Cid opened a dark, pinewood door and stepped inside a dreary room lit by a single green-shaded lamp. It was the former mayor’s office, furnished with brass-framed pictures, a large desk and set of chairs, and a bookcase of technical literature bound in colorful covers. Where the walls once heard meetings regarding the rotation of fields and arguments over grazing rights, they heard only silence after Cohenburg was captured.
That was about to change.
“This room is secured,” Cid told Zelaphiel as he held the door for the angel.
“Are you certain?” Zelaphiel asked.
The inquisitor closed the office door. “Would you like me to find a nice alleyway?”
The angel smirked. “Fair enough,” he said and took the seat by the desk. The small four-legged chair creaked under his weight.
“I don’t expect anyone would risk listening in on us,” Cid said, paced into the room. His eyes wandered between the furnishings, from the dusty lamp, to the gray cloth laid on the desk, and the ink pot and quill left well-used.
“Is that because you’re an inquisitor, or I am an angel?”
“Angels can’t physically interfere in mortal affairs,” Cid answered. “Maybe eavesdropping on you could effect their standing in Achlesial’s eyes, but eavesdropping on me would effect their ability to stand at all.”
Zelaphiel’s smirk became a clever smile. “Scary,” he said.
Cid leaned back against the bookcase, folded his arms over his chest. “We didn’t come here for a light chat, isn’t that right?” The inquisitor frowned. “Say what you will.”
“That colonel,” the angel said as he turned to face the inquisitor from his chair. “Valentina. Keep an eye on her for me.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Cid said and sighed through his nose. He tapped the black sleeve his suit with his white-gloved index finger. “If you were worried about her life, you should have said nothing at all.”
“If I said nothing at all, she could have been killed,” Zelaphiel said. “By you, in fact.”
“A swift departure from your concern might have been better than taking responsibility for her entire life,” Cid said.
“Even you are just a mote in time,” the angel replied. “I can’t quantify how long I’ve lived, but compared to that vast life, what’s a few years of worry over one colonel’s safety?”
“Easy for you to say,” Cid answered. “When you’re asking me to worry about it.”
“An angel can’t interfere,” Zelaphiel said.
“The Compact is an agreement,” Cid said, “that no gods will war directly, and that their quarrels will be settled by the men that worship them. Angels can’t take the battlefield and fight, but if men seek an angel’s blessing for a mortal plan, that’s acceptable.”
“That’s why I need the inquisition to protect her,” Zelaphiel said.
“But interfering in the formation of the plan, while not in direct violation of the Compact, does violate the spirit, doesn’t it?” Cid asked.
The angel frowned.
“I think giving her a treasure,” the inquisitor continued, “while not interfering per say, does—also—seem to violate that spirit; that angels not intervene in the life and death of mortals. Because if angels meddled in the affairs of men, an all-out war between gods could again devastate Adohas.”
“She made an effort,” Zelaphiel said, laid his arm over top his chair. “I chose to reward it.”
“Curious that you would do it then,” Cid said, narrowed his eyes.
“Did I upset your plans?”
“Nothing that can’t be corrected with a few adjustments.”
“If you need to get something off your chest, inquisitor, then by all means do so.”
“You are Zelaphiel,” Cid said, stared tensely through the angel’s golden eyes. “You are not a mere angel, but an archangel, one of six in Achlesial’s heavenly court; and out of those archangels, you are perhaps the greatest. Your absolute power rivals the gods themselves, does it not?”
“That sounds like an exhausting question,” Zelaphiel said.
“What’s one moment answering a question to a long life such as yours,” Cid said.
“I am powerful,” Zelaphiel answered. “But I’m not so bold as to unilaterally break the Compact and pick and choose which humans I wish to save.”
“That’s just what you’ve done!” the inquisitor shouted in a startling break from his melodious composure.
The angel frowned as he stood from his chair, faced the inquisitor with a golden glimmer in his eyes. “Take care when you speak to me,” he said. “I’m not bold, but I’m not as cowardly as you think I am.”
“Forgive me, I didn’t call you cowardly,” Cid said. He stepped off from the bookcase and reached into his pocket for his handkerchief. The inquisitor wiped his face as he paced to the back of the desk. “The Empire exists in a delicate balance, pulled from all sides by the rival interests of her constituent forces. It is the empress herself that pins us in place, and I am the one that gives her that strength. By playing the Army and Navy around one another, I keep their eyes far from home. Adding the Air Legion to the mix only makes my juggling act all the harder, and when I’m not dexterous enough to play these fools, then what happens?”
Zelaphiel scowled.
“People die needlessly,” Cid said.
“Needless deaths are what you’ve encouraged with that general’s reckless plan,” the angel said.
“Precise, calculated losses,” Cid retorted. “To maintain the balance between the Army and Navy, while accomplishing the Inquisition’s objectives.”
