Fallen to Grace (Celestial Downfall Book 1) Read online

  “Azrael.” The trance was broken as he breathed her name. The iron web she had been caught in shattered, and with it, she lost what ability she had to stand. Azrael fell to her knees, breathless. Her instinct assured her what she saw couldn’t be real. But her wildly thumping heart told her this was no dream. The word forced its way into her head.

  Angel.

  He stepped forward, his perfect brow wrinkled with worry. “Please, you have nothing to fear.” He offered a hand, a legendary artist’s rendering come to life.

  “My Divine, I’m not worthy to be in your presence.” She pushed her head to the floor in reverence.

  His laughter startled her, bringing a flush to her face. “You’ve mistaken me. I’m no greater or lesser than you. I am Windborn, just as you are.”

  Azrael peeled her forehead from the tiles. “How’s that possible? You are magnificent. You are perfect. You must be Divine.”

  To Azrael’s mortification, he caught at her sleeve. “No more of this groveling. Come and sit with me.”

  He waved to the inner hallway that opened up to a garden. Green puffs of bushes and yellow tufts of flowers swayed in the distance. Awed, Azrael shot a glance over her shoulder.

  The Queen smiled and nodded in approval. To Azrael’s dismay, Queen Ceres closed the door, leaving the weight of responsibility to straddle Azrael’s shoulders.

  Shouldering the weight as best she could, she followed the winged man into the gardens. A cool breeze swept relief under her sweat-dampened hairline. Circles of bushes, fruit trees, and flowers thrived all around them. Yet the natural beauty was dwarfed by a magnificent fountain that shone in the sunlight. Adorned with fine gemstones and statuettes, it thrust sparkling water up into the sky. Such contraptions were worth a small fortune, as they were crafted for royalty by Windborn engineers. Two years ago, Azrael had briefly entertained the idea of becoming an engineer, but had been laughed out of the boy’s classroom. Who’s laughing now?

  Azrael jumped at a sudden fluttering sound as the angel flitted his wings. It reminded Azrael of a content bird.

  He ruffled his wings once more before he sat on one of the benches that surrounded the fountain. Feeling too inferior to share a seat with this creature, Azrael knelt on the ground before him. The velvet carpet of grass grazed against her calf as she smoothed her robes over her knees.

  The angel didn’t comment on the gesture. “You, like many who have been brought before me, have great potential. Every time I meet a Princess, I have great hopes that a new Alexandria has been born.”

  Azrael barely heard him. Princess? Potential? Instead, all she could hear was the scathing cackle of the demon saying she didn’t deserve any of this. Azrael swallowed the lump in her throat and watched the dazzling fountain’s display, fumbling her hands over her robes.

  “You may look at me when we are having a conversation, for if you continue this path, we will be having many,” he said.

  Azrael forced herself to look upon his magnificent face. She regretted it the moment she did. The iron web of his eyes snatched up her body and tightened its grip on her lungs.

  She coughed and rubbed her neck. “I’m sorry. You have to understand, I’ve never seen anything like you.”

  He smiled. The gesture sent her heart flying up like the jets of water. “Then I will start there,” he said. “As I’ve already mentioned, we are both Windborn. You and I aren’t so different. We call you Aedium. In the Windborn tongue, it means ‘one of failed birth.’”

  Failed birth...

  “So, there are more of you?” she asked, hoping she bypassed the insult gracefully.

  “Yes. There’s an entire city of Windborn. You should know the story: the City of Angels. That much at least you have been taught in your studies.”

  Studies? More like stories.

  “Our ‘studies’ are limited,” Azrael said, unable to keep the bite out of her voice. “I could show you every step in the waltz of Count Fermian or recount every verse in Lumerian’s Ballad, but I couldn’t tell you who our neighboring countries are, much less where angels come from.” She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the reality. “Five minutes ago, angels weren’t even real.”

  “Your Queen has become cautious,” he said, his voice soft and kind as if talking to a frightened deer. “She only wishes for your safety, and she does it in the only way she knows how.”

