Prologue
MOUNT MERU
The cells faced east so prisoners could watch the legions drilling in perfect unison on the plaza below, golden armor dazzling at sunrise. Alluin Westwind was the only occupant. It was the nature of angels to be obedient—their father had made them so—and few broke the laws of Sion, fewer still the first commandment.
Witches and angels shall not procreate.
Adamantine chains bound his wings, but that was nothing to the agony of yearning for his lover and their child. Over the hundred days and nights that Alluin awaited judgment, he’d thought of little else.
It was snowing hard when the seraphim came for him.
They were imperial officers with intricately enameled breastplates and scarlet brocade along their sleeves. He stood as they flew through the open arch of his cell.
“It is time,” the female said. She had brown eyes and wings a shade darker with bars of green along the primaries, iridescent like the breast of a hummingbird.
Alluin allowed each of them to grip an arm. The officers bore him through the snow, circling ever higher. He mentally rehearsed the argument he would present to their father. How he had tried to stay away from her. Had fought to remain aloof. But the spark that ignited when they first met had only grown brighter over the years, until neither could resist any longer.
Who had they harmed? No one! The child would go to the cyphers. As long as she never bedded an angel, there was no need to worry.
And she would not, Alluin assured himself. Cathrynne was a sweet, docile child who did as she was told.
Wind tore at his thin garments as they flew above the shining towers of Mount Meru, the angelic capital in the far north. Snatches of song rose from the Chorale, angelic voices joined in blissful harmony. The sound made him tremble. Why was he not dutiful like the others? What had planted the seeds of unrest? Was he flawed? Or was the law itself wrong?
His mind swam with confusion—but not regret. He would not regret a moment of their love.
Other angels glided between buildings, but none deigned to look at him. He was an outcast. Beneath notice. At last, his keepers banked sharply, and the tallest peak of the Sundar Kush loomed ahead. The place of judgment sat atop this peak, a square platform open to the sky. It had a single wall of dark gray stone flanked by two squat, crenellated towers. There was the suggestion of a door in that wall, a faint outline, but Alluin had barely a glimpse of it before the seraphim dropped him without ceremony upon the icy ground.
He landed on his knees, chains rattling, and fixed his gaze on the symbol of the empire—a triangle within a circle—hewn into the rock.
“Rise,” a deep voice commanded.
Alluin expected to see Valoriel, but when he lifted his head, it was not their father who stood over him. Valoriel had wings of burnished gold, but this angel’s were black as midnight. He wore a magistrate’s robe, also black, its severity interrupted only by a violet cincture around his waist. Coal-black hair curled at his nape. He would have been pleasant to look upon were his face not so dour.
Alluin had seen Gavriel Morningstar from afar once or twice at the Chorale. He had heard tales of his pure heart and keen intellect. None did justice to the archangel’s physical presence. It was almost as unnerving as their father. The air felt suddenly thin.
“You are Alluin Westwind, a census enumerator stationed at the Angel Tower in Arjevica?” Gavriel asked.
“Yes, Lord Morningstar,” he managed. “Where is . . . where is our father?”
“Valoriel is away from Mount Meru.” Gavriel’s wings unfurled like living shadows, then settled once more. “I stand as regent in his stead.”
A flicker of hope kindled. Perhaps the man known as Light-Bringer would prove more merciful.
“Let us commence with this disciplinary trial.” Gavriel ignored the guards, his unwavering attention fixed on the prisoner. “You stand accused of consorting with a witch in violation of every law and custom of this land.”
There was no point denying it; he’d been caught fleeing her bedchamber. But this was no impulsive tryst. They had been acquaintances for years before Hysto opened her heart to him. Then he had pined for her every moment they were apart. He knew each curve and dip of her body as well as his own. The sound of her laughter was sweeter than the Chorale. The time they’d had together was the happiest of his life.
Meeting Gavriel’s stern gaze, Alluin could find words for none of this.
“The charge is true,” he said at last. “I love her. We have a daughter together.”
For eleven years they had managed to keep her parentage secret. Eleven years of stolen visits, of watching her grow from afar, pretending to be merely a friend of the family when all he wanted was to claim her as his own.
“If you decree it, I will remain here at Mount Meru for the rest of my days and never see them again,” Alluin said, the words hollowing his heart. “Return me to the cells. But I beg you to grant them leniency. The fault is mine.”
Gavriel’s expression didn’t change, but something cold flickered in his eyes. “The fate of your lover and her child are not mine to decide. It is yours that concerns me this day. You have violated the first law of Sion. Angels shall not mingle their blood with witches.” He leaned forward. “Worse, you produced a child. A cypher, cursed to bear a monster.”
Alluin raised an imploring hand. “But she won’t,” he said with desperate urgency. “She would never?—”
