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ASCENSION
After my chat with Saphira, I returned to the gods’ grand hall. The ceremony would begin in a few minutes, but Faris and the other gods on the council were nowhere to be seen. They were of course waiting until everyone else had arrived before making a dramatic entrance.
Lesser gods were positioned around the room in small clusters, bound together by the strategic alliances of the day. They were dressed in clothes as fine as Saphira’s, beautiful and sparkly and totally impractical to move in, let alone fight in. Even my simple dress felt so restrictive. The bone-crushing bodice was so tight, I could hardly breathe.
One figure stood out in the crowd, alone and yet totally unfazed. He didn’t wear a fancy suit. He wore a suit of black leather battle armor.
“Hi,” I said, sidling up to Xerxes Fireswift. “I have to admit, Colonel, I’m a bit surprised to see you here.”
“Of course you are.” His blond brows lifted—barely. “You are oblivious to my importance.”
I snorted. Colonel Fireswift was nothing if not consistent in his arrogance.
“Lord Faris invited me to the ceremony.” He stood taller. “As his honored guest. The sole angel in a hall of gods. I alone was granted entry to witness this sacred ceremony.”
“Much as I hate to interrupt you while you’re waxing poetic about yourself, I’m afraid reality’s come calling. Sole angel? What am I, a decorative urn?”
“No, you, Leda Pandora, are something else entirely,” he replied with a haughty upward tilt of his chin.
I’d been dealing with Colonel Fireswift for so long that his condescending remarks didn’t even bruise me. That was just how he’d been raised: to be an angel in all ways, good and bad.
“I bet you just hate it that I’m here too,” I said.
“Lord Faris is the King of the Gods and head of the council. And you are his daughter. Of course you are here. That is protocol.”
“You know, you can be pretty pragmatic when you want to be,” I told him.
“I am always pragmatic,” he said stiffly.
“So, how have you been?”
His sharp expression took on a few extra razor edges. “What are you doing?”
“Making small talk?”
“Well, cease that immediately,” he snapped. “I have no use for small talk, least of all with you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I think you know.”
I chewed on my lip, trying to figure out what I’d done to offend him this time. And then it hit me. “This is about your archangel trials, isn’t it?”
His grunt was short, but that said it all.
“Come on, you can’t still be mad about that.”
“I most certainly can.” His voice cut like a knife. “Because I am still waiting to become an archangel.”
Over three years ago, the gods had agreed to promote Colonel Fireswift. However, shortly after that announcement, Ronan, Lord of the Legion, froze all archangel trials while the gods’ council debated whether or not to abolish the barbaric practice of having a prospective archangel prove their loyalty by killing the person they loved most.
“I blame you, Leda Pandora,” he said with a scorching glare. “You are the reason that I’m still not a general.”
“I’m also the reason that your wife is still alive,” I reminded him. “So you’re welcome.”
Colonel Fireswift huffed, then walked away.
“You sure have a way with people, Leda,” Octavian chuckled as he and his team joined me.