  Azrael opened her eyes and studied him. All she could see was sincerity. Perhaps he believed the Queen did what she thought was best. But the Queen wasn’t a hybrid. She couldn’t see both sides of the coin that was life.

  He leaned and opened his palms in invitation. “Do you have any questions?”

  Azrael widened both eyes, wishing to see the angel for what he was. The mixture of good and evil fought for dominance to interpret this creature. His face was the picture of perfection, and he emanated patience and kindness. Her blue eye showed him in perfect clarity, declaring that he was the embodiment of all that was good. Yet her green cast a dark halo around his face as if there was something it wanted to tell her, but it was far too deep to define what evil she sensed. She’d never seen that before.

  Azrael decided to keep her question simple until she knew she could trust this angel. “Why me?”

  Gabriel smiled and her heart skipped a beat. “Queen Ceres’s reign comes to an end. According to the Divine, the next to inherit the task, the one to replace her, is you.” He paused, letting that information sink in. “I was happily surprised when I learned that one such as yourself was the new Princess. A hybrid deserves the respect of others. Nothing would achieve that better than one of your kind becoming Queen.”

  “Her Majesty said that if I were to take her place, I should sell my own kind as she has done.” She matched his gaze, feeling a bit dizzy and nauseous staring into the deep sea of his eyes. “Why? Is there no other way to wean us from the Light?”

  He stiffened. “Is there another way? Unfortunately, no. A Queen must wean the Aedium, and she needs Divine Material to do it. The simple answer is if a Queen does not sell her wares, then the Council will revoke their support, and the wingless Windborn will go extinct.”

  “And the Council would be?”

  “They are the governing force in Celestia, the place where you were born. You must understand your heritage, you are Windborn—you are of angels. The Aedium are viewed as abominations, and not meant to survive.

  “It takes a powerful creature to monitor and adjust the Light exposure to all in her domain. To become a Mistress of Manor Saffron, and Queen of Terra, is to sacrifice yourself for your kind and to lie to your own to keep them safe. It’s not a decision to be taken lightly.”

  Azrael frowned and stared at her feet.

  After a few moments, the angel took in a deep breath and his voice became strained. “I’m afraid I must tell you, the Hallowed was specific that your Acceptance must start today. If you deny the trial, another must be found to take your place.”

  “Today?” Azrael’s body rippled in a tremor. “But isn’t the ritual potentially...fatal?”

  He nodded with understanding. “Yes, it isn’t unheard of for a Princess to die under the stress of the Acceptance. It’s a risk you must be willing to take.” He locked his gaze onto hers and Azrael sucked in a breath. “You have the potential—you have been approved by the Divine. There can be no greater assurance that you’re capable of this. But you won’t be denied the choice of free will. Do you choose to follow your destiny? Or will you persevere to find your own? The decision is yours.”

  The severity of the moment hung in the air. Time stilled as Azrael weighed the colossal pros and cons. To succeed meant to become powerful, respected, and live in a world with angels. What could she do with such power? Could she give Meretta a better life? Even more, could she change the lives of all Windborn? She’d made a deal with a demon for this, not that she could begin to understand how a demon got the Divine to agree to her initiation. This was an opportunity she couldn’t j
ust throw away.

  But if she failed, would it have been worth the gamble? She’d die, plain and simple. Meretta would be left alone and this would have all been for nothing. No matter how bleak her future seemed, she’d always have Meretta.

  The angel waited patiently as she drew a deep breath. “I’m afraid,” she whispered. She swallowed against her dry tongue. “I’m afraid of the pain, and I’m afraid of failure. I don’t want to die.”

  She caught a flicker of darkness in his eyes. Perhaps he was afraid, too.

  He nodded and leaned on his knees, lowering his voice. “It’s perfectly understandable to fear. We fear what we don’t understand, and we fear pain. But it’s through pain that we learn who we are. And it’s through learning the unknown that we become great.”

  The loop of his sleeve dangled as he swept out his hand. “Consider your choice carefully. When the Hallowed asks for your decision, there will be no turning back.”

