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“And the fact that they don’t have wings or a halo would be a dead giveaway.”
“Not all species of angel have either wings or a halo. But they can all heal others. The guardians were stripped of that standard angelic ability, and that would scream that they were forsaken. That is something they would never want.”
“They do like to come across as oh-so-perfect beings worthy of utter devotion.”
Nodding, Cain skimmed his gaze along the many carvings. “An image that would be called into question if it was to be discovered that God abandoned and so thoroughly punished them. It’s unlikely that so many people would seek to reside at Aeon and serve them if the truth came out.” He resettled his attention on her and intently raked his gaze over her face. “We would refer to them as cherubim just to piss them off, but . . .”
“They’d then refer to you lot as leviathans, and you’d rather that people didn’t know what you are,” she understood.
“Fear could lead them to unite and attack us. People certainly wouldn’t sell their souls to us—that would be an issue, since owning souls nourishes our inner creatures. People who didn’t know what we were took to calling us Ancients just as they called the cherubs Aeons. We all eventually came to do the same.”
Moving to the last cluster of carvings, Wynter frowned and pointed at them. “I’m guessing the seven serpentine figures over here are you and the other leviathans. Who’s this other serpent who was badly slain? Your father?”
“No. Eight leviathans were dumped here, not seven. The eighth was so badly injured we were surprised he survived the journey here. He went into a deep state of Rest immediately. We all expected him to slip away at some point, but he didn’t. He also never woke. He seems to be in some sort of coma.”
Her brows lifted. “Who is he?”
“You’ll have heard of him. According to mythology, he’s either an archangel, a demon, or the devil. In reality, he’s my uncle. My father’s brother. His name is Abaddon.”
Well, damn. Seeing Cain glance to the side, she tracked his gaze. There was a staircase not so far away that appeared to lead to a lower level. Her eyes widened as realization sank in. “You put him to Rest here? He’s here? In this temple?”
“Below us. And very possibly drawing you here while you sleep and your defenses are down.”
Her jaw dropped. She went to shake her head and insist that she’d simply been sleepwalking, but that explanation had never felt “right.” Not really. The only reason she hadn’t worried about it was that Kali didn’t seem bothered. “So he could be awake?”
“Not fully. We’d sense it if he was.” Cain pursed his lips. “It may be that he has some awareness of the world around him; that he senses some things and they then play into whatever dream he might be having.”
“It’s speculated that some people in comas dream that they’re alive the entire time,” she remembered. “Others are aware of what’s going on around them.”
“And that could be what’s happening here.”
She cocked her head. “You don’t seem like you’re keen on the idea of him waking. Wouldn’t it be a good thing to have extra backup against the guardians?”
“Aeons,” he corrected. “You have to keep calling them that, just as you have to keep referring to my kind as ‘Ancients.’ We all do it. It’s the best way to ensure that no one slips up in public. To answer your question, it wouldn’t be bad for him to wake. He would indeed make excellent backup. If he was in any fit state to provide it.”
“What does that mean?”
“Simply that I don’t know of an Ancient who has Rested this long, so I don’t know what affect—if any—it might have had on his psyche.”
Wynter crossed her arms and cupped her elbows. “Have you never tried to wake him?”
“No, the other Ancients and I decided against it. During the war, we all suffered personal losses. But not like Abaddon. Of all of us, he is the only one who had children. His oldest son was killed right in front of him by one of Adam’s brothers, Emmanuel.”
She felt her upper lip curl. “I know of him. He’s a pompous piece of shit who likes to take a whip to those who break the rules. Generally, it’s the keepers who take care of punishments. But Emmanuel occasionally offers his services.”
“I’ll bet he does. He likes to inflict pain on others—particularly those who are weaker than him. And he took great delight in killing Abaddon’s son. Fatally injured, my uncle was helpless to do anything but watch. His ex-consort and teenage daughters were also decimated in the war. If he were to wake, it would feel to him that that all happened just yesterday. He would want vengeance at any cost but, trapped in Devil’s Cradle, there would be no way for him to get it. That might drive him mad.”
Seeing that there were no more carvings, Wynter blew out a long breath. “Well, that was a history session unlike no other.”
“You don’t have to act as if you’re taking all this in your stride. I’ve given you a lot to process. Some of it has to be hard to swallow.” There was a distance in his eyes that plucked at her heart. “I would understand if you told me you needed a little time and space,” he added.
“Time and space?” Wynter rolled her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.”
His head drew back. “Dramatic?”
“It’s not like you told me you’re a cherub—Aeon, sorry. You carry the blood of one, but I can overlook that. It’s not like it’s your fault or anything.”
He was silent for a long moment. “I can’t tell if you’re struggling so much to absorb everything that you decided to simply gloss over the dark details I gave you . . . or if you genuinely aren’t repulsed by any of it.”
