Grace and Glory (The Harbinger #3) - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,9
both grace and Glory, a power that is beyond what your mind can comprehend and yet a power owned by you. Use it to strike through the heart encased in chaos.”
I stared at him as understanding dawned. “The Sword of Michael.”
He stepped back, those eyes on his wings blinking in unison.
“You’re saying that I’m supposed to use the Sword of Michael against Zayne?” My voice pitched high. “Stab him in the heart with it? That would kill him!”
“Your grace can never harm what you cherish. It can only restore.”
Now that sounded like some Jedi nonsense. “And I’m just supposed to take your word for that?” I demanded. Once the grace was summoned, it destroyed. Demon. Human. Warden. Even angels. He expected me to believe that because I loved Zayne, the Sword of Michael wouldn’t harm him when it could slice through the skin of a Warden like it was nothing more than water? I’d cared about Misha, and my grace had ended his life.
“Do you not have any faith?”
I opened my mouth to respond.
“I already know this answer.” His wings flared, and all those eyes stared straight into me. “It was a rhetorical question, Trueborn. You, a child of one of the most powerful archangels, have always lacked faith.” The Throne smiled at me. “It is a good thing that neither God nor your father have ever lacked faith in you.”
I jolted, struck speechless.
“Do not fail, Trueborn. You will need him to defeat Gabriel. You will need everything to defeat the Harbinger,” the Throne said, and I wondered if he knew where Roth and Layla were currently. I wisely decided to not even address that as the intense golden glow rippled over him. My eyes watered and ached. “It may already be too late for him. Many who Fell were far too lost even after being entombed to be given the choice of redemption. I hope for your sake that is not the case. Gabriel will be the least of your concerns. Your Fallen, in his current state, can kill you. So be careful. It would be most displeasing for you to die by the hands of the one who Fell to be with you.”
Displeasing?
I could think of a lot more descriptive words. Horrific. Heartbreaking. Messed up. Agonizing. Tragic.
I exhaled roughly. “And if it did work,” I started, and then corrected myself. “If I am successful, will Zayne return to being an angel?” I asked, my heart squeezing for a whole different reason.
Angels didn’t have emotions. Or at least that’s what I’d always believed, and Gabriel pretty much confirmed that. If Zayne was restored, I wouldn’t get him back. Not like before. But he would be okay. He would be alive, and that...that had to be enough.
The Throne studied me silently for a couple of seconds. “Many believe that demons are incapable of love, do they not? As they do not have a human soul.”
A shiver of unease drifted through me. Was he reading my mind?
God, I hoped not.
But demons could love. Roth loved Layla, and he was the Crown Prince of Hell.
The angel tilted his head. “Contrary to what is known and what some of our brethren will even claim, angels are not incapable of emotion, Trueborn. We just feel things...differently. For the oldest among us, it is difficult, but we are not incapable of love or lust or hate,” he continued. “Those who Fell are proof. Gabriel is proof of that now.”
As I stared at him, I realized that he was right. The angels who Fell did so because they caved to a whole slew of human emotions, and Gabriel...he had a mad case of jealousy and bitterness. Relief swept through me—
“But Zayne would not become an angel. He would not become a Warden. He would remain as he is,” the Throne continued. “A Fallen who is earthbound, with one foot in Heaven and the other in Hell. There is only one other who was shunned by the Heavens and retained his grace.”
My chest hollowed. “Lucifer.”
“And you see how that turned out for him.”
With that little piece of extremely distressing news and possibly the most demotivating pep talk, the Throne vanished, taking with him the frigid air and scent of sandalwood.
I had no idea how long I stood there, staring at the spot of the Blessed Sacrament, my mind alternating between being incapable of believing what the Throne had said I needed to do and inherently knowing there was no choice.