Fiery Edge of Steel (A NOON ONYX NOVEL) (19 page)

“We have,” I said boldly. Ari smiled at me then, but it was strained. I knew he didn’t trust Delgato.

“Nouiomo Onyx and Aristos Carmine,” Delgato murmured as he got up from his chair. “Rochester’s told me all about you two. You, in particular, Nouiomo. You’re a source of fascination to many,” he said, glancing at Ari, “and not just because you’re the executive’s daughter.” Delgato wandered around the room. It reminded me of the way Rochester wandered during class. He came to a stop in front of one of the paintings near the back wall of the dining room. “Tomorrow night I will continue where my old friend left off. I will teach you how to fight. But tonight I want to see how you love. Come,” he said, motioning both Ari and me over to view the painting with him. Ari stood up first and reached for my hand. I took it and rose from my seat. The Angels stood at their chairs, alert and wary. Together, Ari and I stepped up to the painting.

It was a painting of Estes embracing a lover at the water’s edge. But unlike Estes’ conquests in the other paintings, his lover in this picture wasn’t a human Hyrke. She was a demon. In the painting, the two lovers stood naked, ankle deep in the shallow waters of the Lethe’s edge at sunrise. The dawning sun rose behind them, coating the lapping waves and the lovers in pink. The left, shadowed side of everything in the painting was as black as the just-ending night. Estes had the demoness in a clinch, his mouth pressed against her mark. Her back arched over Estes’ massively muscled arm and her long dark hair echoed the shape of her body and the waves of the Lethe.

In the picture, Estes was depicted as a large human man. Mouth pressed against the demoness’ breast, he almost appeared to be devouring her. The demoness, however, was depicted midshift. Instead of feet, she had a dark, twisted plume for a tail. Instead of fingers, she had long, bluish black claws. And instead of a nose and mouth, she had a vicious-looking beak. But her cobalt-colored wings were the most mesmerizing thing about her appearance. I couldn’t help wondering if an Angel had painted this picture because her wings seemed to flutter as we watched. They beat the air behind her back as she struggled against Estes’ embrace.

The painting’s title was
Cliodna’s Surrender
.

By now, my cheeks and magic were hot. Ari’s signature was at low boil too. Did Delgato expect us to enact the embrace in the picture? I was afraid he did.

Fara stood nearby, poised and ready to cast. Rafe sat back down and put his feet up on the chair next to him. He looked disinterested, but I couldn’t be sure.

“So let’s see,” Delgato said. “Kiss her,” he commanded, waving to Ari.

Ari looked at me. I swallowed and reluctantly nodded my assent. After all, hadn’t Ari kissed me in front of a crowd just two nights ago at Marduk’s? What was one small buss? It wasn’t even a blood sacrifice. And I knew Ari would keep the kiss brief and chaste. There would be no swooning, no true surrender. Ari leaned toward me and barely brushed his mouth against my mark. It
stung
and I sucked in a deep breath of air. My chest heaved and I sighed in relief as Ari lifted his head. The room suddenly seemed too bright and I knew my pupils had likely dilated to full black. Delgato, Rafe, and Fara were hardly the cheering crowds of Marduk’s, but I thought we acquitted ourselves well. Ari stepped back and Delgato laughed.

“That’s not it, is it?” he said to me. “Rochester told me you added emotion to your magic to make it stronger. You told me you were able to mark each other with
signares
. Two
humans
. That’s powerful waning magic and I want to see it. Look back at the painting I showed you, Nouiomo. What do you see?”

“The demon’s predilection for perversion?” I grumbled. Any lingering buzz from Ari’s kiss had fled.

“The
kiss
isn’t the sacrifice. The
surrender
is the sacrifice. I want to see if you’re capable of surrendering to waning magic.”

“Of course I’m capable of surrendering to waning magic,” I snapped.

“Your past history indicates otherwise. I was told that you declared your magic only days before Bryde’s Day last semester, that you first enrolled at St. Luck’s as a Hyrke, and that you’re one of Rochester’s most reluctant students.”

I opened my mouth to protest but what could I really say? Everything Delgato just said was true.

“I was told you have powerful waning magic but that you’re still having trouble wielding it as you should.”

I stiffened. “What’s your point, Delgato?”

“I can help you.”

I frowned.
Was this some sort of trick?
“How?”

“Rochester’s teaching methods are orthodox. They work best with students who use magic in the traditional way. My methods are unorthodox—as are yours. That’s why Rochester asked me to serve as your guide and mentor on this assignment. I understand all too well how much more powerful magic can be when combined with emotion.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I took a peek at our Angel audience. They hadn’t moved. Fara was still at the ready and Rafe looked like he was napping. What did I care what they thought anyway? It was demons like Delgato and Estes that I had to prove myself to, although I wasn’t exactly sure how surrendering myself as Cliodna had was going to accomplish that.

“Is this a sacrifice for Estes, a Manipulation lesson, or just an act that will satisfy your perverted curiosity?”

Delgato narrowed his eyes at me. “All of the above,” he finally said. “If you want to learn how to better manipulate your magic with emotion, prove it. Make an offering. Show us that you’re willing to surrender to waning magic.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

Delgato’s expression darkened and his signature suddenly made me feel as if I’d been stuffed in a sack full of razors.

“I’m offering to tutor and protect you on this voyage and you refuse to offer even one small sign of peace? Of love? Of commitment?”

“No,” I said quickly. It wasn’t that I had trouble offering those things. “It’s just that . . . well, Ari doesn’t have to be involved in my sacrifice.”

Delgato laughed. “Is there someone else here you care for more?”

I scoffed. “Of course not.” But . . .

