Archangel's Sun (Guild Hunter #13) - Nalini Singh Page 0,98

on going.

In a dark mood by the time he landed in the inner courtyard of Charisemnon’s stronghold, he first greeted the outside guard, then stripped off his dirty armor and dunked his head under an external water pipe hidden in one corner. Any place that expected warriors to fly in and out on a regular basis had such areas.

He also used the water to wash off sweat from the top half of his body, as well as any reborn fluid that had gotten in under his armor. His pants were a lost cause, but he washed off his boots, too. Leaving his armor piled neatly to one side, to collect later, he contacted Kiama to find out Sharine’s exact location.

It took him less than two minutes to make his way to her. The rays of the noon sun fell on her hair as she sat at a large desk, her wings flowing gracefully on either side of the chair back. She looked ethereal, a creature out of some other world.

Then she lifted her head and raised an eyebrow. “Are you attempting to smite me with your glare?”

Striding into the room, sure she’d sucked in a breath a moment before she spoke, he put his hands on his hips so she could more fully admire him. When she didn’t fall over at the sight of his masculine beauty, he scowled and looked around at all the bound volumes. “What, did my enemy write of his great exploits and heroic deeds?”

He hated that she looked so at ease here, in a place where he would rarely venture—he had a huge library in his citadel, but it was for his scholars and those others of his staff interested in scholarly pursuits. Titus knew he was intelligent, but he’d never been at home in the world of books and learning.

“You did know him well.” Sharine’s tone was dry. “Because yes, this is his history.”

Astonished, he took a second look around the room, noting the rows upon rows upon rows of volumes. In the end, his innate fairness had him giving a grudging nod of acknowledgment. “Charisemnon was a boil on the hind leg of a rabid feral pig, but he had determination, a certain kind of grit if he managed to keep this up for his entire lifetime.” He couldn’t help adding, “Pathetic that he then decided to spend his strength of will on manufacturing diseases.”

“I think I found something.” Whispers of sound, her wings settling, as she rose.

He turned and watched her walk toward him, a small woman made of light, but with a spine that was a steel rod. This woman wouldn’t bend except by her own will and she very definitely would not break. She stopped so close to him that their wings almost touched, and held out a journal opened at a specific section.

Wrenching his gaze away from the softness of her skin, and his attention from the heat of her body so dangerously near to his own, he looked down at the neat handwriting in the book. It looked familiar in a vague kind of way. “What’s the language?” He could speak a great many of them, but he had more knowledge of the spoken version than he did of their written forms.

“Oh, I apologize, Titus—I’ve been so deep into it for hours that I forgot it’s a highly specific tongue, spoken by those who grew up in an enclave on the Nile.”

Titus thought back, then spoke a line. “Is that it?”

An appreciative look on her face as she nodded. “Where did you learn it?”

He rolled his eyes at her. Her responding glare was very satisfying. Now she knew what he felt like. “That festering sore of an archangel was my enemy,” he said. “Of course I learned all the languages in which he might give orders in the field.”

He’d asked a warrior-scholar to track down an angel friendly to Titus who knew that obscure tongue, then he’d studied with that angel until he knew the language inside out. He’d also hired his teacher to decode any documents his spies picked up in the same language—Titus could read the language, but he was far slower at it than an expert.

“Sarcasm does not become you, my Lord Titus.”

He knew she’d used that address just to irritate him, so he said, “I am but your servant, my Lady Hummingbird.”

The two of them glared at one another, but below the aggravation was a fire that had the pulse in her throat skittering,