But it wasn’t even that failure that caused me to grit my teeth and blush with shame. It was my cruelty to Feather. And my deception. I had been angry with her, yes. But underneath my anger was something murkier, something vile. I could taste it on my tongue now, and knew if I opened my robes, the stain of it would be obvious.
Jealousy. I was consumed with envy of Mikhail’s new relationships with Feather… and not repulsed, no matter how I tried to pretend that was what turned my stomach at the thought of the two of them together.
No, I was jealous of him being allowed to touch her. To love her.
“What thefuck,” I ground out as I threw open the door to the purification chambers that I shared with Mikhail. He had not disrobed in front of me for centuries, I now realized. He’d hidden his sacrifices from me very thoroughly, and I’d been too self-absorbed to notice. Too mired in grief for my own loss to recognize his.
“I feel much the same. What the fuck, indeed.” I skidded to a stop. Mikhail stood in the room, scrubbing at the smears of oily gray that he wore all over his physical form.
“I’m sorry, I’ll go,” I began, but he lifted a thick eyebrow.
“Why? We need to talk anyway, and no one will interrupt us here.” He tilted his head when I sat without taking off my robe. It was my turn to stay clothed; I didn’t want him to see what I feared was underneath. He’d recognize the patterning of that sort of smut; centered over my form’s genitals, it would shout out my spiritual crimes louder than the gate was screaming. “You’re troubled, Gav.”
“Wouldn’t you be? If you were put in charge of all of this, and failed so colossally?”
He ran one hand through his hair, sighing. “I know how failure tastes, and this isn’t just that. What happened?”
I sat, holding my head in my hands. “I was in Arabella’s room, when Feather came in. I overheard her… She was speaking about her creation. Her naming.” Mikhail and I had spoken at length of all that had occurred that day, all that we had known about. Feather was the only wild card, the piece of scrap soul that we’d assumed had been sealed up in the Well. We’d had this conversation many times before; he’d told me about the extra material from the Well, but we’d both assumed Azazel had thrown it back. “It wasn’t your fault,” I told him.
Mikhail just kept wiping away the smut. “You know, I’ve read all the accounts of all the Makers since time began. I’ve pored through Azazel’s diaries, just as you have. I can’t find how such a thing was even possible. I pulled out enough soul material to form Arabella for you, and put the rest back. The fingernails’ worth that became Feather… there was no reason for it to exist.
“It’s why Arabella took me so long. I kept hunting for the place it belonged.” His eyes met mine, full of sadness. “I had no idea he’d sent her to Earth, alone. Abandoned. And I didn’t know she was sentient in the first place. That she was her own being.”
His voice cracked. “I’ve been thinking. She may have been my mate all along, or part of her. Maybe I was wishing for my own love when I pulled yours from the Well. But I only took a scrap…” He buried his face in the cloth, sighing before returning to his purification. “I named her, Gav. I was the one who named her useless, and nothing. A scrap to throw away. How could I not save her? Her plight was my doing. And”—a hint of a smile crept over his ravaged face—“for all that she is small, and unfinished, not a High Angelus’ perfect soul bond by any stretch of the imagination…” His eyes met mine again, this time filled with determination. “She felt like she was my mate, after I saved her. It didn’t feel wrong. It felt like… No. Sheisthe one I’ve waited my entire life for.”
My stomach churned at the emotion in his words. The truth. “Then why would you even consider sacrificing yourself to hold the gate, Mik?”
He snorted. “I’m not. I’m giving those cowards time to cool off and reflect on their ridiculous demands. I have an idea, anyway. It’s a last-ditch effort, but I think that might be where we are. There’s no one willing to give themselves—”
“I did a terrible thing,” I interrupted, standing abruptly. I had to say it quickly, so I could leave and rectify what I’d done. Apologize to Feather, before she did something rash.
Almost as rash as me hinting she should unmake herself.
“I told Feather she was useless. That you were sacrificing yourself, and we needed you. I… hinted that she should be the one to make the sacrifice. That she owed it to you. To all of us.” My voice cracked. “I told her she was what you named her. A scrap. Nothing. Trash.”
He leaned over as if I’d kicked him in the gut. “You… told my mate to sacrifice herself?” His eyes flamed with pinwheeling blue and black fire. “You told my sweet soul to throw herself away?” He flung himself across the room, his fists connecting with my chest, my arms, even my face. It was terrifying that his blows were so weak. I had known he’d depleted himself, but this was… sickening. It was like a child’s ineffectual flailing.
“I’m sorry,” I pleaded, pretending to flinch back from his blows. “I should never have said it. I didn’t know how you felt… I was out of my mind.” He punched me again, and this hit connected with my chin, making me step back. “Mikhail, stop! We need to find her. I left her alone. I don’t know what she’ll do.”
His eyes narrowed. “Where is she now?" On his final word, a great chorus of voices all began shouting at the same time. “The gate?” he demanded, throwing his robe on. When I opened the door to the corridor, a blast of cold wind almost knocked me off my feet. And the chorus… It was a song. A song I knew.
We ran through the door, then leaped into the air. Mikhail was so much weaker that he fell behind, so I was the only one who saw what was happening. Righteous was on the ground a dozen feet from the gate, struggling with something at his feet, fighting to get free. To get to the gate, where...
“Arabella,” I breathed, nearly falling from the air.
But it wasn’t her. It was Feather. I recognized her when her head swiveled in our direction, and those green eyes flashed. But otherwise, her purified form was exactly the same as the one I’d memorized over the centuries. Maybe shorter? Smaller, a copy made with not quite enough raw material.
She had wings, I noted as Mikhail caught up with me, crying out for her to come back to him. Not to leave him alone.
She extended those small, perfect wings as she stepped into the gate and vanished. The chorus of voices sang so loud that my ears ached. The harmonies would be etched into my very soul, I knew. Every Great Sacrifice I’d witnessed—and I’d seen more than my share, since becoming leader—left an indelible mark.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Forgive me!”
The words were echoed by Righteous, of all people, who stared at the Great Gate like he was the one losing a mate. And Mikhail… A hideous sound, a wailing and then a great thud, had me turning. He’d fallen, the moment her heel sank into the golden surface. I watched in horror as the missing feather on the edge of his wing reappeared where he’d cut it away. My heart broke into pieces as small as the flecks of glitter that reflected from the walls and floor all around us.
Words formed in my mind:Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.
I reached into my pocket, feeling my own feather, the one I’d given to Arabella that had fallen free. Righteous scooped something off the ground and stayed there, as we all dropped to our knees, Mikhail keening loudly behind me.