“How I use my magic with Ari is my business,” I said shrilly. My temper was starting to fray, which meant my magic control was too.

“Of course it is, Nouiomo,” Delgato said, his voice almost a purr. “And if your preference is a more savage sacrifice, I’m sure I can assess you while you use your magic to skin, debone, and disembowel Virtus.”

I heard Fara gasp but kept my gaze fastened on Delgato. His signature was full of sharp edges, as if he were made of knives and fangs. It was impossible to tell if he was bluffing.

“Fine,” I said testily. I swallowed, mentally preparing myself.
What did it matter if I showed everyone here how I truly felt about Ari? It wasn’t as if I was ashamed of my feelings for him.
I reached up and clasped my hands behind Ari’s head. I drew him down toward me and kissed him on the lips. It was a sweet kiss. A sign that I wanted to do this, and that I forgave him for whatever might happen next.

Gently then, I lowered Ari’s head to my mark. He bent me back over his arm as Estes had Cliodna. My hair broke free of its ribbon and swept the floor as Ari’s mouth came down on my mark more forcefully than before. I cried out, going involuntarily stiff. Waning magic pooled in my mark and for one frightening moment, I thought I might lose control. But then I softened, gentling myself and my magic, and attempted to tame the answering waning magic I felt rising up in Ari. But trying to limit both my body’s and my magic’s response to Ari’s touch proved too much. I slumped in Ari’s arms. He held me up, my head tipped back, his head still pressed to my chest, the stinging, burning, erotic sensation of his mouth on my mark nearly more than I could bear.

I was almost—but not quite—to the point of no longer caring what happened next when Delgato leaned toward me and whispered, “When you’ve had enough, surrender. Your magic is destructive, Nouiomo. Surrender to it. Commit to it.
Embrace
it as Aristos is embracing you and shape it into a weapon of war. Even when all you’re feeling is love, you must learn how to think violently.”

That was it.
That’s
what did it. I’d like to think that I am capable of surrendering, for the right reasons, but clearly I’m unable to do so when provoked.

The volatile mix of magic and emotions I’d gathered exploded and sluiced off of me. I was afraid I might repeat what had happened at the House of Metatron when I had destroyed Justica, so instead of fireballs, I willed it into the shape of a giant dove. The flaming bird circled the room in lazy, whooshing swoops. Ari rested his forehead briefly against mine before releasing me from his embrace. I stood up and walked over to a window. I fumbled with the catch for a moment and then threw it open. My flaming dove took one last lap around the dining room, dropping ash and cinders the entire time, and driving Virtus absolutely mad, and then it flew through the window and dove straight into the Lethe. I gathered my hair to one side, pulled it over and across my left shoulder, covering my mark, and turned to face my small audience. Rafe was at the drink cart, pouring himself a brandy, and Fara’s attention was focused solely on Virtus.

Behind me the river hissed and steamed.

I thought Delgato would be angry that I’d defied his wishes, but he just laughed and clapped slowly.

“Well done, Nouiomo Onyx,” he said. “I have a feeling we’ll work well together.”

A
fter dinner, dessert, and my flaming dove trick, I changed into soft linen pants and a high-necked shirt, bandaged my still-bleeding thumb, and fled to the upper sundeck, which, at that time of night, was awash in moonlight and blissfully deserted. Low benches covered in cushions and square pillows outlined the boat’s inner railing. I picked a spot as far from the stairs as possible and sat down, hiding myself behind one of the cannons. I tucked my legs up under my chin and stared out at the silver-tinged river and the black hills of the countryside at night.

I was wondering what new perils tomorrow might bring when I heard footsteps on the deck. I wrapped my arms around my legs and buried my face in my knees, groaning. The footsteps grew louder until Ari was standing right in front of me.

“I’m like some abominable jar of pickled hearts,” I mumbled, not looking up, thinking of the indelicate spectacle we’d made before my fiery dove thankfully stole the show. “Like the ones behind the curtain at Hyrke street fairs that people pay a quarter to see.”

“Maybe, but if that kiss was any indication, you must taste awfully good.”

I raised my head, frowning. It was Rafe, not Ari. Suddenly, oddly, unbelievably, I felt like laughing. “Did you just cast a spell over me?”

Rafe feigned innocence. “I told you, I wouldn’t dream of casting a spell over you.” He sat down on one of the nearby cushions and his expression became serious. “But, actually, I would. That’s what I came up here for—to cast a healing spell over you.” He motioned to my bandaged thumb.

“So you really can cast useful spells. And the veiling and unveiling of Delgato. Those spells were for real, Rafe. You’ve been hiding some serious skills. What were you doing with your hands? I’ve never heard of an Angel that can cast without speaking before.”

He shrugged, like it was no big deal.

“Does anyone at the Joshua School know you can do that?” They couldn’t possibly. He’d never have been ranked dead last if they knew he could cast silent spells. “You should tell them.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Don’t you want to advance your career?”
What Angel wasn’t ambitious?
Well, okay, from what I’d seen of him (or not seen of him, although his blank CV spoke volumes), Raphael Sinclair was the least ambitious Angel I’d ever met. And, sure enough, the next words out of his mouth were:

“I could care less about advancing my career. And besides, the Joshua School kicked me out.”

“What—?”

Again, the shrug. Like it was no big deal. And then something occurred to me.

“The letter of introduction. Your name was never on it. You cast a spell over it—a silent one!”

He didn’t deny it. I didn’t know Rafe well enough to know what he was thinking. And he wasn’t a waning magic user with a signature so I couldn’t even sense his feelings. He seemed calm, unperturbed. I figured that was just the face he showed everyone. The slacker face. The face that said he didn’t give a damn about anything. Or anyone.