“And who does that serve?” Zelaphiel asked. “The Lord Bishop, the High Inquisitor?”
“It serves the empress,” he growled.
“It serves you!” the angel shouted.
Silence fell between them, but the inquisitor didn’t flinch. He stared hard from behind the desk as he moved his hands behind his back; clutched his handkerchief tight in his fist. “By assisting the colonel,” he said calmly, “you have drawn their attention toward her. She’s not Atilonian—”
“What does it matter,” the angel said.
“You know better than anyone how it matters,” Cid said. “A Barusian woman strode into a command center without so much as her own legion at her back. She argued with the general, with the captain, over what? Saving lives? What they’ll see is how she subverted their command, deprived them of their honor, and reduced their standing in the eyes of Achlesial! It would be one thing if she were a man, or if she were an Atilonian—”
“No one can question my decisions,” Zelaphiel interjected.
“The empress herself couldn’t beg you to intercede without drawing assassins from all corners,” Cid continued. “It doesn’t matter how you instructed them to behave, you must turn your eye eventually.”
“That’s why I’m asking you,” Zelaphiel said.
“Asking me to do what’s so contrary to my interests,” Cid answered.
“The interests of the empress,” the angel corrected him. “Isn’t that right?”
Cid’s lower lip quivered in anger; his ferocious eyes were wide.
Zelaphiel answered that bitterness with a cold expression. “Do you want to see?” He asked. “What makes me an angel?”
The inquisitor turned his head.
“No?” Zelaphiel pressed. “The Compact is an agreement, isn’t that what you said? It’s an agreement of words, bound by the good wishes of angels and gods. Would it violate those good wishes if I erased you now?”
The angel placed one foot forward. “Would that,” he asked, “serve your interests?”
“Why did you accede to her request?” Cid asked. “Why did you go so far as to force the general to include her in his plan? You knew that put her in danger.”
“I did it because I wanted to,” Zelaphiel said.
“But the effort in protecting her life—”
“I was comfortable putting that on you,” he interrupted. “If I were to protect her, it would cause trouble and distract my attention, but if you protect her because that aligns with Achlesial’s wish, no one bats an eye. Under the Inquisition’s hand, she could be nowhere safer.”
“What a short-sighted way of thinking,” Cid said.
The angel sat again in his small chair. It creaked beneath his weight. “Where will I be a week from now, or where will I be a thousand years from now?” he asked. “Have you ever thought in those terms? In a week, I’ll be myself, but in a thousand years will I still be me?”
The inquisitor turned to glare at him. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m acting in character,” Zelaphiel said, “with who I am now, and who I’ve always been. A mortal might call an angel short-sighted, but they can see only a moment of the angel’s extraordinary vision.”
“I don’t believe you have a plan,” Cid said.
“You’re tiring me, inquisitor,” the angel replied. “Will you protect that woman or not?”
“That was never a question,” he said. “You were the one that asked me to speak my mind.”
Zelaphiel chuckled. “Well played.”
Cid took a seat in the tall, cushioned chair behind the desk. “I trust I can’t manipulate this to my liking, have her suffer an accident or some other fortunate misfortune that could be turned to our advantage?”
“If anything happens to her, I will find out,” Zelaphiel said, “and I will know who was responsible.”
“I’m supposed to take your word?”
“Is the word of an angel not good enough?”
“I prefer guarantees.”
“I can see that,” Zelaphiel said. “Your subordinates certainly know what you’ve guaranteed if they cross you.”
“Managing people is part of my job,” Cid said.
“Then I’ll take a page from your manual,” the angel said and leaned over the desk. “Were anything to happen to her, no matter by whose order the hand was raised, I guarantee you will be responsible.”
Cid looked through the angel’s stoic eyes; they betrayed no hesitation or quivering doubt. There could be no misunderstanding between them. “It was never a question,” he said after a moment. “I will do as you ask, lord angel. But I would ask you to… refrain from causing surprises.”
A slow smile crept over the angel’s face. “For the sake our partnership, I will hold back,” he said.
Cid sighed and dabbed at his forehead. “Thank you.”
“You have an archangel in your corner, Cid,” Zelaphiel said as he stood. “That must be more valuable than any mortal politicking.”
“A lazy angel that seems to only put up an effort when it could aggravate me,” Cid answered. “Useful indeed.”
Zelaphiel chuckled again, shined with his unabashed smile. “I’ll be off then,” he said. “I’m going to have a look around the area.”
“What if the general doesn’t do as you say?” Cid asked. “What if I need to find you?”
“He will, because you’ll make him,” the angel answered while he walked toward the door. “And if you need me, you know how to find me.” Zelaphiel opened the door, but stopped in the doorway. He turned to look at the inquisitor, made small by his chair.
“I’ll be where the people are.”
