#zadthea

The cobblestones did not provide an easy surface to land on. She winced at the sharp pain that shot up her leg and the sting in her palms, but even disoriented, she had enough sense to scramble out of the way of the parade of marching feet.

Only when she was a safe distance away did she attempt to take stock of herself. Her hands were bleeding, and when she gingerly touched her ankle, she hissed, pulling her fingers back sharply. Angel or no — no, her mind whispered, not after this — a sprained ankle was no fun injury to have in the midst of a rebellion.

Anthea made a face, and looked up again, hoping to spot her companion. Instead, she was met with Commander Zadkiel’s amethyst gaze, and she gasped in horror. The archangel’s eyes were unreadable, though there was the trace of a smile set into her face, blood splatters casting a constellation of dark freckles across her nose. 

She twirled a curved blade between her fingers, watching her, a predator who knew they had trapped their prey. She thrust a hand out, and Anthea flinched, reflexively bringing her hands up to cover her head. 

But she never felt the bite of steel. Instead, Zadkiel grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. She swayed, her ankle throbbing, her head spinning, and Zadkiel steadied her.

“A dove should not be by herself after her flock has riled the cats,” the general said, still giving her that unreadable look. Anthea’s eyes darted past her, to the crowd, her heart slamming painfully against her ribs, too choked to speak. Zadkiel tilted her head, and caught her chin, forcing her to meet her eyes again. “Can you walk, little bird?”

Cautiously, Anthea tested her weight on her ankle. It hurt, but she could make it. She nodded slowly, uncertain and wildly afraid. She had never met Zadkiel before, but she had heard the whispered stories of her cruelty, and Anthea was very clearly on the wrong side. 

But then Zadkiel released her, and subtly inclined her head towards the crowd.

“Then you best rejoin them, before someone else finds you,” she said. Anthea froze, sure she had heard her wrong.

“I— What?” 

Zadkiel arched a fine, scarred brow. 

“Go.”

But Anthea didn’t go, not immediately, torn between wanting desperately to follow her orders and certain the moment she passed that Zadkiel would bury that bloodied knife in her back. She reigned her fear in, swept it from her features, and clutched it close. 

“Why?” she asked, slowly, giving Zadkiel the same scrutiny, despite the indolence of the act. The archangel’s expression shifted, so slightly she might have imagined it if she hadn’t been looking so closely. She almost looked… impressed.

She stepped closer to her, and Anthea nearly took one back in turn, but she held her ground, refusing to be backed into a wall like a coward if this was her last moment. 

“Because, dove, you will find mercy from none other if not from me.”

Zadkiel. Archangel of Mercy.

Of course. 

A chill shot down Anthea’s spine at the certainty in Zadkiel’s voice, the edge to it that bordered on mocking and cruel. But it was enough for her, and she felt her courage bleeding out like an open wound the longer she stood in her company. Shaking, she nodded, and took a step forward, and then another, keeping her eyes trained ahead. 

“And it looks good on you.” The words stopped her cold, shoulder to shoulder with Zadkiel, but she refused to give her the satisfaction of looking back.

“Fear?” she guessed, an edge to her own voice now, tired of the games. For a moment, there was no reply, just the whisper of Zadkiel moving away.

And then lips by her ear, so close she could feel the brush of them.

“Rebellion.”

She whirled around, but all that was left of Zadkiel was her laughter on the wind. Anthea shivered, and turned, and ran, despite the throb in her ankle, until she was safely ensconced once more in the safety of numbers. 

“Where have you been?” Felix demanded, suddenly at her side again. “What happened to you?”