The Secret: Irin Chronicles Book Three (35 page)

“I may know a place,” Ava said. “But you’ll need papers for them. It’s not in Bulgaria.”

The safe house Karen, Bruno, and Astrid had set up outside Prague was intended for Irina, but it could work for the
kareshta
as well. Ava was certain they wouldn’t turn innocents away. She knew it was remote, but she had no idea how hard it would be to get papers for foreign women and children.

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Max said. “I’ve already helped with IDs for them in the past.” He turned to Kostas. “How could you think I’d tell?”

Kostas only shook his head.

Sirius said, “Kostas told me you were coming here to petition the elders. Some of them must know about the
kareshta
. We think some in Vienna are in league with the Fallen.”

“Conspiracy theories,” Malachi said.

“We have said nothing publicly,” Rhys said. “Not even to our allies. These women are innocents. Most of the Irin—”

“Most of the Irin would kill them on sight, simply because they carry the blood of their enemy,” Kostas bit out. “I have no faith in your mercy.” He hung his head. “Nor should I expect it.”

Ava pushed past Malachi and knelt by him. “I have Grigori blood. The scribes in Istanbul didn’t turn me away.”

Kostas lifted his eyes. “Did they know?”

“No. But when they found out, my mate didn’t turn his back on me. None of them did. It will matter to some Irin, but not all.”

Kostas shook his head.

“We’re more than our blood,” Ava whispered. “More than our pasts. We just have to make them see that. They need to see you and Kyra. See the good that you’re doing.”

“I’m not dragging my sister into this”—he looked around—“vipers’ nest. Vienna would never be safe for her.”

“You don’t know that. And I think that decision should be left up to Kyra.” Ava rose to her feet and held out her hand. “Stand up. Sitting on the ground angry isn’t helping anyone. Brooding isn’t productive.”

Her irritation made the corner of his mouth turn up. “You remind me of her, you know.”

“Then you should be able to predict how stubborn I can be. Come on,” Ava said. “Come inside and let’s figure out a way to fix this.”

V.

BARAK SAT IN HIS MOST FAMILIAR human form, watching the groundskeepers trim the bushes in the snow-blanketed cemetery in the middle of the Irin city. A conspiracy of ravens watched him from the bare branches of a lime tree arching over a family crypt where a frost-dusted woman sat with a scroll on her lap, staring into the heavens. Some melancholic mourner had placed a red rose there, and the despairing woman clutched it in her hand.

Vasu appeared behind him, also in his most familiar form.

“What has gotten into you?” Barak asked.

“I have decided this is amusing. Is he here yet?”

“No, but I’ve put the cemetery into a dream for when he comes.”

“Why? I merely—”

His voice was cut off when Jaron appeared beside him in a rage.

Without a word, Jaron launched Vasu across the graveyard, his body hurled through the pillars of a memorial, which crashed with a massive thud, marble shards and ice flying through the frosty air.

Barak sighed. “You should have known.”

Vasu countered, his human form disappearing in a blink, then reappearing behind his brother, clutching Jaron’s shoulders as the two disappeared, only to reappear at the top of the church dome in the distance. Vasu threw Jaron off the tower, but the more powerful angel blinked out of sight and reappeared next to Vasu, shoving the angel off the blue-green dome and into the air where Vasu transformed into a large raven, one of his favorite forms.

The raven came to light on the tree across from Barak. The conspiracy took flight, leaving him alone and staring at Barak.

“I told you not to play games with her,” the other angel said. “He is possessive of his daughters.”

The voice that came from the raven’s mouth was human, even if its form was not. “She’s not his daughter.”

Jaron appeared beneath the tree. “She is of my line, and she is mine. That is all you need to know. Play your games with your own blood, brother.”

With a spread of wings, Vasu transformed again into the black-haired man with deep gold eyes. His black coat flapping behind him, he walked to Barak and sat down next to the weary angel.

“It was very informative to shadow her.”

“You spoke knowledge to her mind,” Barak said. “It has entered the world now. Are you aware of the consequences?”

“So our Master has not given us leave to tell our secrets to our children.” Vasu rolled his eyes. “This would be important if I cared about staying in His graces. I do not.”

Jaron hissed. Even Barak drew away.

“You tempt heaven, brother.”

“I tempt nothing but the whims of the Creator. And since I do not aim to leave this realm, it is of no concern to me.”

“Someday you will remember,” Jaron said. “And you will curse this day.”

“I will curse nothing. I am not capable of regret.”

Jaron’s mouth curled up at the corner. “We are capable of entirely more than what we like to admit, Vasu. For now, stay away from my daughter.”

“She has given her magic to the scribe,” Barak said. “This has never happened before. Their union is unique.”

“It will not be for long. I have seen it.”

“Was this your aim?” Vasu asked, his head cocked to the side. “A blending of Irin and Grigori magic? My brother, you have more heretical tendencies than I gave you credit for. My apologies for doubting you.”

“I hate to disappoint you, Vasu. But I believe this serves the will of our Master.”

Barak asked, “Why?”

“Azril returned the scribe.”

Barak and Vasu said at once, “His Will be done.”

“He desires unity?” Barak asked.

“If He did not, I would not have seen our triumph over Volund. Would not have seen our return.”

“Redemption,” Barak whispered, “was never my goal.”

“But if it allows us to return,” Jaron said, “I am willing to play on the side of the light.”

Vasu crouched on the ground and drew his fingers through the snow, writing words that would disappear in moments as the snow began to fall.
 

“Svarog’s children have routed your son,” Vasu said, staring at the crystalline flakes. “They will be here in days.”

Barak said, “Grimold’s get have been here for months, playing quietly while Volund chased the Irina from his territory. Svarog has called his sons. They will drag themselves here—screaming in rebellion, perhaps—but they will come.”

