“Are we going to request permission?” Gabriel said.
“For what?”
“For moving Abra back to the house if she is able to come.”
Damien scowled. “Who would we ask?”
“The council.”
“The council has no need to dictate how I run my scribe house,” Damien said. “They moved me here and I will run it as I see fit.”
Gabriel snorted.
“What?”
“Tala said that you and Sari are equally ill-tempered when others question you. No, I told her, Damien is a quiet, steady sort. He’s not a troublemaker.”
He had to smile. “If you thought that, then I’m doing my job correctly. Once I’ve gone through these papers, I’ll expect a report from you too.”
Gabriel had been assigned to the Paris scribe house because Tala was there. Seers and their mates were never separated. Luckily, the geographic position gave the mapmaker access to an extensive network of contacts from his days as an explorer. Damien was thrilled to have such a skilled spy working with him. The Spaniard could slip in and out of conversations with ease, lulling most Irin into thinking he was merely an academic. Those who discounted him did so at their peril.
A tapping sounded at the door, and Tala poked her head in. “A moment of your time, Watcher?”
Wondering if this had anything to do with the vision she’d suffered the night before, Damien nodded.
Gabriel rose and walked to the door. Kissing both his mate’s cheeks, he said, “Am I being banished, amor?”
Sari’s face broke into the smile of a well-loved woman. “Only for a little while.”
Gabriel whispered something in her ear that made Tala’s cheeks flush, then turned to Damien. “I’ll send a message to Abra about moving back.”
Tala’s face lit. “Is Abra moving back?”
“We can hope.” He brushed a hand over her cheek and left, closing the door behind him.
Damien waited for Tala to sit before he spoke. “Does this have to do with your vision?”
“Yes,” Tala said, a hint of steel in her soft golden eyes. “But before I tell you, you must promise me that you will not tell Gabriel.”
※
“You’re certain it’s his voice?” Damien asked after Tala had related her dream. “His specifically?”
“Yes.”
“Is that common?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I have ever heard his voice in a vision before. Usually they are very… vague. I rarely recognize exact details. But this was definitely his voice.”
Damien flipped a dagger end over end, thinking. “Just at the end.”
“Yes.”
“In the new house. The mansion.”
“Yes.”
“But the battle changes?”
Tala nodded. “None of the other elements change but the battle. I don’t see the reports in detail, but it sounds as if whatever battle is happening most recently is what I’m seeing. The uniforms change, but other than that…” She shrugged helplessly. “I’m not a strategist, so I could not tell you more than that.”
“If that is the part changing, then it seems the least important.” He kept flipping the dagger. “The beginning is in your home. Familiar, but not familiar.”
“The empty clothes,” Tala said.
“And the Salamanca house…”
“Again, something from my past. Familiar, but not familiar.”
“The past cannot change,” Damien said. “The present—the battle you walk through—is constantly changing.”
“And the mansion?”
He scowled. “I can’t help but think of this house. It’s new. In the same style—”
“But it is not this house. Nothing about it is the same. The exterior. The interior. The house in the dream was far more fashionable. Like those in Saint Germain. Large and airy with many windows.”
“Is it a real house or a representation?”
“I have no way of knowing that,” Tala said. “Experience tells me it could be either. It doesn’t feel as if anyone lives there. It feels…”
“What?”
“Empty and crowded at the same time.”
Damien gave her an incredulous look as Tala threw up her hands.
“I know! This is the way things appear in my head. I know it doesn’t make sense to others.”
“The house is empty but crowded.” Damien paused. “Silent, but you hear voices. Including Gabriel’s shouting no.”
“Yes.” She twisted the handkerchief on her lap. “It is.”
Damien took a deep breath. “It goes against my instincts not to tell your mate these things, sister.”
“I do not command you any more than you command me.” Tala’s face was pinched. “But please don’t. He would go looking for it.”
“And what if he did? Your mate is a formidable scribe.” Something in Damien’s stomach tugged at him. “Are you telling me everything?”
“As much as I can remember.”
She was lying. Damien recognized the steady look that Sari sometimes gave when she was deceiving people. He recognized it, though his mate had never used it on him. He decided to keep quiet. For now.
“If you see this house, you will tell me,” he said. “And if anything about the dream changes, you will keep me informed.”
Tension eased from her shoulders. “Of course, Watcher.”
“You’re my sister, but you are also my seer. And you and I both know that seers are targeted by the Grigori. I have too much respect for you to set a guard on you, but I’d appreciate if you were cautious. If you’re uncertain about anything, take Sari with you.”
Tala smiled. “She would like to lock me in a retreat for my own good.”
“Lock a singer up for her own safety?” Damien raised an eyebrow. “Where would she get that idea?”
“I can’t imagine,” Tala said. “But do not fear for me. I know my sister and I know my own strengths. I am no fighter. Sari, however, is as fierce as most of the scribes here.”
“No, she’s fiercer.”
