Page 93 of Wings of Death

I nod.

“She trusted him,” he states. “I know they are powerful, but that’s about all I know of them, I’m afraid.”

I slip them back into my straps. “They gave me the power to heal,” I tell him, and his mouth drops open.

There’s a bang out in the corridor, and we both look toward the door.

“Must be the keepers,” he says.

Although I am worried someone could come in here at any moment, I still have many questions. “Did you know about her journals?”

He folds his arms over his chest and leans up against the steel bench. “I would often watch over her, not at your father’s request, but because I cared about her. She was always kind tome, so in return, I looked out for her. She didn’t trust easily, and she was concerned about her welfare. I would often find her writing in her journals.

“One day I asked her about them, and she showed me a hidden space in her wardrobe where she kept them. She told me if anything ever happened to her, to ensure I kept them hidden and to one day tell you about them.”

I feel even more comfortable with Mikel than I already did, knowing my mother trusted him this much. “And you knew about the ring?” I ask, holding it up.

I’ve been careful not to draw too much attention to it, but I decided I had to wear it now because of the danger I’m in. It’s not safe for me anymore, and the ring will at least alert me to any impending danger.

Mikel takes my hand and studies the ring, careful not to touch it. “It is a magnificent ring. And weapon.” His eyes meet mine.

“So you know about the weapons of the gods?”

His expression turns serious, as though we are speaking of something highly taboo. “I do. She told me about them. But before you ask, she did not mention where she got them from.”

Shoot. I was hoping she had confided in him about them.

“Are you hungry?” he suddenly asks. “Because I could probably sneak us some snacks from the other kitchen if you like. I remember how much you enjoyed hanging around the kitchen.” He gives me a wink.

I can’t help but laugh at his way of lightening the mood. “I’m fine, really, but thanks.”

He gives me a nod and folds his arms over his chest as he leans against the bench.

“What am I supposed to do, Mikel? Hethenos most likely killed my mother, along with two other males by the sound of it. She can’t get away with this, but I don’t know what I can do. Wehave no proof other than what you and Kyle witnessed all those years ago, and The Throne is unlikely to be willing to listen to testimony from an archangel of Zarquon.”

The thought of Kyle stabs at my heart as I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I feel Mikel’s hand on my arm, and I open my eyes.

“It will be okay. The gods are watching over us all, and they will want justice. The time will come, Zarla. Be patient.”

I wrap my arms around him as my throat closes in, and I try to swallow back my tears. “Thank you, Mikel,” I whisper.

He returns the hug and gently pats me on the back. “Serona was a wonderful angel, and a wonderful mother,” he says as I pull back. “I swore to her I would look out for you. I have, and I will continue to do so.”

He brushes a tear from my cheek.

“Gods, I miss her. I wish I could have known her,” I say.

I don’t tell him I did, in fact, get to spend time with her recently. I don’t know that he will understand, and it somehow feels private. Just between the two of us.

His focus shifts toward the door, anxiety lacing his features. “You’d better get back before someone notices you’re missing.”

I move toward the door, and when I turn to thank him, he’s gone. I hurry back out into the ball, realising it’s too late. Someone already noticed I was missing. Amaros is moving from crowd to crowd, questioning angels, no doubt asking if they have seen me.

I subtly make my way to the bar for another drink, pretending I’ve been there the entire time. It’s not long before Amaros is standing before me, glaring down at me. I take a long sip of my bubbly, maintaining eye contact with him. If he wants a stare down, I can do that.

His shoulders slump as he gives in and orders himself a drink. I smile, enjoying the win. He drinks the entire thing,places his empty glass down on the bar, and then tugs me by the arm to the side of the room.

“Hey, easy,” I protest, pulling my arm free.

---