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“As Colonel Fireswift likes to remind me, he is not a person.” I turned to face my friends from Heaven’s Army. “He’s an angel.”
“Yeah, I can see why Faris likes him.” Stash looked across the room, to where Colonel Fireswift was doing his best to look as stiff and humorless as the urn of decorative dried sticks he was standing beside. “He’s the sort who always follows orders, isn’t he?”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “To his own detriment.”
“There’s nothing wrong with following orders. In fact, some of you could learn from that angel’s fine example,” Devlin told his team.
Punch winked at him, which was obviously not the response Devlin had been looking for.
“So, how are you guys feeling?” I asked.
“Most of our wounds have healed,” Arabelle said. “Though Patch still limps a little.”
“And my face still hurts when I smile,” added Octavian.
“Then don’t smile,” Theon told him.
“Na, it’s useful in the field,” Octavian replied. “It totally confuses the bad guys.”
“What are you guys even doing back in the field?” I demanded. “Patch’s limp is clearly much more than just a limp, and half of you are bleeding through your armor.”
“Damn.” Punch’s hand flew to his side. “Must have reopened that old wound again.”
“Someone needs to reopen Faris’s head to make sure all his marbles are still in there,” I growled. “What is he thinking, having you working when you’re injured like this?”
“He’s thinking we’re short-staffed right now,” Octavian replied. “Faris can’t let anyone take off. If you can stand, you can fight.”
“Short-staffed,” I repeated. “Because of the attacks? Just how many worlds did Faris lose?”
Devlin’s gaze snapped to Octavian. “You talk too much.” He looked at me now. “We are always ready to serve our Lord Faris.” His voice was serious, even reverent.
“Besides, we wouldn’t miss this ceremony for all the worlds in the cosmos.” A big smile lit up Punch’s whole face, and he was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “The team’s taken out bets on how long the ceremony goes on before something totally catastrophic interrupts it.”
“Maybe nothing catastrophic will happen.” As soon as I said the words, I wished I had some wood to knock on.
“Of course something catastrophic will happen.” Punch beamed at me. “You’re here, Leda.”
He looked way too excited about this ‘catastrophic’ interruption.
I was about to steer the conversation toward a different kind of catastrophe—the loss of so many of the gods’ worlds to this mysterious Solarian—but the orchestra began to play, signaling the start of the ceremony. Devlin’s team fanned out across the room, taking up their positions.
Flames shot out of the floor, immediately dissolving into a smoky cloud that rose to the ceiling. Six gods emerged from that cloud, gliding down on beautiful wings. The moment their feet touched the floor, the cloud burst into gold glitter, raining down on the audience gathered here to bear witness to Saphira’s ascension.
Saphira strode into the hall next, bunches of blue fabric in her hands, holding up the trim of her dress. She strolled toward the raised stage, flowers bursting from the floor every time her silver-slippered feet touched down.
Saphira’s ascension ceremony played out in front of the great glass window, just as the sun rose, bathing the ruling gods in ethereal light. Despite their dramatic entrance, this was a promotion ceremony far less dramatic than any at the Legion. When Saphira took the gods’ goblet, draining it of its Nectar, there was no risk that she’d die.
“Your dad has a funny look about him,” I told Stash.
The ceremony was over, and I was talking to my cousin beside the cake table. The gods earned major bonus points from me for ordering cake. I’d already eaten three slices.
“Define ‘funny’,” said Stash.
“Oh, I don’t know. Zarion looks like he’s in an even worse mood than he usually is.”
Maybe he’d recently lost a world to the mysterious Solarian. Or maybe he was upset about all the immortal artifacts Nero and his parents had looted from his treasury.
Zarion’s treasury…