“I love you for her.” Tala’s voice softened. “I always worried that we would find our mates and one of us would dislike the other’s. But I don’t. I think you’re perfect together.”
“That’s because you haven’t seen us fight,” he said. “Once you live with us for a time, you won’t like me so well. Of course, you might not like your sister as much either.”
Tala laughed. “I’ll take my chances.”
※
Damien was watching the men drill in the courtyard behind the house when Gabriel joined him. The knowledge that he was concealing something from Tala’s mate sat like lead in his gut, but he had to respect Tala’s wishes.
Seers held special rank within the scribe house. If Damien broke her trust and Tala hesitated to come to him with another vision because of it, the warriors under his command could suffer.
“She’s as fast as the younger men.” Gabriel nodded at Sari, who was practicing with the scribes.
“She’s faster with the staff,” he said. “It is only with the blade that she struggles.”
“The weight?”
He gave a short nod. “She will never be able to carry a blade as easily as a scribe, though she is better than a human.”
“Does it bother her?”
“Yes.” He watched Sari put one of his new men on the ground by spotting a weakness in his stance and exploiting it. “But she knows her strengths and plays to them.”
Sari used her body far more than Irin males. Used balance and cunning. He’d trained her that way, mirroring some of the early lessons from his mother when he was a child. She would never be able to heft a blade as he could, but she could beat him with the staff. And the staff could be a far more useful weapon as it could be concealed in plain sight.
Gabriel said, “You’ll never progress politically with her as a mate. Not in the current climate.”
“That makes me love her m
ore. Not less.” Damien smiled. “I don’t see you being called to the city any day soon either, my brother.”
Gabriel shrugged. “Tala’s parents’ views are out of favor at the present time, but these things change.”
Damien looked at Gabriel with new eyes. “Do you want political advancement?”
“Tala will advance within the hierarchy.” Gabriel’s jaw was set. “That is no vision. That is reality. No matter how much her parents voice their dissatisfaction with the present state of Irina autonomy and the growth of the retreats, Tala’s grandmother is an elder and Tala’s reputation as a seer is growing. She will be in Vienna eventually.”
Damien began to see his brother’s mind. “And she’ll need a mate who can navigate the political waters better than she can.”
“She has no interest in politics.” Gabriel gave him a rueful smile. “Her heart is too generous. Others would use her and her talents for their own ends, given the chance.”
“Then it is a good thing that she has you as a mate,” Damien said.
“Indeed.”
“Did you find the answers you were looking for within the court?”
Gabriel handed him a sealed report. “Four.”
“That many?”
“In the chaos of the Napoleonic court”—Gabriel clearly wasn’t fond of the term—“four Grigori are easily concealed. The only humans who might notice a threat are consumed by their emperor’s latest campaign.”
“He’s brilliant,” Damien said. Tyrant or not, he had to admire the French general’s military acumen. His mother would be convinced Napoleon had Mikael’s blood if it were possible.
“The Frenchman overreaches.”
“Says the Spaniard.”
Gabriel grinned. “Says the spy.”
“These Grigori in the court… they must be circumspect in their habits.”
“According to the humans I spoke to, they take many lovers and appear to be quite popular with the society wives and actresses, though they are also known for not spending more than a single night with a woman.”
Damien raised an eyebrow. “Not generally a trait to recommend them to a human lover.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Gabriel said. “These are sons of the Fallen. The humans are enamored with them. Men and women both.”
“Who do they belong to?”
“I cannot say for certain, but I believe they belong to the archangel Volund.”
“One of the northern angels?”
Gabriel nodded. “Volund and Barak are at odds. Volund stayed in the Russian territories for centuries, but he has recently been moving into the Baltic region, which puts him in conflict with Barak.”
Damien narrowed his eyes. “So what is he doing in Paris?”
“According to my predecessor, Volund is curious about this new regime. His sons fled during the revolution, but he’s sent some back to explore the political climate. See if it might be worth Volund’s attention.”
“And no human deaths?”
“One, but it was discounted as natural, and I cannot say otherwise.” Gabriel shrugged. “The young lady was known to be of weak constitution.”
Damien nodded and watched the men and Sari sparring. “So there are four Grigori in Napoleon’s court, but they seem to be… behaving. Does this have anything to do with the surge of Grigori present in the city?”
“I don’t know.” Gabriel was obviously irritated. “They’re in the city, but if they’re hunting, they’re doing it so discreetly we hear no rumor of it.”
“And the news from Belgium?”
Gabriel dropped his voice. “The rumors are true. It wasn’t human violence. A retreat was attacked. A massacre. Only a few scribes were present because a majority had been called to Brussels to deal with a surge in Grigori attacks there. The retreat was fortunate that two of the Irina there were trained in offensive magic and were able to hold off the worst of it.”
Damien felt the chill in his bones. “Deaths?”
“A dozen singers. Five children.”
