Page 73 of Wings of Valor
As mad as I am with her for keeping this to herself, I don’t hate her. Not after everything she’s done. She helped Hayliel—whether through training or by providing her with thoughtful potions. Plus, she saved Cam’s life.
And just like that, I’m back to thinking about the demon who got away. Twice.
The sound of a bag hitting the floor has me nearly jumping out of my skin. Turning, I find Remiel placing his shit on a hook as if he’s planning to join me.
Well, this is weird.
The knowledge-loving side of my brain is excited. The things this man could teach me would probably blow my mind. But the side that brought me here, the one feeling utterly lost and confused, he just wants to be alone. Besides, we’re not feeling entirely trusting toward the Archangels at present.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
I realize I’ve been staring.Great.“Uh, sure. Yeah. Whatever you want.” Smooth, man. Real smooth.
I return to my workout, completely forgetting which rep I’d been on before Remiel came in, but it’s fine. Time for the real work, anyway. Ignoring the Archangel setting up beside me, I press a button on the wall and watch as the training dummy appears from behind a hidden panel. There’s a remote control too, which makes the dummy strike and move, mimicking an opponent.
Say what you want about these suspicious assholes, but this room is seriously something else.
After making my selections with the dummy, I drown out all the noise in my head and focus on the fight. I strike like this is an actual fight, and my life is on the line. Still, the stupid dummygets in a few good blows, one knocking the wind from my lungs and pissing me off.
If that were a real fight, I’d be fucked.
My breaths are ragged as I take another gulp of water and try to calm down the angry inferno inside me.
“Could I step in?”
Remiel gestures to the mat, and I eye him skeptically. I’m not really in the mood to fight an Archangel, but I can’t ignore the benefits from doing so. Maybe he’ll give something away that I can use on Auriel, if it comes to that. I nod in agreement, towel off, and take another gulp of water before joining him.
If someone were to walk in, I wonder what they’d think. I’m sweaty and clearly aggravated, while Remiel looks poised. The asshole could probably shoot covers for a magazine at this point. He’s not even dressed to spar, wearing these thin beige linen pants and a similar button-down shirt. The sleeves are rolled up, and the top few buttons are undone. He looks like he should be relaxing on the beach.
We start off slow, each of us trying to learn our opponent and gain the upper hand. As we circle each other, I can’t help but notice how lithe and graceful he is. This man might appear like the book-loving prophet, but he’s got more tricks up his sleeve than I gave him credit for. Far better to be underestimated than overestimated.
I attack, he dodges, but not once does he press the advantage, even when I know he has one. Instead, he offers little anecdotes. At first it pissed me off, but the more I listen, the more I realize his words aren’t full of malice or contempt. They’re tips.
“That works best when your opponent is shorter than you. How can you tweak it to work on someone taller?”
“Demons will expect that move. Only use it to goad them or to fake them out for a more subtle attack.”
I take in everything he says and adjust until I finally land a strike. If I were using more than just my hands, it might have caused him harm, but it’ll leave a bruise at most. Maybe I should be worried that I just hit an Archangel, but I’m not. In fact, he seems happier about it than I do.
Remiel hands me my water bottle. “Well done.”
I take it without replying. What am I supposed to say? Thank you? Instead, I give him this half smile, half grimace and swallow down the cool liquid.
“We’re not so different, you and I,” he continues. “We both lost someone important to us, and we both blame ourselves for it.”
I want to ask him how he knows my past, but those aren’t the words that escape my lips. “Who did you lose?”
“My sister. She was … unwell. Looking back, all the signs were there. I should have caught it. Instead, she paid the ultimate price for my inattention.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There is nothing for you to be sorry for. Not for my sister, and certainly not for your friend.”
Is it his visions that give him this knowledge? It has to be. I haven’t shared Serah’s story with very many angels, and the ones who know would never talk about it with someone like an Archangel. Still, I find myself saying, “How do you know what I went through?”
He pulls a black book from his bag. It’s plain, bound in leather with a small ribbon to mark his spot. He doesn’t open it, but from the edges of the paper, I see the dark smudges that hint at his drawings. “I see many things. Some are only glimpses and hard to pinpoint. Others, like your past, are clear.”
“Oh.” If he’s truly seen that moment, then he knows how much I fucked up.
