connections between things is not creative. It is, however, one of the more potent offensive gifts that we have learned to wield.”
“That makes sense.”
“These are also not exclusive. After so many generations, our blood has mixed. So Sari exhibits some of Mikhael’s blood traits, though her primary talent comes from Ariel.”
“Which is…”
“Those of Ariel’s blood exhibit elemental magic. He was the oldest of the cardinal angels. Some songs say he was present with the Creator at the dawn of our world, though we have no way of knowing this. Ariel’s children can control the elements to varying degrees. Primarily wood and metal. In the past, Irina of Ariel’s blood were our chief architects and builders. Very highly respected.”
“Okay. By my count, that’s six angels.”
“Yes.”
“So who was the seventh?”
Orsala leaned forward and peered into Ava’s eyes. “The seventh was Leoc, the seer. And Leoc, giver of visions and bearer of prophecy, returned to the heavens, but his daughters bear his mark, the mark of the seer…”
Ava’s skin began to prickle. She could feel the swell of power coming from the old woman.
“…though their eyes now glimmer only faintly with their father’s gift.”
Her heart beat a rapid rhythm as the whispers in her mind grew louder.
“Leoc’s daughters are seers?” she whispered. “They have… visions?”
“And golden eyes, Ava. Angelic eyes.”
The images she’d seen in Jaron’s office flipped through her mind.
Malachi.
Utter black. Pain. Despair.
Two dark-haired children. A girl with golden eyes, laughing as butterflies swirled around her. A boy, staring… The ink-black jaguar curled around the children protectively as a wolf and a tiger paced behind. The tiger bent to the girl, opening his mouth. The great beast closed his jaw around the girl’s nape gently as she continued to smile and pet its cheek. A great circle rose in the sky, like a sun twisted with gold and silver. Higher and higher it rose, until the sun faded away to stars, a million scattered points of light dotting the heavens, dancing in concert to a growing song.
Darkness.
“I show you what has been. What will be. And what could be,” Ava whispered Jaron’s words. “Do not fear the darkness.”
Orsala’s voice came as if Ava was deep underwater. “Tell me, Ava. Do you see visions?”
She couldn’t speak. Did she? Or was that something that Jaron had projected to her mind? Could angels do that?
“Your eyes are gold, Ava. To human eyes, they would seem only a beautiful light brown, but they’re not. I haven’t seen eyes like that since I was a child. They belonged to the oldest woman in my village. A daughter of Leoc who was very, very strong.”
“I don’t know…,” Ava whispered. “I don’t know what I see.”
She didn’t. She only knew that she needed to get away from Orsala’s piercing gaze. The darkness hovered at the edge of her mind, and the frightening whispers grew in strength.
Orsala didn’t hear them. The old woman leaned forward and put her fingers on Ava’s temples. At her touch, Ava fell calm.
“Tell me what you see with your golden eyes, Ava, daughter of Leoc.”
II.
Istanbul, Turkey
It was amazing how much was left after the fire. Brage kicked through the wreckage of the old wooden house in Beyoglu, following the muffled screams of the young scribe they had captured on the road out of Goreme.
He slid into the room that had been carved with protection spells. Useless now that the Irin fire was gone. Foolish Irin put too much stock in magic. Brage’s fingers trailed over the cryptic script of the Old Language that had been carved into the walls. It was a mystery to him, just as the Fallen intended.