struggling with it.
But my bewilderment, my absolute sorrow, is genuine, and his gaze softens, though his hand upon me remains like iron. ‘Once friends, yes, though in time I almost came to … hate you and was glad when you … left us.’
I frown at his words, the things left unsaid in the pauses, and he adds softly, ‘I see that you don’t understand, don’t even remember that day. Nothing’s ever been the same, for any of us, since then, did you know that?’ He leans forward and smooths a strand of long hair out of my eyes, so gently that I barely feel his touch. ‘It’s better this way. There’s nothing in that memory for you but grief, and it’s best if …’
His voice falters, and I see that he’s trying to say the right thing, choose the right words, the less hurtful words.
‘It’s better this way,’ he repeats more firmly, gripping my narrow shoulders. ‘You don’t want to remember what happened. It would only destroy you all over again.’
I find myself trembling, and K’el’s fingers tighten on me as if he’d like to pull me close. ‘Luc’s no good for you, he’s never been good enough,’ he murmurs, looking down into my upturned face with his glorious eyes.
I close mine, thinking he will wrap his arms around me at last. But then he gives a small, hard laugh and lets go of me, almost pushing me away.
‘And that’s got to be the understatement of all time,’ he snarls. ‘But you’ve always had this ability to … unsettle me and I see that you haven’t lost that power. I came here to warn you. That’s what I’m here for.’ His tone is self-mocking.
Feeling strangely bereft, I wail, ‘But I still don’t understand what I did wrong! Why was I cast out?’
K’el’s beautiful mouth twists a little and he paces away, as if standing too close to me might be dangerous. ‘You did nothing but fall in love with the wrong one,’ he says, suddenly refusing to meet my eyes. ‘You picked Luc when you should have picked … Raphael. Well, that’s the accepted wisdom, anyway.’ His voice is bitter.
I recoil at his words. ‘That’s it? For something so simple I was … banished?’
He hesitates. I can see him struggling for the right words, the right way to frame an explanation I’ve waited aeons to hear.
‘You were guilty of being young and overly … malleable,’ he says finally. ‘You let passion be your guiding principle. You let Luc twist you, let him change your character from everything that was light — all the bright, good things that were in you from the moment you were first created — to a creature motivated by cruelty, perversity, vanity, the principles of pleasure without thought or care of repercussion. Together, you and Luc were a divisive force, and so destructive. More devastating even than life forms like these.’ He gestures at my human face, my human shape, dismissively. ‘Raphael would have been a more fitting companion for someone as high-spirited, as strong-willed, curious and questioning, as you were,’ he says, his eyes never leaving mine for a moment. ‘He would have strengthened you in beauty, in wisdom, in compassion, in every way that matters. Any one of us would have been a better match for you than Luc. Even me.’ His mouth twists again.
I feel my face flush with angry blood. As if alone I was nothing. I was only something when I was someone’s companion, someone’s consort.
‘The heart will have only what it wants,’ I spit. ‘And so I was judged and cast out because I was young and foolish? Because I chose the wrong one?’
My voice flies up the scale, breaking on the words, and K’el’s eyes darken with something like disgust.
‘Not for us, that “lifelong partnership” that’s said to unite mortal woman and mortal man in heart, in mind, in body. We are elohim, Mercy. We were created first among angels; first among all things that were created. Some of us were sworn to protect the holy throne; some to govern the order of the universe and all life within its boundaries; some to bear witness, to keep history, to mark the passage of time; some to fill the skies with glory, to sing praise even when there seems little reason to do so. Everything in its place, or else it is chaos. It is our creed.’
For a single, disorientating moment I’m Lela Neill again, hearing Sulaiman/Gabriel telling me the same thing, and I feel the same fury. Know your place. What kind of stupid creed is that?
K’el’s voice is low, almost menacing. ‘We were created to maintain control, not surrender it. You were so far out of line that you threatened us all.’