  The darkness fled his eyes, leaving only kindness. Azrael placed her palm in his.

  He led Azrael out of the garden and to her dismay their meeting was over. The Hallowed, stoic and expressionless, waited for them at the garden’s exit. Typical of a Hallowed, his eerie pupilless stare made him impossible to read.

  “You will see me again, Azrael. Go with the Hallowed, and don’t fear the Acceptance. Whichever choice you make, I’m confident it will be the right one.”

  Having given his final piece of advice, he turned to return to the gardens. Azrael’s heart sank and speaking with an angel seemed like a dream she would never grasp again. “Wait.” She stretched a hand to him in desperation. “Your name?”

  He looked over the magnificent arch of a wing to reply. “Gabriel.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Acceptance

  Gabriel eased into the Queen’s chambers and was about to approach her fair form until he was grasped by the sight of a massive painting on the far wall. He went to it without hesitation. What had compelled the Queen to purchase such an offensive relic?

  The rustic paint repelled the golden light from the Divine-lit walls and only added to the dark portrayal of the gory scene. Majestic angels fanned their wings and thrust lengthy, golden spears to impale their demonic foe. Dark blood smeared across a fiery ground, poorly depicting a battle he could never forget long before humans ever existed. It was hardly so glorious, and the blood was such a human way to imagine the battle. What stuck in his mind was the image of immortal angels dying by the use of their own weapons against them. Golden slashes searing into their very soul until all light left their eyes. Those who didn’t die turned into the very demonic things they’d despised. Gabriel had been forced to end their suffering before their minds were lost as well. There was no greater terror in history, and not something to be displayed on one’s wall.

  “What compelled you to purchase such art?” he asked, not masking his distaste.

  A chair creaked and the Queen cleared her throat. “I didn’t summon you to discuss my paintings. I want to know about Azrael. Did you convince her it’s the right thing to do?”

  “She acted as if she has no choice,” he answered after a moment. His wings vibrated and he enjoyed how she squirmed at the sound.

  “I hate it when you’re restless,” she complained. “Please, sit.”

  He furrowed a brow. “I’m not restless. I’m aware that Azrael may not even survive the first needle. I may as well have sent her to her death.” He scoffed. “She’s barely sixteen.” He’d been alive for so many lifetimes he still couldn’t fathom what it would be like to have a life so utterly short. Such a blip in time.

  He tried to ignore the Queen’s scrutiny as he attempted to sit in the human-style chair. He curled his shoulders inward as far as he could, but his bulky wings twisted against the back of the chair, making him quite uncomfortable. Refusing to give her the satisfaction, he leaned his elbows on his knees and teetered on the edge. She’d probably removed all angel-friendly chairs to punish him. What was he supposed to do, force the girl?

  The Queen smirked. “Sixteen. Precisely my age when I underwent my Acceptance, need I remind you. But this isn’t about me. It’s about Azrael and her future. The life for a female Aedium is hardly pleasant, much less a hybrid.” She nodded to his chair. “For example, you can sit in that human chair, but it’s not a seat meant for you.” She leaned in, her eyes widening. “There are chairs designed exactly for you and will make you comfortable. Think, now. What life awaits Azrael if she didn’t have this opportunity? Upon what kind of chair would she be forced to sit?”

  Snow-white hair blocked his gaze as he lowered his chin, imagining the fruition of the Queen’s words. “One of thorns, if I were to hazard a guess.”

  A clink of porcelain sounded as the Queen poured herself a cup of tea. She leaned back, letting the steaming liquid cool in the tepid air. “Precisely. Not all female Windborn inherit a bad life, but Azrael certainly would. She’d be locked away with nothing but jewels and trinkets for company. Precious stones are cold bedmates, Gabriel, supplemented by a fevered monster in the night which forces new monsters to grow in her belly. Do you understand? She’d bear countless children she’d never get to love. They’d be snatched from her the moment they were born and would be turned into evil paragons to rule this city.”

  Gabriel glared, his gaze falling once again on the massive painting looming over their conversation. “What’s the point of having power, if one cannot use it? What’s the point of immortality, if one cannot truly live?”

