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"Would have seemed like the downfall of your sanctuary," Ark surmised.
"Yes," Azrail bit out. "Are you happy now? Finished psycho-analysing me?"
"I am," Ark replied, a small smile softening his mouth. "And yes. Thank you for sharing that with me."
Azrail rolled his eyes, turning back to the path, and Ark couldn't help but feel like the rebel lord was a scared teenager covering his insecurity with biting remarks and vitriol bullshit.
He might have been a few years younger than Azrail, but Ark had a few more points in the maturity department—he wasn't eaten up by fear and paranoia, at least—so he let the responsibility of looking out for Azrail settle on his shoulders. It was a familiar feeling, and almost reassuring, almost like having his guards to lead.
At least now he understood why Azrail had hurt Maia. He was fucking terrified of what she represented: the end of the anonymity he and his sister had used as a shield these years.
Ark caught up to Azrail and clapped him on the shoulder. "You were brave to show her your wings last night."
Azrail made a sound in the back of his throat and didn't reply.
"I thought we were having a heart-to-heart?" Ark said, walking amiably beside him.
"I said weweren'thaving a heart-to-heart," Azrail drawled, blue eyes cutting as they slid towards him.
"My mistake," Ark replied with false sincerity. "But since we're here, and we're talking..."
"No," Azrail said flatly, a beleaguered expression on his face.
"You don't even know what I'm going to say yet," Ark complained, fighting a grin.
Azrail merely turned that flat look on him, possibly hoping to convince Ark to leave him alone. Ark had spent the past fifteen years surrounded by guards who he routinely pissed off and who regularly pissed him off in return. He was immune to scowling stares.
"What's between you and Prince Kheir?" Ark asked, eyes on his mate on the ruined once-road ahead.
"What doyouthink?" Azrail drawled, jerking his chin at where Maia walked between Jaro and Kheir.
"I think you're two incredibly dominant fae, and you're both vying for top dog position."
"That was a rhetorical question," Azrail muttered. He could act as surly as he wanted; there was no smoke tumbling from his hands, so Ark knew he wasn't truly pissed off.
"You're both testing each other, seeing how far you can push before one of you snaps. Kheir can use the guise of anger over how you treated Maia—justified anger, I might add."
"By all means, bestow your worldly knowledge on me," Azrail sighed.
"Thank you for the invitation," Ark replied with a little bow. "I'll do just that.Youare letting him get away with too much because you're cut up with guilt over Maia getting caught. And what you called her," he added, with a little bite in his voice to let the bastard know just what he thought of that.
"I didn't even mean it," Azrail huffed, and then groaned, curling his tanned hands into fists. "Fine, O wise master, I might be letting him get away with shit I wouldn't let anyone else do."
"Thus, threatening the whole hierarchy of your militia," Ark pointed out with a smirk. He was enjoying this. It was nice to be the smartest man in the room, even if the room was a wasteland that stank of burned flesh and cinders. "If your inner circle isn't stable, your rebels will be unstable, too. They need to see a tight-knit group at the top, or the whole thing will fall apart."
Azrail slid a glance in his direction, and stared for long enough to make Ark slightly uncomfortable. "I could use a general," he said.
Ark blinked, taken aback.
"Especially a general who's a vessel for the saint of tactics and wisdom," Azrail went on, following the others out the other side of the wrecked town and towards a series of rolling, yellow-green hills. They’d searched Calvo from top to bottom. No Vawn. No survivors.
"Where did that come from?" Ark asked, recovering his surprise.
Azrail shrugged, hoisting his backpack higher. No, two backpacks—he was still carrying Maia's. "It's been in the back of my mind. I'd be an idiot not to use your experience and knowledge. So congrats on your promotion."
"What are my duties?" Ark asked, drawing straighter. The purpose filled him like molten metal pouring into the contours of a mould. He'd be forged anew, a different kind of sword but every bit a weapon. He liked it. A lot.
"Firstly," Azrail replied, amusement lightening his voice, "don't let us all kill each other. You seem to have a talent for smoothing tempers. I might regret saying this, but feel free to use that against us when things get heated."