‘Ah yes, the “line”,’ I say bitterly, staring at my feet with strangely stinging eyes.
I’m feeling a strong sense of deja vu, as if I’ve been admonished in just this way before. By K’el, by others.
‘You’re all the same,’ I snap. ‘And you wonder why I chose Luc over any of you?’
K’el moves closer almost reluctantly, tilting my chin up to draw my gaze back to him, his eyes curiously intent. ‘We’re not supposed to love just one other, to the exclusion of everything else — duty, fellowship, faith, principle. We are love — for each other, for all things. An impartial love, it’s true; we can’t hope to do anything more than maintain a rough equilibrium.’ His eyes flash and there’s something like loathing again in his expression.
‘You changed everything,’ he says accusingly. ‘When you saw Luc for the first time, things were never the same again.’
‘And yet everything changes, everything evolves,’ I argue hopelessly. ‘Why should we remain forever rigid and unchanging when even the universe itself does not? Nowhere is it written that it’s a crime for one such as I was to fall in love!’
‘Yet we were created to be eternal and perfect and changeless.’ K’el’s voice is bitter. ‘You never would have looked at me, at any of us, the way you looked at him. You were obsessed. As he was with you.’
I close my eyes briefly, feeling Irina’s face flame in memory of the way we were together, Luc and I. Like two suns colliding. Who wouldn’t want a love like that? Who couldn’t survive on the embers of such a love, for centuries, if one had to?
So they’d all thought Luc was wrong for me, that together we were a colossal, destructive mistake. And no one had ever told me. They’d just arranged for me to be summarily removed from everything I’d ever known, because I’d become inconvenient and embarrassing, not quite up to par.
‘So I was exiled by committee, with no recourse to anyone? Given no avenue of appeal? I had no chance to defend myself before you cast me out!’ I cry.
K’el’s gaze is troubled as he replies slowly, ‘That’s not the way it happened; don’t go putting words into my mouth. What’s happened to you — the way we have been forced to keep you hidden — was born of necessity. It was the best we could do, given the circumstances — can’t you understand that?’ There’s another odd pause. ‘Luc knew of our disquiet. And he chose not to tell you. Instead, he isolated you, kept you away from us deliberately. What does that say about him?’
For a second, I’m pierced by a vision of Luc and me entwined in each other’s arms within a living bower of flowers, the air heavy with the fragrance of a thousand different blooms that no human hand could possibly have put together. It was our place, our world, the hanging garden he created for me alone. Dust now, ashes.
‘It wouldn’t have changed anything,’ I answer in grief, in defiance. ‘I wouldn’t have given up a second I spent by Luc’s side. He’s what’s sustained me, all this time, in the wilderness that is this earth. My only true friend, my constant companion.’
K’el’s lip curls as he crushes my upper arms so tightly in his hands that I gasp out loud.
‘Then, foolish creature,’ he roars, and his voice has a steely, ringing edge to it, ‘you do not need an explanation for this eternity of drifting — in which you claim you’ve had no friends, no sustenance, no support of any kind. In making your choice, you damned yourself to countless lifetimes of human misery. Your fault, all of it. Free will — that thing you hold in such sacred regard — always comes at a price.’
He raises his right hand, glaring at me with his preternatural lion eyes, and I’m suddenly very afraid, remembering that our kind may only kill and be killed by each other.
As if he’s reading my thoughts, K’el gives a bitter laugh and rakes his tawny hair with his gleaming upraised hand before letting it fall harmlessly to his side.
‘Many times over the years I’ve wished you dead, if only to throw the burden of you off my back. You’ve been a millstone about the neck of many, Mercy. I will not lie. For each life you “live”, one of us must watch over you — as though we have nothing better to do than witness you blundering through the human world, stirring echoes enough for Luc to follow. I wanted to forget you, more than anything. But I haven’t been permitted to do so.’ He scowls. ‘You were dangerous then, and you’re even more dangerous now, only you don’t know why. But I
