Mists of Velvet

plan?”
    “No. I don’t believe in God.”
    “Yes, you do. You’re just angry with Him.”
    Rowan felt her breath leave her lungs. How could Suriel have known the truth?
    “We’ve all been angry with Him at some point.” Suriel turned his head until he was looking out the window into the gardens that backed onto a small maze made up of hedged boxwoods. “We’ve all hated Him, even.”
    “ ‘We’ as in angels, or ‘we’ as in mortals?”
    He did not look at her but kept his gaze on the garden, his eyes suffering with some unseen memory, his expression distant. “Me,” he whispered. “I have hated Him. I have despised Him for what He has made me do in His name. One wing always dipped in blood—can you imagine it?” he asked, his gaze slowly drawing away from the window, only to land on her. “Can you imagine what that is like, to always be sent to do the dirty work? To be feared? To be hated? To cause such despair?”
    “No,” she answered, swallowing uneasily.
    “You hate Him because of what He has taken from you. Your mother, your father. You hate Him because you think He abandoned you to the nuns who didn’t care. You hate Him because He allowed you to be raped. You hate Him now, because you’ve discovered that you serve some purpose for His plan, and you resent it. You don’t want to serve Him, because you don’t think He deserves it. You want to punish Him. Am I right?”
    “How could you know?” she asked. She’d never told anyone; not even Mairi. No one knew her thoughts.
    “Do you think you are the only one to feel this way? Do you think it’s easy to never question? To never wonder why you must endure; why you must perform your part in His greater plan? Well, you’re not alone. I understand how you feel. I wanted to punish Him, too. And I did. I was one of the seven archangels He first created. I was one of the first to fall.”
    An archangel . Rowan couldn’t help but stare at Suriel, at his soft brown hair and eyes and at his mouth, so perfectly carved and shaped. Yes, she could see him in a long, flowing robe, seated with Gabriel and Michael. She saw the strength in his eyes, the pride. But she saw secrets and pain as well.
    “Do you still hate Him?”
    “No. I feel nothing. That is my punishment. I’m empty, hollow, except for . . . Never mind.” Before she realized what she was doing, Rowan reached out to him, but he pulled back from her, avoiding her touch. “We all have a purpose, both angel and mortal. And though it may not be clear to us, it is to Him. We are all part of God’s plan—mortals, angels, the fallen, and the devout. We all serve a purpose. Your conception occurred when the seed of the prophecy was sown. You cannot begin to fathom how much we all need you.”
    Swallowing, Rowan looked away, trying to let everything sink in. She’d always believed her life was useless. No one had wanted her, not even her own parents. It was kind of hard to take it all in, that now, she might be needed. “You make me sound like I am something special, when I am not.”
    Suriel smiled and reached for her hand. “You have no idea of your worth, Rowan. In time, it will all be clear. To you. To me. To the others.”
    “What am I?” she asked him, giving voice to the question she had asked herself all her life.
    “A gift.”
    And then he rose from her bed and bent down, kissing her reverently on her forehead. “We will meet again. And then, we shall know who you are.”
    “Suriel, why did you really come here?”
    He stilled, his hand lingering on her shoulder. His eyes were now guarded, unreadable. Now, she was looking into the eyes of the fallen angel.
    “You have something very valuable. And I want to make certain I get it first.”

CHAPTER SIX

    Rhys rubbed his fingers over the raised cross on the wooden box. It had been hours since he had seen Keir, and even longer since he had come to his office in the guise of doing work.
    Instead, he had spent the time gazing up at the ceiling, pondering what the hell was happening. Nothing was normal, and that was saying something, considering his life. Even after hours of introspection, he was no closer to an answer. In fact, he only had more questions—questions that could be answered only by Bran, Keir, or Annwyn itself.
    He knew enough of the Otherworld to at least get by. Daegan, although ancient by this time, had been alive when Rhys was a young boy. Despite being turned mortal by the Supreme Goddess, Cailleach,