“If you were an Academy student,” Honor said, realizing this young woman needed a type of guidance no man could provide—not without slamming into Sorrow’s jagged pride, “you’d be on your ass now because your instructor would’ve put you there.”
Honor knew about pride, about clutching at the tattered shreds of it when you had nothing else left. But she also knew about survival. “Then you would’ve run or crawled twenty laps of the practice field before dragging yourself into bed, only to run twenty more when you woke.”
“He—”
“Was taunting you, mocking you.” She raised an eyebrow. “And you lost control. That loss of control will get you killed one day.” Sorrow was dangerous, but without discipline, that strength could turn into a lethal liability. “Before we do any more sparring, we’re going to work on your discipline.”
Sorrow clenched her jaw, but managed to contain her temper this time.
Good girl. “Have you ever meditated?” The skill of dissociating her mind from the horrors inflicted on her body was one of the reasons Honor had come out of the assault sane.
Sorrow gave a stiff nod. “My grandmother taught me. I haven’t tried it since . . .”
“I think you should.” Honor put her hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “I want you to go inside, have a long, hot bath, do whatever else it is that relaxes you, makes you happy.”
Those brown eyes being overtaken by vivid green were bleak, all defiance leached away until she was suddenly heart-breakingly young. “Nothing does anymore.”
“Do your best.” Nightmares couldn’t be vanquished overnight, and Sorrow’s had altered her on a fundamental level. “Then sit down and attempt to meditate. Next time I’m here, we’ll talk things over—because, Sorrow? You can’t keep it all bottled up inside. I know.” The notebook she’d never intended to use had become so important, a cathartic release that drew away the poison. “We’ll find something that’ll help you cope.”
Sorrow swallowed. “Do you think I can?”
“Yes.” Sorrow needed someone to have faith in her. “Oh, yes, sweetheart.”
“Elena wanted to come see me,” the other woman blurted out without warning. “I know she saved me . . . but she has wings.” A shiver that shook her entire frame. “I couldn’t.”
“I’m sure she understands.” Squeezing her shoulder, Honor had another thought. “How much time are you spending alone?”
“I’m never alone.”
“Sorrow.”
“It’s not too bad. My family . . .” Her lip wobbled and she bit it hard enough to leave red crescents in the delicate flesh. “They don’t know about Uram—the story is that I was attacked by a human crazy and infected with a dangerous virus. I thought they’d reject me when the changes started to show, but they’ve been wonderful. Mom would be here every day if I’d let her.”
“Then let her,” Honor said, touching her hand to the girl’s cheek. “Family builds a foundation, one that’ll help you stand, fight.” Honor had never had that foundation, so she understood its value on a level Sorrow couldn’t comprehend.
Nodding, the young woman reached out with an impulsive hug. Honor returned the embrace, happy she was at the point where such sudden actions didn’t cause her to flash back to the pit where Amos had trapped her. As she stroked her hand over the girl’s back, her eyes met Dmitri’s and something unsaid but understood passed between them—Sorrow was no longer simply his to watch over, but theirs.
It was as Dmitri and Honor were driving away from Sorrow’s that he got the call.
“Dmitri.” The rough male voice brought an ancient memory to life.
“Please.” A lifted hand, the boy’s back bloody from a vicious whipping.
“It’s all right,” Dmitri said, unable to feel pity, his heart stone, but aware this boy was another victim, no threat. “We won’t hurt you.”
“Is she dead?”
“Yes, the bitch is dead.”
“Kallistos.” He pulled over.
A rusty, painful-sounding laugh. “Very good.”
Dead air for several seconds.
Dmitri waited, knowing Kallistos would get impatient—according to the people Jason had in Neha’s court, this vampire, with his face and body that had mesmerized men and women alike over the centuries, had never quite mastered his temper.
“I hold the reins today, Dmitri.” Kallistos’s voice would never be smooth, his throat having been damaged at a critical juncture during his Making, but now it lost the veneer of sophistication. “You’ll do as I say or this rather pretty angel will die a slow and painful death.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“I’m sending you directions. Drive. If I see any hint of wings, I’ll gut him.”
Directions came into Dmitri’s in-box as the call ended. “This is only part of the route,” he said, after giving Honor a précis of the conversation.
“He doesn’t want to chance an angel flying ahead of you.”
Dmitri considered his options, made a call to Illium. “Alert Raphael as soon as he’s back in the city.” The archangel was on his way back from a meeting. “You’re too distinctive, Jason’s gone, and I don’t trust anyone else not to muck this up.”
Illium cursed. “I’ll fly out, meet Raphael partway.”