He paused briefly. I’d surprised him.
“Yes. They are the only feathers pulled from our wings, forever dipped in Heaven’s inkwell. They can only be used by an Archangel or Seraphim. Any other angel who attempts to use one risks killing themselves—even the Dark Seraphim, since he is of a different breed entirely.”
“The Dark Seraphim?” I asked.
The humorless smile on the king’s face did nothing to calm the nerves that name stirred.
“General Ronen.”
I swallowed.
The king walked around me and pulled down the collar of my sweatshirt. He dug his feather into my shoulder and carved.
“What is a Dark Seraphim?” Oliver asked while I tried not to cringe or squeak in pain.
“A Seraphim with wings as black and deadly as his powers—representing the corruption of souls.”
“His shadows don’t seem that deadly,” Oliver mused.
The king chuckled. That wasn’t a good sign.
He finished the curling rune, wiped at the tender spot, and released my sweatshirt just as Cato dropped three thick books on the table.
“Books on runes, Hell, and Elora, like you asked, Sir.” Cato bowed.
The king nodded. “I have souls to judge. So today, you and the Nephilim will read. Tomorrow, you’ll train with the Tormentors. And the next day, I’ll see what information you retained.”
“You expect us to get through all three of these in a day?” I asked, eyeing the books. Each one was the width of my head.
“You should’ve already learned this by now,” the king replied, his voice clipped.
I opened my mouth, ready to explain my lack of education, but before I could speak, he cut me off.
“How old are you?”
The metal table and Michael’s birthday gifts flashed in my mind, and I swallowed, fighting the pounding in my chest. “Twenty.”
His eyes narrowed, considering my words. Then he spoke, each sentence calculated.
“Angels begin their instruction on the language of runes during their seventh year of creation. They have it mastered by their eighth year. Have you mastered the language of runes?”
Heat rose to my cheeks. I didn’t like where this was going. “No.”
“Angels study the dynamics of each dimensional world and retain all the information by their fourteenth year. Do you know anything about Hell, besides what I’ve told you?”
I dug my nails into my palms until they ached. “No.”
“Angels diligently practice and hone their powers every day, and most have them mastered by their eighteenth year. Doyou?”
My frustration boiled with each jab. It wasn’t my fault! My mother kept me from all of this. She’d done everything in her power to hide it from me.
“Angels—”
“I’m not an angel!” I yelled, the words leaping from my mouth before I could stop them. I was born on Earth and raised as a human. I didn’t have wings. I wasn’t created.
The king stepped into my space, his eyes glinting with icy flame.
“No, you aremydaughter. As your father and king, I will raise you as I see fit—seeing as I lost twenty years of that. Heaven only knows why.” His voice grew cold, cutting through the air. “Begin your studies.”
