Page 36 of Wings of Valor
With our hands interlocked, we head deeper into the sanctuary until we reach what I can only assume is the council room. There are high-back chairs around a long oak table, and at the head are four seats that look like thrones.
My jaw threatens to unhinge and fall to the floor, but I keep it shut. The opulent room has high ceilings with beautifully drawn paintings covering its entirety. Plain robin’s-egg-bluewalls contrast with the luxurious items filling the space, likely the result of offerings during the Archangel Feast.
It seems wasteful to keep them hidden in here.
Remiel moves to join the two other Archangel’s at the head of the table. Their wings are out, and if I thought looking upon one four-winged Archangel was a sight to behold, well, three at once makes me want to pass out.
The fourth throne-like chair is notably empty.
“Take a seat, everyone,” one of the other Archangels says, his voice commanding yet gentle. Without needing to study his face for too long, I know who he is. Archangel Mikhael. The unofficial leader of the Archangels.
He looks exactly like his pictures. Sharp features, strong jaw, and kind eyes.
While the rest of the council gets settled, my friends and I don’t move from our spot in front of the wall. I feel the stares of every angel in the room, but I don’t back down. I meet each and every gaze, and even recognize a few angels—like Zeke’s father, Kirach, and Lieutenant Azrael.
They look surprised to see us, and frankly, I would be too. But what hurts the most is watching the way Kirach’s eyes drift from me to the others, searching for his son.
“The worst has happened,” Mikhael says, drawing the council’s attention. “Our once great and pious Auriel has slid into darkness, and because of his machinations, he and a group of Fallen angels are consorting with our greatest enemy.”
The crowd erupts into conversation. Angels try to talk over other angels, all wanting their questions and thoughts heard by the Archangels. But it’s Kirach who stands from his seat, the metal tips of his wings chiming softly. He says nothing, only waits in silence to be called upon.
“Yes, Lieutenant?” The room falls silent at Mikhael’s voice.
“What do students from Silver City have to do with this situation?”
Every gaze in the room turns to us.
“Great question. It is from their courage and fortitude that we’ve uncovered this treachery.” Gasps of disbelief fill the large chamber, but Mikhael ignores them. “Come, my friends,” he says to us, motioning toward the row of chairs set up close to the Archangels.
We all take our seats—except for Castiel. He stands, surveying the room, and then begins to tell our story. He tells them everything—every attack, every loss. And when he explains how the traitorous behavior extended not only to the Archangels but also to the guild and the school, the war council begins to eye one another with suspicion.
I watch each angel closely, paying attention to the way they move and looking for anything that seems off. For all we know, one of them could be working for Auriel.
Castiel ends our story, leaving out yesterday’s ordeal and my Seraphim status.
A woman with a sleek bun and pointed nose asks, “But why would they target her? She’s only a student. A resident of Fallen house, as you just said. What could Auriel possibly want with her?”
When Castiel turns to me, I know what he’s asking.
Public speaking has never been my strong suit. I’ve been the object of enough jokes and ridicule that I avoid situations like these. But this is one I can’t walk away from. So I stand, nodding to Castiel, and take over.
“That’s a fair question. What Auriel wanted was to control me. He figured out what I am, something I had only just discovered myself not too long ago, thanks to my friends. So he took my parents and offered me a trade. Agree to join his cause and he’ll let my parents go free.”
“And what are you, Hayliel Gracelin?” Mikhael asks.
Inside my head, I can hear the pounding of my heart and the blood racing through my veins. For the first time since I can even remember, I’m sure of who I am.
My voice doesn’t waver when I answer. I don’t tremble or fear being bullied.
This is me.
“I’m a Seraphim.”
15
At first, everyone is silent from shock. Then the disbelief kicks in, and angels talk over one another.
“It’s not possible.”
