Her captors finally presented her to the angel. They dragged her to the temple where the creature was lying on a low bed, surrounded by his sycophants and lovers. Prija had never seen anything like it.
He didn’t look like her own father, who had appeared as a beautiful and powerful king. This creature was a monster. His skin was red and his eyes were bulging. Two horns adorned his head, and his muscled arms had wings growing from them. Snakes wrapped around his wrists, and human women curled over and around his naked body, massaging and pleasuring him as he spoke to Prija’s captors. He was like one of the deities the humans worshipped, but all the goodness had been stripped away and perverted. There was only power and greed in Arindam’s bearing.
“We have a gift for you, our father.”
The Fallen looked her up and down. “What is it?”
“A powerful daughter of Tenasserim. She is a weapon for you, my lord.”
“How?”
Her other captor, who was usually the quiet one, spoke. “She killed her own father.”
A Grigori on Arindam’s right side said, “What kind of female can kill one of the Fallen?”
“She killed one of our brothers in Mandalay.”
A troubled murmur around her.
Prija forced herself to look at the horrible eyes of the Fallen.
He was measuring her with calculation. “Why does she live?”
“We told you, she is a weapon.”
“A weapon turned against me.”
Her captor didn’t like that, but Prija forced herself to keep looking at Arindam. She had the creeping suspicion that the minute she looked away, she’d be lost forever.
Little one, you are more powerful than they.
His whisper was seductive.
Show me your power, and I shall make you my queen.
It was a lie. She could hear it in his voice. But she showed him anyway.
The black fog helped her. It was malleable in her mind, and she narrowed her power to a pointed stick. She jabbed at the talkative Grigori, imagining his temple pierced by a black spear. She heard him cry out and crumple beside her. She jabbed at him over and over. By the time her first captor was silent, the whole temple had grown still.
Arindam was smiling. “Now the other.”
Prija didn’t once look away from the Fallen. She kept her eyes on him when she heard the other Grigori go running. There was a scuffle, and he didn’t get far. Arindam’s attendants brought him back to Prija, who slowly wrapped the black fog around her second captor’s neck. She squeezed and wrung it out in her mind, keeping her eyes on Arindam while he watched gleefully as his child twisted before him.
When the second captor was dead, he asked her, “How do you feel?”
Prija said nothing.
How do you feel? he asked in her mind.
Empty.
Hollow.
Nothing. I feel nothing.
But Prija didn’t tell the angel those things. She wiped her thoughts, concealing them from the Fallen. Instead of words, she sank into the black fog. She sank into it and let it fill her mind.
“Take her away,” the Fallen said. “I’ll decide what do to with her tomorrow.”
Arindam’s sons took her away and locked her in a different room, away from the others. When the fog reached out, it felt nothing.
The Grigori had learned to keep their distance.
The next day, no one came for her.
Or the next day.
Or the next.
Prija was silent.
Chapter Twenty-One
The city of Old Bagan was a hot, dry plain dotted with sparse trees and a thousand ancient temples and pagodas. It sat in a curve of the Irrawaddy River, the slow-moving tributary that ferried passengers, cargo, and small fishing boats north and south in the central plains of Myanmar. Kyra watched from the comfort of a shaded horse carriage as wooden boats moved on the river. According to Sura, they were passing time and distracting themselves while Niran, Alyah, Rith, and Leo surveyed the compound in the hills where Arindam was keeping Prija.
Kyra’s own temples throbbed.
“Is it the heat?” Niran asked.
“A little bit. Mostly it’s the noise.”
From the time they’d descended from the Shan Hills and onto the central plain, a low, discordant resonance had begun in Kyra’s mind. There were no spells that erased it. Even Alyah’s skills had done nothing to block the noise. It was a constant, low hum that scraped against her mind and wouldn’t let her rest unless she maintained skin contact with Leo.
It was one of the Fallen.
“Arindam,” Sura said. “It is said he was a messenger in heaven.”
“Which means he uses spoken power,” Kyra said.
“Which means you will have little way of blocking his voice should he choose to turn it against you,” Sura said. “You must be careful.”
“I’m no one to him.” She closed her eyes and put a hand over them to block the vivid sunlight. “He won’t know I exist.”
“If his sons have reported hearing you—”
“They can’t hear me.”
“But they can feel your presence. They tried to hold your mind in Mandalay.”
“Maybe.” She was short-tempered. “Perhaps. I doubt they consider me a threat. I’m a radar, Sura. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“You sell yourself short.”
“I’m a well-bred antenna. That’s hardly something for an angel to worry about.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” she snapped, “even if I can hear him, what can I do? Nothing. I don’t have any useful magic. Not for combat. Not that would frighten a Fallen.”
“Hmm.” Sura closed his eyes and leaned back against the padded seat.
Kyra sat and stewed in the growing heat.
“Are you liking the pagodas?”
She took a deep breath. “If I wasn’t very hot and very irritated, I’m sure I’d appreciate them more.”
“We’ll go back.” He whistled at the driver and spoke to him. The cart began to turn and Kyra felt churlish.
“Don’t,” she said. “It’s beautiful here. I’m just being cross.”
