No terrible secret that . . . except if you knew the name of Mahiya's father.
Eris.
Though Mahiya was the fruit of Eris and Nivriti's forbidden relationship, she was, to all outward appearances, treated as a beloved princess by her aunt, the title a courtesy to elucidate her status as kin to Neha. "Is there anything else?"
Samira's breathing went very quiet for a minute, and Jason waited without interruptions or demands, knowing she had to be concerned about being overheard. "Neha is half insane," she said at last. "I'm worried she'll release her power."
Knowing as he did the depth of the archangel's emotions where her husband was concerned—she'd neither been able to forgive him his infidelity, nor set him free after centuries of confinement—Jason shared Samira's concern. And Neha was a being of immense power. If she gave voice to her agony, she could lay waste to cities, and it was near certain she would aim her rage toward those she held responsible for another terrible pain—the execution of her daughter, Anoushka.
Raphael had delivered the final blow that reduced Neha's daughter to dust.
"Tell me the instant she makes a move."
Hanging up, he looked out over the grounds to see the bridal party and guests walking inside for the no doubt exquisite breakfast prepared by the proud household staff, under the butler Montgomery's dignified guidance. Raphael's wings glittered in the sunlight, the gold filaments striking against the white. Sire.
Raphael didn't pause, his expression giving nothing away. What is it, Jason?
Eris is dead. Murdered. He knew Raphael had seen Eris court Neha, win her, and Raphael understood the twisted emotions that had tied the two together.
The archangel's reply was swift. Meet me in the study.
Two minutes later, when Jason slipped into the study through the French doors that opened out onto the lawn, he did so with a stealth that meant no one would've seen him, though the sun rose higher on the horizon with every breath. That was as it should be—it was his job to be unseen, unheard, a shadow among shadows. After six centuries, his status as Raphael's spymaster was no secret when it came to the oldest immortals, though that knowledge gained them nothing and had even less impact on Jason's activities. While people focused on him, his operatives quietly found places in courts and towers across the world.
Raphael entered the room at that moment, closing the door behind him. "Neha was already on the edge of madness after Anoushka's execution." The archangel's tone was unforgiving in its honesty. "This may well push her over."
Jason had seen other archangels lose fatal control, had walked through devastated cities full of rotting corpses, watched an entire country fall into a dark age in which all hope was extinguished, children's eyes dull with despair. Even if Neha chose a target outside Raphael's territory, the world could not suffer such devastation so soon after the destruction of Beijing without breaking—and regardless, the ensuing archangelic war would engulf them all.
His phone purred discreetly at that instant. Answering it, he heard Samira say, "She's left the body—her eyes are of madness."
"Get her to the room where she has her communications suite."
"Jason, she won't see reason."
"You must find a way." Every one of his operatives was of cutting intelligence, able to think on his or her feet. "Then get out of the fort and Neha's territory."
Samira took a deep breath. "I might be able to do it if I stretch the truth and say the Cadre wishes to speak to her."
"Do not linger, Samira." In this mood, Neha would kill her.
"I'll leave as soon as the words are spoken."
Hanging up, he looked at Raphael. "If we make the call now, we have a chance of catching her before she can no longer see or hear through the rage."
"I can divert her," Raphael responded, "but it could involve your presence in her territory."
"I'll go." While the risk to Samira was now too high, Jason was far stronger, knew he garnered a certain respect from Neha.
Raphael nodded and waited for Jason to retreat out of view before he input the call on the large screen in one corner of the study, for Raphael, too, understood the value of technology. The answer took so long in coming, Jason thought Samira must've failed in her task. But the screen cleared at long last to show Neha as he'd never before seen her.
The Archangel of India was always elegant, always graceful.
Now, her black hair hung matted and snarled around her face, as if she'd been pulling at it; streaks of blood slashed across her skin and soaked into the marigold yellow of her silk sari. "Raphael," she said, her voice so calm it was lethal. "You circle like a vulture even as Eris's lifeblood stains my hands."
Raphael's response was gentle. "I have never been that, Neha."
A faint smile that was of the reptile that gave Neha her name as the Queen of Snakes. "No, perhaps not. So, do you offer your commiseration?" An almost bored statement, her lashes lowered to shield the wild rage that boiled within.
"I offer my help."