Guild Hunter 05 - Archangel's Storm

the roof with the princess Jason had brought home. The women had their faces turned toward one another, Elena’s hair a white flame, Mahiya’s ebony silk gathered neatly into a knot at the nape of her neck.
    If he had ever considered the woman who would get through Jason’s shields, it would not have been this elegant princess from Neha’s land, with her flawless politeness and a personality that seemed a serene mirror without depth. And yet . . . Jason was his spymaster, skilled at seeing behind shields and beyond defenses
. What do you think of Jason’s princess?
he said to his consort.
    That she has a will of iron, that she loves Jason with all her heart—and that there is far more to her than either one of us will ever know,
she said as he turned his attention back to Jason.
Nothing strange about that. Only you know all the pieces of me.
    As Elena knew him, he thought as he and Jason came to a halt on the cliff above the Hudson. So many discussions he’d had with his spymaster on this very spot—Jason didn’t like being confined when he could be under the sky. “The princess,” he said, “has sanctuary here as long as she needs it.”
    “Thank you, Sire, but I think she can safely live in the wider world.” Jason settled his wings. “She’ll have to be careful, but I am of the belief that threats aside, Neha is too proud to break her word. As for Mahiya’s mother, it’s a relationship she alone can learn to navigate.”
    Raphael agreed with Jason about Neha. The archangel wasn’t mercurial like Michaela—honor meant a great deal to her, her own something she guarded. “Does the princess have somewhere to go?”
    “Yes.”
    Raphael let the breeze brush his face, weave its fingers through his hair, and waited, knowing Jason had something else to say to him.
    “Sire.” Jason continued to look outward, toward Manhattan, his tone calm. “I release you from your promise.”
    Raphael had lived a millennium and a half, had memories strong and weak. He remembered the exact day each of his Seven had sworn fealty—Jason had been
so
young, and yet there had been a contained strength to him that had spoken to Raphael. He had known the boy would become a man of tempered steel. And he had known that steel had a fatal flaw.
    “I ask only one promise for my service.”
Words Jason had said, his skin smooth and bare of the markings that would begin to appear in another decade.
“I was not . . . formed correctly. Part of me is damaged and may one day shatter. When it does, I ask that you execute me cleanly rather than allow me to erode from the inside out.”
    Raphael had never asked Jason about his past, but he had put the pieces together, understood that his spymaster had survived a childhood that would’ve left many too broken to function, and that he had scars that might never fade. Scars . . . and fractures. So he’d made that promise, and he had hoped never to keep it.
    Now, a cool wind kissed his skin, his blood, the weight of the promise lifting from his shoulders. “I am glad of it, Jason.”
    He continued to look out over the water, and just when Raphael thought Jason might speak again, he gave a near imperceptible shake of his head and kept his silence. Raphael didn’t know if Jason had found peace of a kind at last, or whether that peace was only a glimmer on the horizon, but he hoped the black-winged angel would never again have cause to seek such a promise from him.
    For even an archangel could mourn.
    *  *  *
    M ahiya was in Elena’s greenhouse, gazing in wonder at the lush yellow flowers of a plant with wide leaves of spring green, when the door opened. She didn’t need to turn to know who stood in the doorway—her very skin seemed to sigh at his presence, her need for him a pulse deep within, for he had not touched her since before the battle. “I think this is my favorite place in all of this land I have yet seen.” Everything bloomed with life here, and there were no hidden aspects, no subtle politics.
    “You can have a garden now if you wish.”
    Her smile burst out of her. “Yes, I can, can’t I?” It was a wonderful thought, and one she’d put into practice as soon as she found a place to call home.
Is your offer of a loan still open?
Though he’d been physically remote, she hadn’t lost hope, for never once had he shut her out of his mind since the day he’d allowed her in.
    Of course.
“I have a house that may suit you until you decide otherwise,”