Fallen Angel

Chapter 32.1

The battle of the Castel Sant'Angelo ended just before dawn. Gabriël and the angels of the Vale turned the tide. They overthrew the demons, sending the foul creatures back into the dark pit whence they came. There was only the briefest celebration when they saw none was left standing — only the most fleeting smile upon the faces of the Nephilim who survived.
Once the initial joy passed, they realised they, too, had lost. For every dozen demons they had struck down, a Nephilim lay amidst the dead. Many had suffered grievous wounds; from broken or severed limbs to heavy blood loss to venomous demon bites. But none of the wounded would die, thanks to Gabriël. His deal with Death saved countless lives, Anne Boleyn and Thomas Wyatt amongst them.

The mages and healers set out to tend to the wounded. Gabriël sent word to Raphael whilst the warriors helped where they could, either with the healers or with the cleansing of the Castel. The sooner the remains of the demons were gone, the better. The Nephilim needed to say farewell to their fallen brothers and sisters. More than one pyre needed to be built.
The city of Rome burned red, orange and yellow in the rising sun. None were any the wiser as to what had transpired within the walls of the Castel Sant' Angelo. If only they knew...

***

Anne's hand trembled as she stroked her daughter's hair. Soft dark-brown hair like her own. It framed Adeline's face perfectly. She appeared the sleeping beauty, gone to sleep for a hundred years. Only this was no fairy tale. True love's kiss could not break the villain's spell. She would never wake again.
Remy lay with his head on his mother's belly, his tiny hand on hers. Anne's tears trickled down as she looked at him. It was unfair that she survived when she had already lived her life twice. It was unjust that Remy would grow up an orphan, never to feel his mother's loving embrace or hear her gentle voice again. She was a memory now, like so many others.
Anne heard footsteps behind her. She recognised Olympe's light tread. She shut her eyes and pressed her lips together to stifle a sob.

"You should rest," said Olympe.

"Remy wanted to see his mother before..." Anne's voice broke and her words fell away.

"I could have brought him."

Olympe sat down beside Anne, but she kept her eyes shut firmly. She couldn't bear to look up at her friend.

"Je suis désolée, Anne."

"Non," whispered Anne. "Tu avais raison. C'est moi, la coupable. Je suis la seule à blâmer pour notre chagrin."

"Non, Anne, c'est le fait du Bâtard. Personne d'autre. C'est donc pourquoi je veux te demander quelque chose."

Olympe lifted Anne's chin to make her look at her.

"Make him pay," she said.

The two women embraced each other, their bond renewed in their shared grief and their promise of vengeance.

***

Gabriël stood alone on the lofty tower, looking at Michael's bronze face. The statue showed the Lord Protector fighting, gloriously charging against the invisible foe who dared to threaten the fair city. It looked nothing like him. He brushed a wayward lock of hair from his face. Only then did he see his hands and clothes were drenched in blood. Blood from the demons he had killed, blood from the wounded Nephilim he'd helped carry to the healers, blood from... Anne's daughter.
His eyes wandered to where Adeline had died. If only he had arrived sooner. One minute sooner. It could have made all the difference. But he always came too late. Michael had been a fool to make him Lord Protector. The Heavens would fall... because of him.

"You asked to see me, Lord Protector?"

Gabriël turned at the sound of the Impaler's voice. He narrowed his eyes at the man. Could he truly trust him? Why had Michael?