Vasu said, “Two armies are aligned against us, Jaron. Are you content to let your sons stay in hiding?”

“My sons have other tasks now. I do not need my army. I will take the Irin as my own.”

“The Irina are here,” Barak said. “Volund is foolish to underestimate them. They have no authority that constrains them as the scribes do.”

“And we will use that to defeat him,” Jaron said, brushing drifts of snow from his bare arms. The glyphs that marked his skin glowed with a faint silver light. As his daughter’s magic had transformed with her bonding to the scribe, he felt his own powers changing. Melding into something he could not predict. A rush of emotion had reached him the night of their union. Feelings he had not experienced for thousands of years.

He found the experience disconcerting.

And if he had found it disconcerting, he could not predict how Volund would feel when he lowered the shields around Ava. Whatever strange magic their union had worked would hit his enemy full force the moment he could feel her blood.

Volund would be unbalanced, and Jaron would strike.

It would not be long now. The singers had returned. The scent of magic in the city had shifted.

“He knows we’re here,” Barak said. “How long must we wait? Their numbers grow by the hour.”

“Not long,” Jaron said. “Soon the council will be complete, and we will reveal ourselves.”

Vasu looked up from the snow, a smile on his face. “Then we demons shall play at being heroes, and Death will visit us again.”

Chapter Twenty-one

IT WASN’T, MALACHI MUSED, a traditional end to a mating feast. But it seemed oddly appropriate for him and Ava.

Kostas and the Grigori who seemed to be his lieutenant, Sirius, were sitting across the dinner table from Damien and Sari. Orsala was on their right, and Gabriel on their left. Maxim sat next to Kostas, and Ava and Malachi had taken a spot at the end of the table, bridging the gap. Rhys and Leo stood in one corner with Renata and Mala. Both sides eyed the other with distrust, while the rest of the guests had joined the free Grigori soldiers outside.

The scent of sandalwood filled the air, and Malachi knew every scribe in the room struggled to restrain the ingrained instinct to kill the two men.

Gabriel was the first one to speak. “If this gets out, we will both be under censure, no matter what allies we have.”

“The world is changing,” Damien said.

“Not that much. This is too soon.”

“I agree with you,” Kostas said. “But this has been forced on us. Svarog’s forces are coming to Vienna. Grimold’s are already here.”

Ava asked, “How do you know?”

“I can spot the signs,” Kostas said. “If you look at police reports, there will be a slow build of attacks against indigents and prostitutes. The winter weather helps conceal it. Most will probably be written off by the human authorities because of the cold.”

“Are you sure?” Rhys asked.
 

Sirius answered him. “You can verify it with human authorities if you like, but I agree with Kostas. The Grigori here haven’t been attacking Irin targets. They wouldn’t dare. But Grimold is Volund’s lapdog. His people have been here since Volund lost so many of his children in Oslo.”

“We’ll look,” Sari said. “But that doesn’t solve the problem of your women.”

“Prague,” Ava said. “Can you contact Astrid?”

Sari and Damien exchanged a look.
 

“It is an acceptable risk,” Damien said. “But we must give them the option to refuse.”

“They won’t,” Orsala said. “There are children among them.”

“I thank you,” Sirius told her graciously. The man’s beautiful features were obscured by the obvious stress in the lines of his face. His accent marked him as Russian in origin, and he’d grown his hair and beard long. Malachi guessed it was to detract from the unnatural beauty of his race.
 

“The failure is mine,” Sirius continued. “They are my responsibility. I will accompany them and provide whatever assistance your people require.”

“There are scribes there who can watch over them,” Damien said. “The location of our safe houses must not be compromised.”

Sirius stiffened, and Kostas laid a hand on his second’s arm. “Peace. We can work out the details later, and Kyra will be with them.”

“We would never harm innocents,” Orsala said.

“You would be wrong to think them all innocent,” Kostas said. “Not all of our sisters are… well. Some are a danger to themselves and others. Part of Sirius’s job is to watch those who are not wholly sane.”

Sari said, “The children—”

“Some of the children are the worst,” Sirius said quietly.

The silence was tangible as Malachi imagined children driven mad by the voices in their minds and the horrors they might have witnessed at the hands of their own sires.

Orsala asked, “Can they be restrained with magic?”

Sirius and Kostas exchanged a look. “Possibly. We have no magic that can affect them, but we are not Irina.”

Orsala nodded. “I will go with the
kareshta
,” she said. “That should be sufficient.”

“Grandmother—”

“I’ve decided,” she said. “The elder singers will be arriving within the week. I have nothing to offer in battle they do not have.”

Kostas said, “The singers are returning?”

Sari paused, then said, “Many of them are already here. We’ve been in contact with havens around the globe. Of the seven former elders, three are still living and willing to take office. The other regions have sent representatives. The Irina council will be active within a week.”

“That’s when we should announce it then,” Malachi said. “When the Irina council has taken their place in the Library.”

“Announce what?” Gabriel asked.

“The existence of the
kareshta
.”

Malachi felt Ava’s hand tighten on his as the room held its collective breath.

“Who are you to make that decision?” Gabriel asked. “A censured scribe from Istanbul who was rumored to be dead. You show up in Vienna with a mate no one has heard of and suggest revelations that could disrupt the foundations of our race.
Who are you?
”

Malachi leaned forward. “I am the only Irin scribe in history mated to one of the
kareshta
.”

No one had any response to that, so Malachi continued. “I am a warrior of Mikhael’s line. And I’ve seen the dark edge of power in my mate. I don’t fear it. I claim it. I
did
die. And I was returned from heaven for a reason. We met”—he reached out and took Ava’s hand—“for a reason.
That
is who I am, and I will bear witness to it.”