White Heart of Justice (10 page)

I stared at Rafe in the dark next to my bed, wondering when exactly I'd started to think of him as a rival for my affections. And then I immediately scolded myself. Rival? Against what? The
memory
of Ari? The ex-boyfriend who lied to me about being a demon? I kept telling myself I was moving on. Living my life. But clearly there was one area where I was still holding back.

I'd never been much for dating. I'd had casual relationships with a few Hyrkes in college, but I'd never really gotten close to anyone romantically until Ari. Which was probably why I'd taken the whole my-boyfriend-is-really-a-demon revelation pretty hard. I'd opened up to Ari about who and what I was, but he hadn't trusted me in the same way. Without thinking, I asked Rafe:

“Have
you
ever had your heart broken?”

He stared down at me with those impossibly large, mercurial eyes.

“Not yet.”

He lowered his face toward mine. He was close enough so that I could see his eyelashes now, his scratchy looking whiskers, and the outline of his full lips.

“You know you never talk about him,” he said in a near whisper.

“Who?”

He raised an eyebrow. We both knew who he meant.
Ari.

I shrugged. “What's there to say?” I shifted my gaze from Rafe to the silver-coated pines outside. “He lied to me, Rafe. Lied to me about being a demon. How do you forgive someone for that?”

Rafe didn't answer at first. I peered into the darkness.
Was there anything out there worth finding? Or was all of it just deadly and dangerous and eager to kill us?

“I don't know,” Rafe said finally. “
Forgiveness
isn't my specialty.”

I turned back toward him. There was something about the way he'd answered that made me think there was more to it than that.

“What
is
your specialty, Rafe?” I said, asking a question I'd asked him half a dozen times already. Every Angel had a declared specialty, or a focused course of study. Peter's had been power polarities. Other Angels I'd known had specialized in things like adjudication, enforcement, tracking, extracting confessions, and retribution. But Rafe had either never declared one or he was reluctant to share it with me. (Although he'd once joked that “taking care of me” was his specialty.)

“Grace,” he said quietly. And then it was his turn to draw inspiration from the moonlit night. He turned away and stared out at the cold, frozen landscape. It was an environment that could easily kill a man if he went into it unprepared.

“Grace?” I whispered. “And you said
I
didn't do things by halves.”

Grace was the heaviest of the heavies. It went way beyond forgiveness. It was forgiveness and redemption, suffering and salvation all rolled into one elusive concept. Grace was a process, not a state. Angels who studied it didn't believe they'd ever actually achieve it.

Rafe shrugged and made some vaguely affirmative sound.

He quickly moved back into his former position though and leaned over me, bracing himself with his hands on either side of my head. He lowered his face to mine. His expression told me he preferred to focus on someone other than himself.

“So, now that I've saved your life
again
do I get to kiss you now?” His words were the barest whisper, but the feel of his breath on my lips made them tingle. My eyes widened and I suddenly wondered how large
my
eyes appeared in the dark.

“Come on, Noon,” Rafe said, deliberately blowing on my lips. “Don't you think we've chased each other around the school yard long enough?” This time, I didn't imagine it. My lips felt as if I'd rubbed them with crushed mint and camphor. Rafe was using magic on me.

“And don't
you
think you've cast enough spells over me for a while?”

Rafe grinned, but stopped. The tingling faded.

“Face it, Noon, you've been wondering what it would be like too.”

But that was as far as he pushed things. He leaned back and sat on the edge of my bed, waiting. Waiting for me to reply. Or for me to make the next move. He looked very patient and I remembered that he was. I remembered how many times Virtus, Fara's tiger, had hissed and spit at him before they'd finally become friends. I remembered how irritating he'd been to me when I'd first met him. And how I'd sworn I'd
never
pick him as a Guardian. And I remembered how Rafe's seemingly endless
potentia
had almost run out last night. But he hadn't let it. And I didn't remember, but I
knew
, that he'd been by my side ever since. Ever since last night . . . and maybe from the day we'd first met.

What could I say?

Part of me wished he hadn't said anything. That he hadn't brought up this feeling that was starting to develop between us. Then we could go on forever without acknowledging anything. Because acknowledging our feelings, however nascent, meant changing the dynamic between us. Instead of potential, now there was risk.

