Page 36 of Wicked Angel
“So I've discovered.” She studied me intently. “What I don't understand is why you're here, seeking me out. You didn't even know who I was until you walked through that door.”
I held her gaze, unflinching. “I knew there were exiled angels living near Pinewood Valley. I hoped they—you—might help us stop Rhodes. Especially since you wouldn't need an elixir to enter Elysium.”
“An elixir?” She raised an eyebrow.
“From golden lilies that grow in the Light Garden,” I explained. “It's our backup plan for getting non-angels into Elysium.”
The archangel nodded slowly. “And you’re doing the elixir from scratch? Ambitious. But why would I risk my people, my Legion, to fight a battle I deliberately walked away from decades ago?”
“Because if Rhodes succeeds, nowhere will be safe,” I said. “Not Elysium, not Earth, not even this mountain stronghold you've built. He wants to reshape everything, and he won't stop until all of reality bends to his vision.”
For a long moment, the archangel was silent, her gaze distant, as if seeing something beyond the room. Finally, she refocused on me. “You still haven't asked the obvious question.”
“Which is?”
“Who I am. Why I know about you.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Or rather, why I know of your father.”
My heart stuttered in my chest. “My father? You knew my father?”
“I fought alongside him,” she said simply. “Many years ago, before you were born. Before I was exiled.”
The room seemed to spin around me, the implications of her words sinking in. “You're?—”
“Kadriel,” she said, her name hanging in the air like a thunderclap. “Former commander of the First Sphere, archangel of the western realms, and once the right hand of Adona herself.”
I stared at her, speechless. Kadriel was a legend in Elysium, one of the most powerful archangels ever to serve. She had disappeared decades ago, after a mission gone wrong. It was said she was killed in battle, though no body was recovered.
Or at least, that was the story I'd grown up hearing in whispers, never spoken aloud.
“Kadriel,” I breathed, the name a prayer and a question in one. “You're alive.”
15
“Kadriel,”I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. The name stirred something deep in my memory—a fleeting image of a tall, silver-haired angel with fierce eyes, standing beside my father in our family's garden. I had been young, too young to understand the significance of the archangel visiting our home, but I remembered how my father had laughed at something she said, his hand resting companionably on her shoulder.
“You remember,” Kadriel observed, her piercing gaze assessing my reaction.
“Not much,” I admitted. “Just glimpses. You visited our home a couple of times. You and my father were laughing.”
A flicker of softness crossed her face, so brief I almost missed it. “Your father had a talent for finding humor even in the darkest times. It was what made him such a good commander.”
“You knew him well,” I said. It wasn't a question.
“We fought side by side for nearly a century,” she confirmed. “He was my most trusted lieutenant, and later, one of my few true friends.” Her gaze drifted to the maps on the wall, as if seeing battles long past reflected there. “His death was a blow I never expected.”
My chest tightened. “They told us he died honorably in battle. Fighting demons at the eastern gate.”
Kadriel's eyes snapped back to mine, suddenly sharp with anger. “Is that what they told you? A hero's death, clean and noble?”
I nodded, confused by her reaction. “That's what everyone said. What my mother believed.”
“Lies,” she spat, her injured arm shifting in its sling as she leaned forward. “Your father didn't die in battle, Ariella. He was murdered. By Ylena.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs. “What? No, that can't be?—”
“He discovered her plans,” Kadriel continued, her voice tight with controlled rage. “Not all of them, but enough to know she was working against Adona. Against everything we stood for. He confronted her, thinking he could reason with her. He was always too trusting.”
I stared at her, my mind struggling to process what she was saying. “Ylena killed my father? But she was my mentor.”
