the cemetery, just outside the border of Stratus, surrounded by redwoods and pines. Canaan’s taken on his human form beneath the dense covering of trees. The branches are full with summer life, pressing against their backs, pushing them closer to one another as they speak.
“You’ll be walking into a trap, Jake. Damien wants you both. He’ll keep her there as bait. He knows you won’t leave her.”
Jake speaks through clenched teeth. “He’s right.”
“And what then? He takes you both to Danakil? To the Prince?”
“We’ll be together,” Jake says, his voice catching. “That’s what matters.”
“No,” Canaan counters, “that’s not what matters. Your souls matter. Proximity makes you easier to use against one another. Makes your will pliable, your heart emotional, your flesh weak.”
“Then what? What do we do?”
“You do nothing. You wait. I’ll go. I’ll get Brielle out of Stratus.”
Jake shakes his head. “You’re a much bigger, much brighter target than I am. I can get in and out . . .”
“You might be able to get in, Jake, but with Damien there, you’re not getting out.”
Jake’s jaw snaps shut.
“I can help.” A tiny girl appears next to them on the forest floor. Black skin, black hair knotted at her neck, bright brown eyes. She looks no more than eight years old. A dark orange cloth is tied at one shoulder and hangs to her knees. Her feet are bare.
“Pearla, yes?” Canaan says, kneeling before her. “The Commander’s Cherub?”
“Yes, sir, I am, and I’ve been sent to help.”
Jake’s open to anything right now. Anything except standing here talking.
“Go ahead, Pearla,” he says. “Tell us.”
“Your charge is right, Canaan; you’re far too bright to enter unnoticed.”
“Do you believe the Palatine will abandon their posts to attack a single Shield?”
“It’s possible. The Palatine are vicious fighters, but they aren’t known for their ability to follow commands. But more to the point is that they’ve been given incentive to capture Jake or the girl themselves. The Prince has promised a reward.”
Jake’s heart flips.
“General Maka’s made it clear that the Sabres are their first priority, so while he won’t command the legion to pursue a single Shield, you may attract the attention of a few who are more interested in reward than fearful of General Maka’s wrath.”
“Fair assessment, little Cherub.”
“The Prince wants Jake. Wants Brielle. But he did not send the Palatine for that task. They are here to ensure the Sabres do not succeed.”
“So your plan, Pearla?”
“I suggest you both enter, but in your human form, Canaan. That way your entrance will not be so conspicuous.”
“My celestial form won’t be hidden entirely from the eyes of the Fallen.”
“No,” she says, “but you’ll have a chance—a much better chance—that way. I’ll stay near, in the Celestial. I’ll warn you if there’s anything to fear.”
“Won’t they see you?” Jake asks.
“Not if I’m careful. I’m created for such purposes. Darkness was given to me as a gift, and the Fallen often mistake me for one of their own.”
“But your eyes . . . ,” Jake says.
“Will give me away if I’m not careful.”
“So . . .”
“So, I’ll be careful.”
So matter-of-fact. So light. So carefree. Her plan, her presence fill Jake with confidence.
“This will work,” he says, standing.
It’s a long second before Canaan joins him. “It could.”
“We have to try!”
“Okay,” Canaan says, his hand on Jake’s chest, his eyes on Pearla. “Let’s do it. Let’s try.”
37
Brielle
I dive to the ground, my palms scratching against the rough grass, my check pressed to a pinecone. And that’s when I hear the music. It crawls in through my ears, but it doesn’t settle there. It moves through my body, through the invisible spirit part of it. It’s a wave that moves over every part of me, pulling me into myself and out of myself.
I long to stand. I long to stretch my limbs and dance to this song, to worship with my arms and my legs, with my whole body. I’m on the verge of giving into this craving when the memory of a single dagger slicing through my chest floats to the surface of my mind. It hangs there, terrifying me, keeping me frozen. The idea of a thousand daggers is enough to keep me huddled on the grass a moment longer.
Maybe many moments longer.
I curl tighter into myself, listening to the music. To the sound of instruments I can’t name and voices so familiar they sound like fractured parts of myself. And then the fragrance reaches me. The smell of worship. I breathe it in. It’s joy and life,