“I don't want to hurt you, Rafe.”

He gave a faint laugh and said, “Onyx, you couldn't hurt a dragonfly right now.”

“I meant—

“I know what you meant,” Rafe said sighing, serious once again. “I saw you and Ari together. I traveled with you for weeks. You think I didn't know how it was between you? Only a blind fool wouldn't have seen how you felt about each other.”

There was a pregnant pause. We both knew what the next part of the story was. It was the black moment of every story, the part where it all goes to hell. And, as Rafe had said, he'd been there when it all went down. He and Fara had been the ones who helped me pick up the pieces of myself after Ari's lie had crawled inside me, exploded, and then blown me to bits. Which meant I wanted to make sure if I kissed Rafe, it was for the right reasons. I didn't want to kiss him because I was on the rebound or out of gratitude because he'd saved my life. I was grateful, of course. But I didn't think that—
and that alone
—was a good basis for starting a new relationship.

He saw the hesitation in my face. But he didn't look upset.

“No worries, firestarter,” Rafe said, kissing my forehead instead of my lips. “I told you I knew the spell Bucket of Ice-Cold Water. And it doesn't have anything to do with Crae Ibeimorth.”

Chapter 9

T
he smell of pork frying, the brightness of the morning sun on the snow outside, and several people talking at once assaulted my senses. I stood at the end of the hallway I'd just shuffled down, peering into what seemed to be the great room for Demeter's springhouse. My brother, Nightshade, was standing behind a wooden bar with his back to me. He held a three-tined fork in one hand and the handle of an iron pan in the other. Rafe was kneeling in front of a large, fieldstone fireplace. A woman I'd never seen before stood in front of a huge lead glass window sipping something out of a crockery mug. She turned as I entered.

“Nouiomo Onyx,” she said, putting her mug on the table in front of her and walking toward me, “I was beginning to think I might never see you awake. You know the first time I saw you, you were almost as injured as you were when your Guardian brought you here just two nights ago.”

“You must be Linnaea Saphir,” I said, smiling. My brother had told me lots about her. I could tell when he talked about her that she impressed him.
Who wouldn't be impressed?
At twenty-four Linnaea had been voted in as Demeter's new monarch. Now, three years later, she was still leading the tribe—a group made up of a hundred or so actively practicing on-site Mederies and hundreds of alumni healers who practiced up in New Babylon. She supervised Maize's hospital, greenhouse, gardens, fields, and this springhouse, which I knew from talking with Night, was Demeter's guest house for waning magic users.

Night put his fork down, walked over and gently put his hands on my shoulders.

“How's your heart?” he said.

“Still pumping, thanks to you,” I said, turning my smile into a full-fledged grin.

Nightshade had been born as Nocturo, a Maegester's name if ever there was one. He looked the part too, with hair that was darker, straighter, and thicker than mine. He wore it long and tied back with a simple strip of leather. He had a widow's peak, light skin, and piercingly dark eyes. I wondered briefly if his looks were ever a problem in the hospital. Did patients wake thinking a Maegester was at their side? That might be frightening for some of them. But when Night smiled, his natural warmth lit up all the dark parts of his looks.

Part of me wished I could tour the whole of Maize with him and Linnaea, meet the other women Night worked alongside, and see with my own eyes what he was creating down here in southern Halja. But no one knew more than I how deadly my touch could be. Rafe might be able to cast a powerful spell over me to protect Demeter's patients and crops, but why take the chance? Far better to stay sequestered near this springhouse.

Since I was likely to collapse if I kept standing there, I moved over to the table and slumped gratefully into a chair. Linnaea sat down across from me and Night went back to the stove. Rafe walked over to the table, bringing with him a steaming mug of something that smelled like hazelnut, sweet cream, and coffee. He handed me the mug and sat down beside me. I gave him a sidelong glance, wondering if he felt awkward about last night's almost-kiss. But he caught me staring and winked. So much for thinking Rafe would ever feel awkward.

