Page 76 of Wings of Valor
The Archangels study us while I do my best to keep my anger in check. An outburst wouldn’t serve me well here.
It’s Remiel who breaks the silence. “Hayliel. What do you think?”
I almost don’t want to look at her, too afraid of what I might find behind her eyes. She’s been so worried about me and the wing she reattached that I prepare myself for the flinch I know her words will cause. But what she says isn’t what I’m expecting.
“I think you’re both right. Zeke shouldn’t be sidelined at the Sanctuary, but I don’t think you should be put in the center of it all, either.” She says the last words directly to me. They cut, which I know isn’t her intention, but it hurts all the same. “Just hear me out, please,” she says, imploring.
All I offer is a nod, because I don’t know what will come out if I open my mouth.
“We know your wing is reattached, and aside from some muscle loss, it appears to be working just as it was before, but do we really want to test that in war?”
“I won’t need my wings,” I say, my voice gravelly.
“Not with demons, you’re right. But we’re not only fighting demons, Zeke. There are angels out there, too. What happens if your muscles give out and you can’t fly to safety? It’s too risky.” Hayliel’s gaze softens, like she hates being honest but knows she needs to be.
I drop my chin to my chest in defeat. “I can’t stay here, caged within the Sanctuary.”
“I don’t want you to be. Take a position on the outskirts. Something equally important, but outside the inner fray. Please.”
“He could man the ballista,” Dad adds, pulling my attention. “With me.”
Hayliel’s brow shifts, confused. “What the hell is a ballista?”
As the pieces come together in my mind, I reply absentmindedly, “A two-person crossbow hidden within the mountains of the guild. You’ve already imbued bolts, actually, so this could work.”
“No.” Mikhael kills the idea before it can fully form. “Kirach, you’re needed with the main army, not just for your skill or rank as lieutenant, but for the guild’s image. For inspiration. Briathos, do you know how to work this weapon?”
“No, sir. But I can learn.”
“I know how,” Mira tells Mikhael, who looks pleased, but I only feel sick.
“Yes, this could work. Mira and Zeke, you’ll work the ballista. Be our advantage against demons in the sky and take them out before they can wreak too much havoc.”
I want to argue, but before I can, Remiel says, “This is the only way we’ll agree to have you fight, Zeke. Do you accept?”
Ugh. On top of visions, can this guy read fucking minds or something? It’s like he knows I want to say no and request literallyanyoneelse to assist. But with options like these, what can I say? So instead, I give a restrained, “Yes. Thank you.”
It doesn’t make any fucking sense how someone like her, a Pure with no goddamn official training, was originally fighting alongside my father while I’m being tucked away like a liability. I might have lost a wing, but it’s been re-a-fucking-ttached. We’re not even supposed to fly around demons, so I don’t see how this was ever an issue in the first place. And now this? Having to work a machinewithher? I don’t even trust her not to stab me in the back. How am I supposed to trust her with a massive weapon?
Already, my mind whirls with thoughts of what she could really want. Maybe the plan all along was for her to work that weapon, only instead of firing at demons, maybe her father ordered her to shoot us down instead. If she so much as makes a single step out of line, I’ll handle her. Even if it means having to work that goddamn weapon by myself. It’s not impossible, really. It’s just far more work, and it extends the time betweenrounds, but I’ll figure it the fuck out if she proves to be the snake I suspect she is.
The meeting ends, and I can’t escape fast enough. I just need a moment, one fucking moment to myself. I keep walking until I push open a door and find myself outside. The cool breeze brushes over my skin, providing immediate relief. I breathe in once, then pull in another gulp of air before slowly expelling it—then I do it again. Apparently, it’s a special breathing technique that’s supposed to help with stress, and even though I was skeptical at first, it actually seems to help.
A little.
The door behind me opens, and I stiffen.
“Can I join you?” Dad asks. I don’t bother turning around. Instead, I wave to the empty space around me in open invitation.
After a beat he says, “I’m sorry about the decision in there. I know that can’t have been easy.”
“It’s shitty,” I say, then sigh. “But I guess I can understand. I’m just glad not to be sidelined entirely.” That’s not the whole truth. I’d be even more glad if they weren’t saddling me with the traitor’s daughter, but I guess I can’t win them all.
“I’m proud of you, Zeke. What you’ve endured and the way you’re handling this.” He swallows. “Your mother would have been proud, too. She would have hated the way I behaved after … when she …”
“It’s fine, Dad, really.”
“No. It’s not fine. I might have lost my wife, but you lost your mother, too. And then I became closed off. Distant. I tried so hard to be strong for you that I completely missed being there for you. In a way, you ended up losing me, too.”
