Archangel's Heart
Page 57
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Elena frowned; she’d heard that name before.
“He was an archangel in the time of Caliane and Alexander,” Hannah told her before she could ask. “An Ancient who went to Sleep some fifty thousand years past.” Her slender, elegant artist’s fingers touched the glass. “This was discovered long after his descent into Sleep, the damage already great, but the Luminata have done astonishingly well in managing to keep it as whole as it is.”
Elena tried really hard to be interested, decided it was a lost cause. “Have you been to the bottom of the Gallery?”
“No, it would take me many months to get there,” Hannah whispered, tucking back a curl that had escaped the intricate knot at the back of her head. “I skipped all the levels above to get to this one—it was so hard to make a choice as to what treasures to view first.” Her dark eyes met Elena’s, sudden laughter suffusing the awe in her expression. “Shoo. Go explore and then come back and tell me if I should go to a particular level.”
Grinning, Elena nudged her head at Aodhan—who’d gone to talk with Cristiano—and they continued to dive down. Each part of the Gallery held endless treasures. One of Elena’s favorites was the glass level. Full of finely blown glass created by mortals and immortals both, the fragile items were safely encased behind far more rigid glass shields, their dazzling colors glowing under strategically placed lights. This exhibit she could imagine spending hours in, lost in the iridescent wash of color.
Aodhan had a different favorite—a strange level filled with “artworks” that made little sense to Elena. “What do you see?” she asked him.
“This is the exhibit of possibility,” he told her. “The pieces that were never finished, or those that were found half done after the artist’s death. The stories are not yet complete, and so, there are endless futures to explore.”
Elena tried to think through that lens, caught the barest glimpse of what he meant. But what struck her most was that he’d taken the positive interpretation over the negative. Because it could as easily be said that this was the exhibit of lost dreams. None of these pieces would ever be finished, no hope in them.
Elena was no healer, but she didn’t have to be one to know that Aodhan’s interpretation was a sign of soul-deep healing on his part. “You want to hang here?”
“Later perhaps. First, we must get to the bottom—Illium would never forgive us otherwise.” A determined look. “I will make him listen to me after I return and then I will tell him of our adventure.”
Nodding in approval of his plan, Elena flew down to a landing spot, Aodhan’s wing brushing hers again as he landed a little too close. His primaries were impossibly soft when contrasted with the way they glittered as if coated with broken glass. He didn’t apologize for the contact and she didn’t want an apology.
The glancing brush was unremarkable among friends . . . but it was one Aodhan would’ve gone to great lengths to avoid when they first met.
21
Elena swallowed the knot in her throat, glanced around. The works on this level were of the earth—clay and stone and other natural materials. Again, she thought it was an exhibit she’d enjoy, but they had places to be. Next came an exhibit of precious metals and gemstones, tiaras placed beside necklaces and next to rings so dazzling they threatened to outshine Aodhan.
Attracted to the dazzle, she and Aodhan both stopped to peer more closely at a number of the pieces. Beside most were cards that had a lettering she didn’t understand. “Can you read that?”
Aodhan stared at the letters, lines forming between his eyebrows. “I should be able to—we learned it in school. But it has been an age since I have used it.” He scanned the text again. “I’m fairly confident it says this ring is a borrowed item, not a permanent part of the Gallery. The owner has lent it to Lumia.”
Elena made a face. “I could understand that if this was a public museum,” she said. “But why give it to people who’ll just hide it away?”
“I believe there is a certain cachet in being able to say that a piece of art you own was deemed acceptable for Lumia’s archives.”
“Ah. Bragging rights. Got it.” She looked at a necklace that was ropes of lustrous white pearls placed on a blue velvet background, thought that Sara would’ve liked to see it. Her best friend liked pearls—and even though she now owned the real thing, she still wore the imitation pearl bracelet Elena had given her for her twenty-first birthday.
“Ready for the next level?”
She nodded at Aodhan’s question.
Metal sculptures, paintings of every kind, pencil and charcoal sketches, a collection of feathers that spanned every shade from pure white to gleaming obsidian—and included a feather of deepest magenta that she was certain came from the inner curve of Jessamy’s wings, the exhibits kept surprising them, delighting them.
“Do they have one of your feathers?” she asked Aodhan, having not spotted it in their quick walk-through.
“I don’t know. Perhaps—if someone picked one up and handed it in.”
And then, finally, they were at the bottom of the Gallery.
Not quite believing they’d made it, Elena looked around, but there was definitely no more staircase. Only a floor that was a sunburst of golden filigree over white marble, the design so spectacular that Elena released the zip on her dress so she could move more freely and went down on one knee to run her fingers over the artistry of it.