“Something tells me you still want a chance to race for the Laurel Crown,” Linnaea said. I remembered that my brother had said Linnaea's healing focus was more on mind than body. As a Mederi, her magic could mend broken bones or purge disease, but her true talent was assessing a patient's mental state and helping them heal their head and heart.
Well, good luck with me,
I thought. But the last thing I wanted was to appear sullen. I was grateful to Linnaea for all that she'd done for Night and me, and thankful to finally have a chance to meet and speak with her.

“I'm not doing it for honor or glory,” I said quickly. It suddenly seemed important that Linnaea not think I was some vainglorious treasure hunter. She was the monarch of Night's tribe, my current host, and the one who would be supplying the food, sledge, and barghests we'd need for the race. “I don't care about the Laurel Crown itself. I care about the right that it gives me.”

Linnaea's eyebrows rose. “Which is?”

“The right to direct my own future. Laureates are allowed to choose where they spend their fourth semester residency.”

Linnaea nodded slowly, looking contemplative. She was quite pretty, I realized, in an earthy sort of way, with slate blue eyes, thick, wheat-colored hair, and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and high cheekbones.

“Mederies go where they are needed most,” she said. “But then I'm sure it's the same with Maegesters, even Laureates. I'm betting your residency will be well matched to your skills regardless of whether you win the race or not.”

I thought about the offer from Adikia, the Patron Demon of Abuse, Injustice, and Oppression.
How would my skills match
her
needs?
And the offer from the Patron Demon of Rockthorn Gorge? What would an MIT know about hydroelectric dams? (In fact, what would a
demon
know about those things? The Patron Demon of Rockthorn Gorge's followers would likely go the way of Orcus' former followers before long. And since Rockthorn Gorge had always been a place of historic unrest, riots, revolts, and general lawlessness, it was probably for the best. Surely, the Demon Council could come up with a safer way to secure electricity for those ten thousand New Babylonians who needed it.)

“I also want to race because I need to bring my target back to the Joshua School's dean of Guardians. I owe him a debt because I accidentally destroyed something of his last year. He told me my debt would be repaid if I brought my target back to him.” I fiddled with my mug, wondering how revealing my next statement would be to someone as intuitive as Linnaea. “He also told me, if I didn't race and at least attempt to bring my target back to him, I'd be stripped of my rank and never be allowed to work with another Angel again.”

This time Linnaea nodded without reservation. “And being stripped of your rank would bother you?” she asked.

I looked surprised.
Wouldn't it bother anyone?
But then maybe Night had told her what a reluctant student I'd been in the beginning, or maybe she'd heard on her own.

“It would,” I said. Hopefully, the tone of my voice and my expression conveyed my sincerity. With absolutely no hint of boastfulness, I said simply, “I've worked hard to accept, master, and control my magic. I don't know what it's been like for Night here, but training to be a Maegester has been . . . tough at times. I don't want to go backward.”

Linnaea smiled and glanced over at Night, who was walking over to the table with a platter of ham, biscuits, butter, and a jar of marmalade. The cheerful plate of food was so at odds with the grave look on his face that my hunger vanished.

“Has it been hard for you, Night? Training to be a Mederi?” I said.

He gave me a reassuring smile, but it was just the slightest bit pitying too, which of course made me frown, grip my mug too tightly, and nearly boil the coffee inside of it. I guess his grave look had been for
me
.

Night's gaze switched to Linnaea. “It hasn't been too bad,” he said, his mouth quirking at the corners. He grabbed plates, napkins, knives, and forks from the counter and passed them out. “On the whole, Demeter has been very welcoming.”

Night's and Linnaea's gazes held for just a moment longer than necessary, causing me to wonder whether there might be more to their relationship than just monarch and mentee. She was five years older than Night so it seemed unlikely . . . But then Rafe was six years older than me . . . I blinked and shook my head, wondering why my thoughts had suddenly become so scattered.

“And never being allowed to work with another Angel again,” Linnaea said smoothly, as if following the direction of my thoughts, “well, avoiding
that
makes sense. You have a very skilled and devoted Guardian, Noon. Better watch out,” she said, grinning widely now, “Demeter might try and recruit him.”

Rafe had been silent up to now. He often was in group settings. But I'd learned that even when he looked disinterested or disengaged, he wasn't. He stabbed two pieces of ham and a biscuit with his fork and put them on his plate. He turned toward me, his eyes bright. “If Friedrich forbids us from working together after this, we could become mercenaries.” I rolled my eyes.