“It’s fine.” Sura was predictably pleasant. “You’re hot and you’ve had a headache for two days. I should have given you a dark room and music, not tried to show you the sights.”
They rode in silence back to the hotel where they’d taken rooms. There were far more tourists in Bagan than anywhere they’d been in Myanmar. Kyra was still getting used to seeing European faces again. It was one of the reasons, Sura explained, that Arindam had such a big compound near Old Bagan. Not only did the nearness of Western tourists give his sons good cover, but the hotels and tourist industry attracted young women from surrounding villages who came to work at the many hotels and restaurants near the temple complex. They came. They disappeared just as easily. There were always more young women from villages who needed work. Who was going to look for one who’d run off, even if her family came looking?
It was a typical pattern in the Grigori world. Kyra had been sheltered by her brothers, but no kareshta could hide from the truth unless they completely gave in to the madness. Wealthy tourists equaled Grigori presence because the poor would always come to work and serve where there was money to be spent. It wasn’t the tourists who usually suffered; it was the most vulnerable who lived on the edges.
Despite the growing shadows of Grigori presence, Kyra was grateful for one thing about the busier tourist site. Very few people looked at her, other than those who were drawn to her angelic blood and typically sent her admiring glances. And more than half of those looks were diverted when Leo was with her. Some because they were more drawn to his golden beauty than her darker features. Some because Leo was more than a little intimidating.
It had shocked her to see the reaction when they arrived at the hotel and he was mingling with other guests. To her, Leo had always been the most gentle of men. She was surprised to r
ealize human men were frightened of him. Women, of course, were drawn to him.
But unlike most Grigori, who were incapable of ignoring female attention, Leo hardly seemed to notice the admiring or wary glances. He moved through the world utterly self-contained, cheerfully curious, and wholly focused on her and her needs.
She’d had to shove him out the door that morning. He knew his touch helped to keep the Fallen’s voice at bay.
“Let’s have lunch,” Sura said. “Leo will be cross with me if I don’t feed you.”
“Can we eat in our suite?”
“Of course.” Sura hopped out of the carriage, which had taken them to the steps of their hotel. “Why don’t you go to the room, and I’ll order something light for us to share?”
“Thank you.” She put up an umbrella and hated the fragility of her steps. Without Leo, everything in her body felt hypersensitive. Even her skin felt like it was picking up sound from the humans around her. The background noise grew louder the longer she stayed. She could hear the angel most of all, but she also was picking up disturbing thoughts from Prija. She’d homed in on the woman the moment they drew near the temples.
What she’d heard wasn’t promising.
She was hiding in darkness when Leo returned. Without waiting a beat, he slid his shoes off at the door, unhooked his knife holsters, and joined her on the bed, sliding a hand under the loose shirt she wore and pressing one palm to the small of her back while the other slid to cradle her head.
Kyra took a deep breath and let the silence envelope her.
“Better?” he said.
She nodded.
“How bad today?”
“It’s the same. It hasn’t changed since we arrived in the city.”
“He’s in the compound. We got visual confirmation today.”
“How did you escape his notice?”
“I kept back with Rith. Alyah and Niran are the ones who saw him.”
Though Irina had long ago developed magic to hide themselves from the Fallen, Irin still had a difficult time evading detection. Niran, a Grigori, and Alyah had the best chance of remaining under Arindam’s radar and escaping detection.
“How many sons?” Kyra asked.
“I’d estimate nearly fifty in the compound, though only two-thirds are what I’d consider fighting age.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” A Fallen would send little children to fight if it suited his purposes. Children were disposable to them. They could always breed more. “Women?” Kyra asked.
“A dozen or so. Around half of them pregnant, according to Alyah.”
“Children?”
“Kyra, why are you doing this?”
“I want to help.”
Leo fell silent. It had been an ongoing argument from the time they’d descended the hills and Kyra had begun to hear the Fallen.
“I can help,” she said. “I want to, and I promised the girls back in Chiang Mai I’d get Prija back.”
“We have her brothers with us.”
“They don’t know,” Kyra hissed. “Have they heard her mind? No. They have no idea what they’re dealing with.”
Prija had retreated so far into her mind that even Kyra was having trouble hearing her. She’d surrendered to the darkness around her. Every day, the wall grew a little harder. A little more dense.
Part of Kyra was grateful. Despite Prija’s fractured psyche, her ability to block meant she could protect herself. Part of Kyra was worried. Too long in the darkness wasn’t a good indicator of Prija’s mental health. It would only take a certain amount of pressure from Arindam to crack her open if he wanted to. If the darkness Prija had gathered around her cracked open, Kyra didn’t know what would happen. She could lash out at the Fallen. She could lash out at her brothers.
Kyra had seen both things happen.
“What is that?” Leo pointed to the corner.
Kyra had taken the cloth Intira had woven and draped it along the sofa in the sitting area. “Intira made it.”
Leo stared at the weaving. “Is that a traditional Thai pattern?”
“I don’t know. She gave it to me to give to Prija. Told me that Prija would know what it is. I was hoping it would give me some kind of insight into what she’s feeling or how her mind works, but so far…” Kyra turned toward him. “Why do you ask?”