  Seeming pleased with his response, the edges of her mouth curved. “There are more than a few who share your passion for the Aedium and the humans, Gabriel. You’re a creature of patience, if I’ve learned anything about you. It’s why you’re one of the few true Windborn I respect. But let me offer you a bit of advice: Put power in those who have opportunity to use it, and you will see change spur into motion.”

  Gabriel offered a wry smile. “When did you become so wise?”

  The Queen leaned and picked up the dainty teacup. Her lips pursed as she blew the steam over the edge of the porcelain before taking a minuscule sip.

  She sighed, coddling the cup in her lap. “I wouldn’t say wise. I believe ‘desperate’ is the more accurate term.”

  She wouldn’t meet his gaze and Gabriel pushed a sharp breath through his nose. “What do you mean?”

  “When I prayed for Azrael’s fate to change, the Divine came to me in a dream. My Acceptance burned and the pain lasted long into awakening. But it left no doubt that the dream was a vision.”

  “And? What was the message?” Gabriel was teetering on the edge of the seat, and not just because his wings were pressing against the frame. With all his years and ancient wisdom, he was not one who could commune with the Divine in any form.

  She raised her gaze and for the first time, he saw the wrinkles that crinkled around her lashes. “A Queen must be chosen. By the time Azrael comes to maturity, I will have already reached my end. I must set her up for a life of value, something that will give her purpose.” She leaned forward, nearly spilling the contents of her tea. “She’s special, Gabriel. If anything is to happen me, promise you’ll protect her.” Her eyes clouded as if she was having the vision all over again. “She’s surrounded by darkness and I can’t figure out why.”

  Gabriel wrung his hands. He’d never seen Ceres in such a state. He remembered her when she’d first crossed the threshold of the outer wards of the Manor into the Inner Sanctum, and into his life. She’d been afraid, as any young girl risking the death of her soul should be. But her eyes were fierce, as fierce as they were to this very day. And here she was, not asking for favor for herself even when she’d had a vision of her own death, but for aid of another fledgling Queen. She had truly grown beyond his wildest dreams.

  “Yes, Majesty. I promise,” he said with admiration.

  Queen Ceres closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath and her shoulders relaxed. After a long moment her lashes flutter
ed and she matched his gaze, revealing gold sparks in her eyes. “You must go now, and protect our Princess.”

  He straightened. “How close are they?”

  The Queen’s knuckles turned white as she clutched the arms of her chair and her golden gaze grew intense and distant. “They’ve passed the shore.”

  Gabriel steeled himself. How did they always seem to know? “I’ll summon the others. And I make you another promise: No demon will breach Manor Saffron.”

  Azrael tried to keep track of their path as she followed the Hallowed through the secret inner workings of the Manor. What was she doing? This was all happening too fast.

  After a great deal of scuffling through halls and bolted doors, they passed a final doorway and the golden shimmer of the walls vanished, leaving Azrael’s vision dancing with dark specks. When her sight adjusted, the only glimmer that remained was in the eyes of the Hallowed. Silently, he arranged the room, which had the constrictive aura of a prison chamber and the overly sanitary stench of a medical ward.

  Azrael approached a plain table piled with far too many bleached cloths looking for something to cover her nose. She ran her fingers over the soft towelettes and bumped her toe on what she’d mistaken for a chest. It was actually a skinny bed raised on a single wooden block. The crackled leather padding may have once been comfortable, but now it looked worn and tired. Thick, weighty straps hung from its sides and Azrael eyed them warily as she stole a cloth and pressed it over her nostrils.

  Azrael flicked her gaze at the Hallowed. Methodically, he picked out long, wooden sticks from collections hidden in drawers and laid them out in perfect order. He held one up, his bright eyes illuminating the indecipherable metallic spikes on the ends. For some, he frowned, putting them aside in a short tin box, others he gave an approving grunt before setting it inline with the others.

  When Azrael coughed, the Hallowed shot her a sharp glance, his gaze sending a blinding beam of light through the darkened room.