“He was an archangel in the time of Caliane and Alexander,” Hannah told her before she could ask. “An Ancient who went to Sleep some fifty thousand years past.” Her slender, elegant artist’s fingers touched the glass. “This was discovered long after his descent into Sleep, the damage already great, but the Luminata have done astonishingly well in managing to keep it as whole as it is.”
Elena tried really hard to be interested, decided it was a lost cause. “Have you been to the bottom of the Gallery?”
“No, it would take me many months to get there,” Hannah whispered, tucking back a curl that had escaped the intricate knot at the back of her head. “I skipped all the levels above to get to this one—it was so hard to make a choice as to what treasures to view first.” Her dark eyes met Elena’s, sudden laughter suffusing the awe in her expression. “Shoo. Go explore and then come back and tell me if I should go to a particular level.”
Grinning, Elena nudged her head at Aodhan—who’d gone to talk with Cristiano—and they continued to dive down. Each part of the Gallery held endless treasures. One of Elena’s favorites was the glass level. Full of finely blown glass created by mortals and immortals both, the fragile items were safely encased behind far more rigid glass shields, their dazzling colors glowing under strategically placed lights. This exhibit she could imagine spending hours in, lost in the iridescent wash of color.
Aodhan had a different favorite—a strange level filled with “artworks” that made little sense to Elena. “What do you see?” she asked him.
“This is the exhibit of possibility,” he told her. “The pieces that were never finished, or those that were found half done after the artist’s death. The stories are not yet complete, and so, there are endless futures to explore.”
Elena tried to think through that lens, caught the barest glimpse of what he meant. But what struck her most was that he’d taken the positive interpretation over the negative. Because it could as easily be said that this was the exhibit of lost dreams. None of these pieces would ever be finished, no hope in them.
Elena was no healer, but she didn’t have to be one to know that Aodhan’s interpretation was a sign of soul-deep healing on his part. “You want to hang here?”
“Later perhaps. First, we must get to the bottom—Illium would never forgive us otherwise.” A determined look. “I will make him listen to me after I return and then I will tell him of our adventure.”
Nodding in approval of his plan, Elena flew down to a landing spot, Aodhan’s wing brushing hers again as he landed a little too close. His primaries were impossibly soft when contrasted with the way they glittered as if coated with broken glass. He didn’t apologize for the contact and she didn’t want an apology.
The glancing brush was unremarkable among friends . . . but it was one Aodhan would’ve gone to great lengths to avoid when they first met.
21
Elena swallowed the knot in her throat, glanced around. The works on this level were of the earth—clay and stone and other natural materials. Again, she thought it was an exhibit she’d enjoy, but they had places to be. Next came an exhibit of precious metals and gemstones, tiaras placed beside necklaces and next to rings so dazzling they threatened to outshine Aodhan.
Attracted to the dazzle, she and Aodhan both stopped to peer more closely at a number of the pieces. Beside most were cards that had a lettering she didn’t understand. “Can you read that?”
Aodhan stared at the letters, lines forming between his eyebrows. “I should be able to—we learned it in school. But it has been an age since I have used it.” He scanned the text again. “I’m fairly confident it says this ring is a borrowed item, not a permanent part of the Gallery. The owner has lent it to Lumia.”
Elena made a face. “I could understand that if this was a public museum,” she said. “But why give it to people who’ll just hide it away?”
“I believe there is a certain cachet in being able to say that a piece of art you own was deemed acceptable for Lumia’s archives.”
“Ah. Bragging rights. Got it.” She looked at a necklace that was ropes of lustrous white pearls placed on a blue velvet background, thought that Sara would’ve liked to see it. Her best friend liked pearls—and even though she now owned the real thing, she still wore the imitation pearl bracelet Elena had given her for her twenty-first birthday.
“Ready for the next level?”
She nodded at Aodhan’s question.
Metal sculptures, paintings of every kind, pencil and charcoal sketches, a collection of feathers that spanned every shade from pure white to gleaming obsidian—and included a feather of deepest magenta that she was certain came from the inner curve of Jessamy’s wings, the exhibits kept surprising them, delighting them.
“Do they have one of your feathers?” she asked Aodhan, having not spotted it in their quick walk-through.
“I don’t know. Perhaps—if someone picked one up and handed it in.”
And then, finally, they were at the bottom of the Gallery.
Not quite believing they’d made it, Elena looked around, but there was definitely no more staircase. Only a floor that was a sunburst of golden filigree over white marble, the design so spectacular that Elena released the zip on her dress so she could move more freely and went down on one knee to run her fingers over the artistry of it.
