Page 26 of A Deception of Courts

“So youdoall have fancy titles?” Seraphine asked, her voice slipping into the moment of silence such that not a single person could pretend not to have heard it like the rest of her comments.

“My name is Cassial,” the man with the slitted cloak and ivory-white wings said. “The Creator’s shield, guard of His word.”

His hair was midnight black, his face shadowed with a beard that matched. The silver of his eyes was so bright that they looked almost entirely white.

Cassial was clearly the oldest of them all, with a broad figure and towering presence that gave him the impression of being the offspring of a giant. His giant fists were balled at his side. One slam of them upon the glass table and it would have shattered into countless pieces, that I was sure of.

Seraphine pulled a face, brows raised to her hairline. “You must be special. I pride myself on having an excellent memory, but even I’m going to end up forgetting that. So Cassial will do.”

“Our names will suffice.” Rafaela smiled, her eyes glowing with genuine amusement. “But you are right, only the special ones have titles. There is a small selection of us, personally chosen by the Creator. Although, speaking of names, is it not your guild that run around under the guise of a snake?”

“We prefer serpent,” Seraphine said, her amused stare giving away her enjoyment of the back and forth. “It has more of a bite.”

“Oh,” Rafaela sang. “I’m sure it does.”

As they spoke, I blinked and glimpsed a vision of Abbot Nathanial. His body broken beneath the rubble in the church all those miles away. He was devoted to the Creator in a place where others were not. His memory alone had me turning on Seraphine.

“Seraphine, perhaps we don’t offend our hosts, especially since we know what they are capable of?”

“Or that we may be looking at some of our most valuable allies,” Althea added.

Seraphine stood abruptly. Her chair clattered to the floor. The sound of its fall was uncomfortably loud. She hunched over the glass table with her arms locked below her to keep her upright. The weight of her grief was so sudden and overwhelming that it almost brought Seraphine to her knees. I knew the feeling well.

A stain of scarlet crept up her neck and shaded her face with ferocity. “My distrust and annoyance that they have simply turned up now after already so much has been lost is beyond me. Do not ask me to show them respect when they have spent years hiding away in Altar knows where doing who knows what when I’m sure the Nephilim’s presence in this realm may have prevented us from ever getting to this point.”

“But we are here now,” Gabrial said, attempting to calm the furious assassin.

“My sister died because of your tardiness,” Seraphine snapped, eyes glistening with tears. “Forgive me if my welcome is not as warm as you were hoping.”

I had no right to ask Seraphine to grasp onto her rationality when my lack of it had led me into Aldrick’s hands. Grief was an emotion powerful enough to execute decisions without a second thought. It latched onto fury and fuelled it.

“Loss is the ugly truth of conflict,” Rafaela said. A sympathetic warmth burned through her deep eyes as she refused to drop her attention from the heavy-breathing assassin. “I wish I could ensure you that our presence will prevent more, but I dare admit it will only incite further harm. The Nephilim’s presence will enrage the Defiler. Make the demon desperate and rushed. Our being here presents a challenge, and the Defiler’s desperate need to be freed will probably encourage them to counter that challenge.”

Seraphine’s gaze flickered across Rafaela. In search of what, I was unsure. But to my surprise, she took her seat again. “You are confident in your hopes of stopping Aldrick from releasing Duwar?”

Rafaela contemplated Seraphine’s question for a moment, glancing across the other two Nephilim that sat, stone-faced, at the table. “There is no other choice.”

“If that is the case, then we must work together,” I said. “We could do with the help of those clearly well versed in battle.”

“Strategy,” Rafaela corrected. “And yes. We don’t intend to leave your side for a moment, Robin Icethorn.”

There was something off about what she said, but I couldn’t place a finger on what that was.

“We know more about Aldrick and what he will do to ensure his task is completed. You have the knowledge of Duwar,” Althea said, slapping her hand on the table. Smoke curled around her fingers as the surrounding air hissed. “Together, we have power. I like the sound of becoming allies.”

“If you share what you know about the keys, we can help protect them whilst Aldrick is found and dealt with,” I added. “Aldrick is a powerful fey with the ability to invade one’s mind and control his victim from the inside. If we are to stand a chance at stopping him, it will be together.”

“History has not looked kindly upon the union of fey and humans,” Gabrial said. “As you are well aware, Robin Icethorn, previously Robin Vale. You are the son of such a union. You, more than anyone, understand the divide.”

“I do.” I speared my gaze across the long table toward the younger Nephilim, who seemed to study her open palms as though they were pages of a book. Her attention on them interested me like a moth drawn to a flame. Looking through the dimly lit room, I pondered why her eyes ran back and forth as though she read from pages. Then I saw it. Beneath her skin, moving with fluid grace. There were shapes I did not recognise. Until I focused harder and saw the shapes shift into words.

The marks were a darker tone to her skin, like ink upon pale paper.

“I don’t remember telling you of my past though,” I said, unable to draw my eyes from the Nephilim’s skin.

“Nor do I know of it by asking you,” Gabrial replied, lifting her attention to me for only a moment. “The Creator has humans past and present written in scripture. You, Robin, are as much human as you are fey. Your heritage places you in favour of the Creator. He sees your story and remembers it. As he does with all his children. I see your origin and everything that has come after it.”

“Neat trick,” Althea muttered, watching the scripture move like a raging river beneath the girl’s skin. “Would come in handy if we come to an agreement of how we are to work together.”

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