Texture, color, story, that was what she wanted around her, why she collected pieces others had discarded and gave them new life. She, too, had once been considered too broken to be of any use.

“Love does not cause such shadows as I see in you, my fierce Ashblade.”

“Fear is what keeps the mortals alive in a world of predators.” Unspoken was that he was one of the predators.

A silly question, cher. You know love cannot survive where there is no light.

It wasn’t only his city that was healing, Raphael thought, his eyes catching the refracted light that betrayed Aodhan’s presence in the sky; his people were, too. And it had all begun with a single, vulnerable mortal who did not accept that to be an archangel was to be always right.

Lijuan, Elena thought, shared death. Raphael shared life. His eyes met hers across the width of the room at that instant, and she saw pride burning in his gaze, the same pride that filled her veins. For their people, who had survived the unimaginable with their spirits intact; for their city, that had stood strong against an unprovoked attack. There was no need for either of them to articulate that. They saw and understood each other in a way few people ever did, mortal or immortal. For her, love would only ever have a single face, and it was his.

“This house . . . it has a heart. I am glad my son lives in a house with a heart.”