The Heart Of Asariel

1 || Trouble

Of all the places to spend his morning, Micah could admit this was an unusual choice.

Crammed between the two thick slabs of marble that formed the cathedral's dome, he lay on his stomach, peering through the narrow slit that granted him view of the huge hall below. He'd been staring at it so long that the golden walls were beginning to blur together, throbbing in his temples as if the colour were a persistent fist to his skull. He screwed his eyes shut. Couldn't Eike have picked a shade just a little less blinding?

He shifted, biting back a hiss of pain. In the narrow space, his wings were compressed beyond their natural fold, and they weren't being quiet about it. Protests lanced every muscle, uncomfortably tense in his shoulders. Ragged grey feathers tickled his bare arms.

This better be worth it.

Forcing a blink, he narrowed his gaze, willing the room to come back into focus. The floorboards were plated that same dazzling gold, although trails of ruby and sapphire and emerald twined in an elaborate mosaic. Crimson birds, lush virescent forests, the turquoise blues of ocean waves all woven together by sunbeams, spiralling eternally as if a great vortex yanked everything inwards.

It was impossible not to be dragged along with the tide. Micah, too, could only settle his attention in one direction. In the cathedral's centre, directly beneath his cramped hiding spot, the brightest of all the golds gathered.

The statue that held his prize.

Eagerness thrummed through him, scuttling impatient claws over his fingertips. He flexed them, unable to chase away that enticing tingle. He could practically taste it in the air: lively, shot through with bubbling heat, sweet and spicy all at once. Trouble. Nothing else could satisfy such an itch.

If only this one wasn't taking so long to scratch. He'd had to sneak up here in the early hours, shielded by the darkness, wriggling into the crack in the roof he'd scouted out the previous day and sealing it closed behind him to cover his tracks. Eike never seemed to sleep; even if he did, it was with his golden eyes wide open, ready to blink him awake at the slightest creak of movement. And he so rarely left the cathedral. Even now, as the risen sun outside basked the sky realm of Elysia in a heated glow to rival this vibrant interior, he busied himself. His lithe form was a pale blur as he leapt across the statue's outstretched arm, wings caught in a frenzied flutter as they fought to keep him balanced. The feather duster in his hand swept in practised curves. For its gold gleam, he must have fashioned it from sheddings of his own wings.

His eyes darted upwards, a fleeting flash of a glance, and Micah shrank away from the slit. He held his breath, counting down a collection of seconds before impatience overwhelmed him and he leaned forwards again. Eike's duster ran through the grooves of the statue's lengthy braid as he glided downwards. Micah bit back a sigh.

The feast had to be starting any moment now. Eike was going to be late if he kept this up any longer. Surely, the statue's shine was intact enough? Did it really need such a thorough cleansing?

The itch skittered up Micah's arms, a frayed rope chafing his skin as it pulled at him. It took every bit of willpower he had to resist. Unfortunately, trouble required patience, and patience was agonising.

Eike landed on a sapphire floor tile with soft precision. He'd maintained a careful quiet all morning, and he didn't break it now. His wings folded neatly against his back, their sharp tips brushing the ground as he laid the duster at the statue's feet. Micah's heart leapt. He pressed his lips together, unable to prevent their curl upwards.

A moment longer, Eike lingered, his gaze resting on the statue. The low murmur of his voice penetrated the silence, words impossible to distinguish at this distance. He offered a deep bow, and then he was hurrying out of the room, soon blending with the golden walls and vanishing from the dome.