apace with Amanat, the lights within were electric.
Amanat was clearly being upgraded for this century. Either Caliane was more forward-thinking than Andromeda had believed, or she had a forward-thinking advisor. Andromeda would bet on the latter. It was apt to be Avi’s beloved Jelena. As loyal to Caliane as Avi, Jelena was keenly interested in new inventions and technologies, and had often come to the Library seeking access to manuals.
Carrying on down the path, Andromeda saw a small black puppy, his coat smooth and shiny, running toward her. When he flopped down in front of her as if exhausted, she laughed and picked him up—whereupon he regained his energy and was a wiggling, excited bundle determined to give her wet puppy kisses.
Andromeda held him for some time, his warm body and the fast beat of his heart a reassurance, something familiar in an unfamiliar place. Her childhood may have been unorthodox in ways that had scarred her, but it had also been joyous because of the myriad animals who’d been her refuge, her friends, and her companions. They didn’t lie, didn’t look at her in disappointment for her scholarly inclinations, never made her feel as if she was a mistake.
It was a good thing Andromeda was so clearly her mother’s daughter—it avoided awkward questions about the other side of her bloodline. Andromeda had always wondered if Lailah had chosen Cato in part because he’d permit her to exercise her tendencies without limits. After all, he was exactly the same.
If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you rut with others.
Her face flushed just as the puppy wriggled to be put down. Placing him on the ground, she watched him race away on stubby little legs, but her mind was on a predator with silver eyes.
Naasir was like the animals who’d kept her sane during her otherwise friendless childhood. She didn’t think he’d take the comparison as an insult—not when he had the same honest core. He was far, far better than most “normal” people she’d met in her near–four hundred years of life.
“Andi!”
She jerked up her head at the call to find Isabel waving to her from in front of a set of wide doors that led into the temple carved into the side of a mountain. A number of exhausted-appearing young women flowed out of the temple and toward nearby homes.
Deep orange tunic and pants offset by a green fabric belt tied to the side, a bright pink gi-style top matched with wide-legged white pants, a vivid blue tunic that came to mid-thigh paired with black leggings, those were three of the more conservative outfits.
Biting back a laugh, Andromeda joined Isabel by the doors. “Warrior clothes?”
Affectionate amusement in Isabel’s eyes. “I think they consider anything with pants, or that shows the legs, as scandalous and warrior-like.” Unlike her drooping students, Isabel didn’t appear as if she’d broken so much as a sweat. “Caliane is walking the orange grove at the other end of the city. We’ll fly to her.”
“An orange grove in this climate?” Andromeda said before she realized the shield around Amanat allowed Raphael’s mother to control the temperature within. “Does she ever lower the shield?”
“Not since a maiden was killed by one of Charisemnon’s diseases.” Isabel’s lips flattened into a thin line as Andromeda’s stomach dropped. “He thought to use Kahla as a carrier, but she died before infecting anyone. It broke Caliane’s heart.”
“I’m so sorry,” Andromeda said, nauseated at knowing the murder had been done by a member of her family . . . and terrified what Caliane would do to her for it.
“It wasn’t your doing.” Isabel squeezed her shoulder. “You are as innocent as Kahla.”
Flaring out her wings on those quiet words, Isabel took off.
Andromeda followed, knowing full well that Caliane might not be as forgiving.
Deep in the orange grove, the Ancient wasn’t dressed in one of the flowing gowns in which she was so often depicted in scrolls and illustrated manuscripts. Instead, she wore faded brown leathers similar to Avi’s, her midnight black hair pulled back in a braid much like Andromeda’s.
“Isabel,” Caliane said in greeting when the warrior-angel landed, her voice hauntingly pure. “Are my maidens improving?”
“Like snails, my Lady.”
Caliane’s smile was unexpected and startlingly beautiful, her lips soft pink against skin of pure cream. “You must be patient—they are hothouse flowers suddenly exposed to the wind and the rain.” Her smile faded. “Would that it wasn’t necessary to teach them thus, but the world is changing into a dark place where the