about to argue but finally gave into it. No sooner had you laid your head down on a pack than you were asleep.
“I didn’t plan this,” Lucian said to me after he’d settled Mater on a nearby bed pad. “I came seeking your counsel, so that you might prompt Henri to appeal to Azrael on our mother’s behalf. I never anticipated carrying out this mission. At least, not with you and Henri at my side.”
There didn’t seem much use in debating it now. “It isn’t right what Azrael has been doing to her.”
“You know what this means, don’t you? We’re going to have to fight our way out. Even if we succeed and make it to our lands, we’ll be fugitives. The equivalent of political prisoners on house arrest until the end of time.”
“I could live with that, if Henri was there too.”
“You’ll never see your parents again,” Lucian said. “Unless they choose to defect, which is unlikely.”
I didn’t intend for us to hide forever. I wanted us to gather our allies and fight.
“How many are we?” I asked Lucian. “Grigori and Nephilim combined?”
“A few thousand, but most are either conscripted to Azrael’s Imperium or imprisoned in a Shade Vale. The warborn…” he drifted.
“What about the warborn?”
“They have numbers and mortal armies, but our dealings with them have been…” Another weighted pause, “strained.”
“If we were united, would that be enough? Could we take down the Imperium and banish Azrael from the human realm altogether?”
“It would mean everyone working together toward one purpose, and the tribes are notorious for cutting deals with divinity and selling out their own.”
“I want Henri to be free from Azrael’s control. And I want that angel to pay for what he’s done.”
“We’ll make him pay,” Mater hissed. I hadn’t realized she’d been listening to our scheming. “You are our Parousia, Vincere.”
“Does the prophecy say anything about eyes?” I asked Mater, thinking again about Azrael’s bargain with you.
Our mother then recited what sounded like a poem in Latin. Lucian said it had been translated from angelic tongue, and he gave me his own English version as well.
Bloodborn child of the sun, blessed is he with second sight, returned to conquer a vast empire, a herald to the giants’ rise.
“It took some time and effort getting it to rhyme, while still staying true to its meaning,” Lucian said a little self-consciously.
I supposed that’s what one did with time on their hands and a code to crack.
“The Latin word for empire is imperium,” I said. “Is that a proper noun or a general concept?”
“Mother thought it meant the Roman empire,” Lucian said. “And Azrael so named his Imperium accordingly, but I believe the word is ambiguous. And the pronoun, he, isn’t gendered in its original version.”
“And bloodborn?” I asked.
“It could be interpreted as merely a royal birth, but Mother has convinced the Grigori elders that the Parousia will originate from within our bloodline.”
The prophecy certainly made a lot of assumptions. As did Mater.
“You will unite the Grigori and wage war on the Angel of Death,” she said with chilling certainty. “To conquer, Vincere.”
I expected Lucian to balk at that, but he only inclined his head and gave a little smirk. “No pressure.”
36
Henri
Say a prayer to the gods for victory. Clean and sharpen our weapons. Ensure our bodies and minds are sound. Make peace with our sins…
These had always been the tasks I’d instructed my soldiers to perform before battle, but this time, I didn’t feel at all prepared. We were, all of us, blood-deprived. Lucian had only consumed a fraction of the nutrition he needed, and he’d been bleeding himself for Lena. The beastborn was sluggish and dim. My portions had gone to you, and even that wasn’t enough. Your eyes were sooty, your hunger throbbing like a wound. We’d need all of our strength for the battle that lay ahead of us. Some difficult decisions needed to be made.
Or rather, executed.
“We need to feed,” I said to our small band of rebels who, for the time being, included the beastborn. Ashur seemed to have fallen in line with the goal of protecting you and had become less surly as of late.
“But we’re out of blood,” Lucian said flatly. He knew already where this was going.
All eyes turned toward Maxwell. All except yours. You caught up with us, though, and your face was a mask of horror.
“No,” you uttered and tore your head back and forth. “Henri, we can’t. I promised him.”