Should she say something to someone about this plot?
But she knew nothing, really. The only angel she could point to was Adrianna, and she would never betray her trust.
She certainly didn’t care about protecting the Council. Aside from Luc, not that he would ever need her protection.
This wouldn’t end well; she felt that in her bones. But perhaps a changein government was inevitable. The Council was an old institution, worn by the aeons, and it had not always handed down decisions that the masses of angels favored. Adrianna was probably right—and this worried her—that there were other individuals like her who had been snubbed by the Council’s decisions regarding the state of their existence. And they, unlike her, would leap at the chance to change their current conditions.
Like she, once, might have leapt.
From the depths of her desk, Lila procured her oldest document, which stayed hidden beneath stacks of metal hair pin designs: her application to the architect program, a proposal for a garden that would have stretched out from the Great Hall down the entire length of Heaven to the South Edge. It would have swept over the current bare marble paths and lone, singular courtyards. Instead, the walk from the Great Hall, down to the angels’ cluster of homes, down to the courtyard where all the artisan districts converged, and further still, would have been dotted with thousands of flowers and shrubs in whimsical patterns, sculptures of stone and stained glass, paths for walking, wooden bridges and water features, and wide fields of bountiful green grass.
Lila’s garden would have seamlessly blended…
One and a Half Aeons Pre-Great War
“…elements of botany, carpentry, smithing, glass-working, and masonry into a tranquil tapestry for routine travel, relaxation, and recreation,” Lila finished, summarizing her presentation for the committee of architects gathered in the architect common room. The blue ceiling overhead was so dark, its painted blueprint of Heaven looked like someone had flecked the Void with gold.
Lila swallowed. She couldn’t read any of the architects’ expressions; their mouths were flat and stern.
Had they liked her presentation? Had she rambled? She bet she had rambled toward the end. She’d gotten too anxious, had said too much.
But why did the committee stay silent?
Lila clutched her reference scroll tighter, crumpling it.
Finally, the most senior architect in the group cleared her throat and spoke: “Thank you, Lila, for that enjoyable presentation.”
Lila smiled and straightened, feeling proud of herself for once.
“However, you should understand that we are unable to offer you admittance to the architect program on account of your partner not applying.”
“Castor doesn’t want to be an architect.”
“Yes.” The architect’s voice was clipped. “That’s a problem. We cannot admit you without pulling you away from the purpose of your…pairing.” Lila heard the word ‘existence’ creep onto the architect’s tongue, then slip away.
“I see. Well, what if I do both?” Lila tried to keep her voice from shaking. Surely, after all of this—afterallowingher to apply andlisteningto her proposal—they would not be so cruel as to deny her on Castor’s account.
“Both?” the faceless architect replied. She was fast becoming a blur, but Lila blinked away her tears. They would not get to watch her cry. She would not be humiliated in that way too.
“Yes. I’ll take advanced carpentry with Castor and architecture courses at the same time.”
“Even so, when you graduate, you will be expected to work with Castor, not alone as an architect. What would that accomplish?”
“I don’t understand. I just want to learn.Please.”
“Lila…” The master’s face softened. “You are very talented, remarkably so for someone of your origin, but we can’t make an exception for you alone. Truthfully, we only listened to your presentation at the request of your instructor, Master Theo. But the rules being as they are?—”
“Well, why can’t the rules change?” Lila demanded, an edge to her voice that was probably rude. She didn’t care.
“Hush, child,” one of the male architects admonished. “The rules are as they have always been. As the Creator commanded them to be. Everyone knows that. It’s hard to understand, but they’re there for a reason. Now you’ll have to be on your way. We have another student interview right after yours.”
This last verdict was issued quietly, but urgently, and Lila had no choice but to retreat the way she’d come in. She stumbled blindly up the steps, out the open door to the main reading room, past the sign that noted interviews were in progress, and down the central aisle of the massive building.
Though Lila rarely cried in public, hot tears spilled down her cheeks at the fresh insult, and an incoming student, his interview materials in hand, raised his eyebrows in alarm at her distressed state. He opened his mouth, but she shoved past him before he could question her and broke into a run, darting around Library patrons with arms full of scrolls and the odd chair that sat askew in the aisle. She fled past the same tables where she’d worked tirelessly on her presentation, certain that someone would finally see her as Lila and not just Castor’s extension.
She’d been tricked again by her own foolish hopes. And she hated this place. She hoped she never saw another collection of scrolls.
The portico was empty, but instead of pausing for breath, she leapt off the top of it and swooped into the aether. From above, she could see Heaven as it was in the diagram painted on the common room’s ceiling. The Artisanal Courtyard lay at its center, twelve paths diverging from it that led to twelve clusters of workshops, each assigned to a respective guild.