“Think about it,” he said in a serious voice, although I knew he wasn't. “You and me, Onyx. Hiring ourselves out to the highest bidder. Only beholden to ourselves and the black market. No more answering to the Divinity or the Council. We could take our show on the road. Visit all of the outposts. Live like Metatron and Justica.”

I laughed. “Metatron and Justica? They didn't even know each other.”

“The Angels believe they were in love,” Rafe said dismissively, cutting into his meat.

“Do
you
believe that, Rafe?”

He held his fork and knife in the air for a moment, staring at nothing in particular, and then shrugged. “It's a good story.” He started cutting again and said in between bites, “What I do know is that I'm oath bound to you. So, even if you don't race,
you'll
be the one deciding whether we work together in the future, not him.”

I reached up and squeezed his hand briefly, glancing over at Night and Linnaea to see their reactions to Rafe's seditious declarations. Linnaea looked equal parts charmed and admiring. Night looked concerned. Little wonder. Night was one of the least rebellious people I knew. He always did the right thing. I wish I could assure him that Rafe's outrageous statements were mere bluster.

Problem was, I'd be lying. But while Rafe's loyalty touched me deeply, I wasn't going to let either of us live in violation of the law. His statement made me more determined than ever to race so that he wouldn't have to contemplate verboten actions I couldn't allow him to perform.

*   *   *

A
fter breakfast Linnaea left for Demeter's main hospital. She invited Rafe to accompany her, both because she thought his spellcasting might be useful on a few of her patients and because he expressed an interest in meeting some of the other Mederi healers and learning some of their nonmagical techniques. Night suggested I rest, but breakfast had given me some energy and I had some questions for him. So I followed him into the springhouse's small surgery room, both eager and reluctant to see the place where Night had operated on me just two nights ago.

My first impression was that it was very bright and very clean. The room smelled faintly of lemon and it was a few degrees colder than the rest of the house.

“This room was built above a natural spring with healing properties,” Night explained, walking over to an old, wooden cupboard on the far side of the room. Its shelves were full of bottles in all sorts of colors and shapes, small wooden boxes, and leather-bound books. He pulled one of the books out, flipped it open, reached for an ink pen, and began jotting some notes in it. My guess was that he was probably writing notes about my recovery. I could only imagine what they said:

1. Appetite unaffected by life-threatening injury. (Make sure to slaughter another pig, churn more butter, and make more marmalade!)

2. Doggedly refuses to give up on Laurel Crown Race . . . What is the matter with her?!

3. Don't ask about Ari Carmine. It's clear she doesn't want to talk about him because she hasn't mentioned him
once
since he “disappeared” in the Shallows.

4. Don't ask about her Guardian either. She refuses to see that she could be happy with anyone else and instead prefers to focus on impossible tasks like winning the Laurel Crown Race.

5. Her heart? She said it's still beating . . .

In the center of the room was a wooden operating table. In fact, nearly everything in the room was made of wood, including the floors and the few other tables scattered around the perimeter. All of it shined with the smoothness of age and frequent polishings. There was absolutely no sign of blood anywhere, which was a relief. Above the operating table was a modern electric light. (I was suddenly grateful for it. I couldn't imagine how difficult it would be to perform surgery by candlelight. Patients couldn't always wait until daylight, as my own case had more than adequately demonstrated.)

“Rafe said you weren't able to completely remove the arrow tip,” I said. “He said you thought it might be ensorcelled.”

“It is ensorcelled,” Night said in a tone that was both distracted and matter-of-fact. He finished making his last note and closed the book. “Likely with a curse.” He looked up at me. “But I don't know which one—or what kind—and that makes it even more difficult and dangerous to remove.”

“So I'll need to live with it inside me forever?”

Night frowned. “No . . . it will come out one way or another. But I wanted some time to try to figure out the safest way to remove it. When Rafe brought you down here on Tuesday night . . .” His gaze was sharp, but then his features softened and he cleared his throat. “I'm not sure you realize, Noon . . . Anyone else with that injury would have died.”