“Heaven above, Gabriel.” Damien closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Did they have any warning?”
“No.” Gabriel’s face was grim. “I’m telling you, if there hadn’t been two combat-trained Irina there, the whole retreat could have been devastated. If they had been populated as most retreats are—with scholars and untrained singers—they would have been.”
“Is this a new Grigori tactic?” Damien asked. “To attack our women and children?”
“They never have before, but anything is possible. It’s equally possible this was a freak occurrence. The Grigori involved were hunted and executed too quickly.”
“They were not questioned?”
“The scribes who killed them were enraged.”
“Hardly surprising,” Damien said. “But not helpful for the rest of us.”
“Agreed.”
Damien thought long and hard, but the choice seemed obvious. “The human wars are not our concern. Grigori numbers in the city are up, but attacks on the population are down. We move more of the warriors to the retreat for now. I’ll write to the elders in Vienna—”
“It could take months to hear back from them with the Austrian campaign starting.”
“That’s why I’m not waiting. Guarding our families is more important, and the men will be distracted anyway once word of the Belgian massacre spreads. We reassign scribes for at least a year to make sure this was a random attack and not a new pattern.”
“I agree,” Gabriel said, turning back to the men training in the courtyard. “What a time we live in, brother.”
Damien’s eyes lay only on Sari. They lived in a dangerous world, no matter how well-trained they both were. War was a way of life for the Irin. Would this cloud always hang over them? Sari’s decision to delay bearing a child seemed reasonable, but…
A dark thought swirled in the back of his mind.
What if she was taken from him? What if Damien was one of the grieving scribes in Belgium mourning the loss of his mate? Would he curse every moment they delayed their life together to answer the call of duty?
CHAPTER THREE
ONE year later
SARI strolled through the retreat, the quaint streets of the Irin village humming with life and growth. She was walking barefoot, feeling her newly sprung magic in the ground twining with older paths and appreciating the easier country fashions that freed her body.
It was spring, and war seemed far away, at least in their region. The crops had been successful the year before—helped along, Sari was sure, by the extra hands of the scribes who were spending more and more time in the retreat. Even Sari and Damien had a cottage there. When the weather in Paris was sweltering, the fresh air of the country held more and more appeal.
The village was isolated but flourishing. Fifty families now lived in the community along with a group of scholars who tended a growing library and had become known for their translation of Irin folktales. Two children had been born that year, and Sari knew the longing she tried so hard to ignore was only growing stronger.
She turned toward the sound of laughter in the distance. The children of the village were playing with the new lambs in the pasture.
Despite Sari’s initial misgivings about living in the retreat—which had felt so much like a prison before—the peace and community soothed her and fed the elemental magic in her soul. It was easy and comfortable to be around other singers and scribes.
Life in Paris could be stressful, particularly when human scrutiny became too intense. In the village, there were children shouting. Teachers and scholars talked about ancient interpretations of obscure scrolls while the more pragmatic of their race conversed about crops and horse breeding, which was one of the few trades that involved them in the human world. The community sang and ate together, reminding Sari of the tiny village where she and Damien had first fallen in love.
Speaking of love…
Sari spotted Gabriel and Tala sitting un
der a tree on the edge of the forest. Her sister was straddling her mate’s legs, speaking animatedly as Gabriel smiled up at her and braided pieces of her hair. Occasionally his lips moved, but mostly his eyes rested on Tala.
His adoration was so open, so honest, Sari almost looked away. But she didn’t.
Watching her twin bloom under Gabriel’s love was one of the most beautiful things Sari had ever seen. Tala had always been the quiet, less vibrant twin, despite her enormous talent. She paid an awful price for her “gift.” Growing up, it had been Sari who flourished in their rowdy, affectionate clan while Tala lingered on the edges.
Gabriel’s love transformed her.
He caught Sari’s eye and sent her a smile across the lane. Then he interrupted Tala’s tale and helped his mate to her feet, though not before he gave her bottom a pinch that had Tala laughing and blushing.
“How long have you been waiting for me?” she asked.
“Not long,” Sari said. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“It wasn’t anything important,” Tala said, waving a hand. “I was telling Gabriel about the novel Miriam sent me.”
Sari hooked her arm in her sister’s and gave her a squeeze. “That’s important.”
“Not really.” She smiled. “But he’s a good listener.”
“I know.” Sari heard the children’s laughter again. Both she and Tala turned to look, letting their eyes rest on the merry sight.
“The war seems to be waning,” Sari said.
“My visions come less and less.” Tala raised a hand to shield her eyes. Her eyes were fixed on the pasture, as were Sari’s.
Sari’s sister didn’t tell her what the visions were. Tala told Damien, and sometimes Damien told Sari. But often Tala’s visions were elusive, nascent things needing weeks or even years of contemplation. Leoc’s daughters had always seen this way. No vision came without sacrifice and pain, but the wrenching dreams were fewer these days than they ever had been before.