“Because it looks like Hurrian,” he murmured. “But there’s no way a child in rural Thailand would have seen anything like that.”
“What’s Hurrian?”
“It’s the earliest known human musical notation,” Leo said. “There are rumors that some very early scribes tried to record Irina song in a similar way, but scholars believe they’re wholly human. Nothing supernatural about it.”
“Strange. Why would Intira weave something like that?”
“She wouldn’t.” Leo sat up, sliding his hand into Kyra’s to maintain contact. “Unless…"
“Do you think Vasu—”
“Maybe.” Leo raised an eyebrow. “Her mind is brilliant.”
“He’d be drawn to her,” Kyra said.
Do you see it yet?
Kyra blinked. “Vasu visited me.”
“I know,” Leo said. “He kissed you too.”
“What?” She shook her head. “Don’t distract me. There was something about seeing the music. I bet he did show Intira something. Did you ever visit her cottage?”
Leo shook his head. “I wouldn’t.”
“She had… numbers. Equations? I don’t know much about math, but can music be written with numbers? Is that possible?”
Leo frowned. “Music is pitch. Frequency. Tempo and rhythm. Harmonies are all based on mathematical ratios. I wouldn’t know how to write it, but if you assigned numbers to certain notes, I imagine it would be possible.”
“Intira’s room was covered in equations. Maybe it’s something she invented for herself. Maybe it’s something Vasu showed her. Or a combination of the two. But is it possible that Intira is hearing something and Vasu showed her a way of writing it down?”
“What would she be hearing?” Leo said.
“I don’t know.” Kyra looked at Leo’s hand holding her own.
Do you see it yet?
Kyra whispered, “Let my hand go.”
“The noise—”
“It’s not noise.” She dropped his hand, put her fingers to her temples, and closed her eyes. “Vasu told me.” She closed her eyes, and instead of focusing on her walls, Kyra threw her mind open. She ignored the ambient voices and focused on the low, humming background frequency. The “scratch” in her mind.
She focused on it and really listened.
The low, grinding notes moved slowly, but they pulsed with an aching, slow rhythm punctuated by screeching higher tones.
“It’s not noise,” she said again. “It’s music.”
It wasn’t beautiful music. It was more akin to wind or waves than anything else. But there were notes. There were rhythms. Was this what Intira was seeing in her mind? Why would she want to show it to Prija?
Kyra kept her eyes closed and reached her hand out. Leo immediately took it, and the creaking sound ceased. “I think the Fallen have their own music,” she said. “I think they… resonate somehow, and I think Intira has seen it. That’s what she was weaving.” Kyra looked at the blanket woven with mottled stars. “She was weaving the music of the Fallen.”
Niran stared at Sura. “You taught her math. What do you think? Is it possible?”
Sura shook his head. “I taught her the basics of algebra since she seemed so interested in it, but she surpassed my knowledge long ago. I just try to find her books now. I have no idea if what she’s writing in all those notebooks amounts to music.” Sura looked at Leo. “You say this looks like some kind of ancient musical notation?”
Leo nodded. “I doubt she’s seen it. But if she can hear the notes somehow and see the ratios of the harmonies—understand the music on a mathematical level—would it be that big a leap for her to
write it down if someone showed her a code to do so? Kyra has been hearing the Fallen her whole life; she didn’t realize it was music.”
Kyra said, “What I’ve been hearing sounded like noise. No pattern. But when I listen closer—especially being so close to Arindam for days now—it does have a pattern. It’s music. Just… really horrible music.”
Leo said, “So if Intira has heard this angel and understands the music and the harmonies on a mathematical level, she could write it down given the proper language.” He held up the weaving. “Which this appears to be.”
Alyah said, “But who would…” She grimaced. “Vasu. Of course.”
“Vasu was around when Hurrian notation came into being,” Leo said. “It’s possible there was even angelic origin. Maybe it was something they weren’t supposed to share but did anyway.”
“The Fallen have lots of knowledge they could share and don’t,” Niran said bitterly.
“Part of the bargain,” Leo said. “The Forgiven were allowed to share because they left the earth alone.”
“And the Fallen stay and wreak havoc,” Niran said. “What does that have to do with me? I’m damned to ignorance by your people simply by virtue of my birth.”
“Stop,” Kyra said. “This isn’t the time for arguments like this.”
“It’s never the time,” Niran said. “Not according to the Irin.”
Rith, the silent scribe who wore the black blade, spoke from the corner. “I’ve fought Fallen before. I have killed an angel. The music this little one sees is… interesting, but how does it help us kill Arindam? Because from what I’ve seen so far, this isn’t a lone angel. He has children around him. Defenses. This is someone encroaching on Vasu’s territory. Killing him will be nearly impossible with seven warriors.” He glanced at Kyra. “And we don’t even have seven if we’re being honest.”
Kyra ignored the insult because Rith was correct. She wasn’t a true warrior. She was good for finding the Fallen. Good for pinpointing locations. But she wasn’t a warrior.
Sura said, “There is such a thing as natural frequency. Can we assume it has a magical component? Do each of the Fallen have some kind of natural frequency? Is that what you’re saying?”