The Key

Chapter 40

Prince Sam meets his gaze steadily. “That wasn’t the answer you were looking for.”

“No,” Casper says. “Tell me, was that the span of time offered or one you selected yourselves?”

“He offered two hundred,” Prince Sam says. He inspects Casper’s face and then, more tellingly, looks to Casper’s motionless wings. “So. How insulted should we be?”

“We don’t have a history of negotiating,” Casper begins. “We don’t have a history of any large scale interaction, beyond several treaties with the fae. That Archangel Raphael is lowering himself to negotiate with your species at all is remarkable.”

“So we should be insulted across the board,” Prince Sam says, “but also pretend to be honored.”

“Essentially,” Casper agrees.

“If you were negotiating with the fae, what kind of length of term would you expect?”

“With the fae,” Casper says, “I would expect a thousand years.”

Sir Robert’s eyebrows make an attempt to rise off his head. “Well then,” he says.

“I want to know what’s reasonable for an angel,” Prince Sam says. “What do you expect, what do you assume, all of that, for all of the conditions and stipulations. But starting with this, how long do you feel is reasonable? What if we wanted the term to match how long you spent in that realm?”

“Six hundred forty-eight years,” Casper provides.

“Call it six fifty for convenience’s sake,” Prince Sam says. “Would that be a reasonable amount of time?”

“I think it’s suitably significant,” Casper replies, “but then, I am very young.”

Prince Sam grins, as if at a joke. When Casper tilts his head, that grin falters. “Are you really?”

“There are only eight younger than myself and my siblings,” Casper replies. “That will change once we hatch the eggs in Heaven, but yes, I am a young angel.”

“Wow,” Prince Sam says. “Uh. Wow. All right. So, um. Right, if we call the term of service a symbolic length, we’ve a good reason for trying to bump it up to six fifty.” His eyes shift to the side, his expression increasingly distant. He nods. “Honestly, I don’t know if any of our governments will even last that long.”

Casper frowns, remembering to use his face. “Why not?”

“Look, speaking just for us,” Prince Sam says, “we try to get the next heir lined up every twenty-five or so years. I turned twenty-five, I married Jess, we’re already trying for kids. My grandmother took a longer while in having my dad, and my parents took a couple years, too, but, more or less, we’re aiming at four generations every century. That’s twenty-six generations, Cas, in six and a half centuries. Twenty to twenty-six, as an estimate. At least twenty different rulers between now and the end of that term.”

Casper looks at this man, this young human man, and has the creeping realization that, very soon, Prince Sam will die. Sooner even than Dan, without Casper able to freely heal him.

“Oh,” Casper says.

“What do you think of that?” Prince Sam asks, mirroring Casper’s earlier question.

“I think,” Casper says slowly, “that if your brother is going to die that quickly, I should marry him as soon as possible.”

Prince Sam blinks, then grins. “Not my question, but you’re right. We should cement this soon.”

“That isn’t my point either, but I agree,” Casper replies, and Prince Sam grins wider. Sir Robert huffs out a breath and regards Casper with what can only be deep suspicion. Prince Sam looks back at Sir Robert, and Sir Robert pulls his expression back to neutral, as if the lack of facial expressions is more difficult to muster than their manifestation.

They continue their discussion, Prince Sam curious about what little matters might qualify as a breach of manners. Ultimately, Prince Sam describes what typical negotiations look like, and Casper corrects the offenses as they come. Between offers of sustenance and the presumption that Raphael would need a chair, there are many. Sir Robert lets out grumbling patches of commentary that Casper inwardly agrees with, but pride is pride, and Raphael’s must already be sorely bruised by the position Casper has placed him in.

As they speak, Prince Sam occasionally glances back at Sir Robert in his position before the door, but he asks Sir Robert no questions. It’s almost a cursory look, a check to see him still there. While Casper is explaining the possible offense of containing an archangel within a building, Prince Sam lifts a hand chest high, palm toward Casper, clearly expecting this to silence him. Casper silences himself, curious, and Prince Sam turns to Sir Robert.

“Bobby, will you let Dan in?” he asks.

Sir Robert doesn’t so much as blink. He does look at Casper with mistrust, but he nods. “Yes, Your Highness,” he answers, the title more of a nickname than a motion of respect. In leaving the room, he hesitates before leaving the door open.

A moment later, heard through the walls, footsteps come pounding up the stairs. A door opens, a surprised voice says “Bobby?” before immediately adding “Sammy, we got news!”

Dan comes rushing in before Sir Robert returns. Dan’s face is flushed. Sweat shines at his hairline. His jacket is short, the better to be worn over a sword, and he wears the same short scabbard from the final night of Prince Sam’s party. He wears Casper’s blade.

Dan’s eyes seek out Prince Sam first before snapping to Casper. “We got news,” Dan repeats.

“Omens?” Prince Sam asks.

“Omens,” Dan agrees. Then he kicks the leg of Prince Sam’s chair.

“Dan!” both Prince Sam and Sir Robert shout in protest.

“You wanna tell me why Mom’s range stretched that far south, b***h?” Dan demands of his brother. “You’re supposed to be recovering, not spilling out your lifeblood every other day.”

“Finding Lucifer is self-preservation, Dan,” Prince Sam tells him. “If it worked, it was the right decision.”

“Uh-huh,” Dan says, and he looks at Casper a bit too pointedly for Casper’s preferences.

“Dan, you came to get Sam for a reason,” Sir Robert reminds him.

“No, I came to get Cas,” Dan says. To Casper, still standing on the far side of the bed, he adds, “Parliament wants you today , man. We got a place to deploy to, but no angels to deploy.”

“They want to send me?” Casper asks, frowning. He adds the facial expression a moment too late, but Dan’s already shaking his head.

“Hammering down the treaty. Gotta get a representative in front of them, and that’s you.” Dan circles around the bed as Prince Sam stands. “You good to move?”

Careful about it, Casper shuffles backward off the side of the bed. He puts down one foot and the other, wings a quarter stretched for balance’s sake. Dan hovers at his side, hands partially raised to catch him. “I can manage,” Casper tells him, nevertheless indulging in the pretense of Dan’s support. He’s still tired, perhaps enough to sleep, but his balance has vastly improved since this morning.

“We’re going by carriage,” Dan tells him, “so you don’t have far to walk. Sam, you coming, too?”

Prince Sam nods, then perks up. “I’ll have to sit up front with the driver. For safety. If Cas is in the carriage.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, get your ass downstairs, daredevil.”

Getting down the stairs is as awkward an affair for Casper as it is for Prince Sam. Apparently, he’s not as recovered as he’d thought. “C’mon, mojo up,” Dan tells him. He draws Casper’s blade and presses the hilt against his hand. “Give it back once we’re there.”

Casper nods and forces himself to act on practicality, not sentiment.

The carriage is cramped inside. Positioning his wings in a way that allows him to sit on the long padded bench of a seat results in him taking up an entire side of the carriage, his colors displayed. Dan and Sir Robert take the other bench, Prince Sam tucked in between them. He, too, has been forced to practicality over sentiment, needing to prep Casper further on matters of Parliament.

They ride with curtains pulled shut over the carriage windows, and the sounds of human life beyond serve as an incessant distraction. The carriage bumps hard over something, Casper hears a splash, and both Sir Robert and Dan shoot out an arm across Prince Sam to keep him from falling back against Casper.

“What was that sound?” Casper asks. “The wet noise.”

“A puddle,” Prince Sam tells him without the confused staring Dan puts on. “You don’t know a lot of ground noises, do you?”

“Did it rain?” Casper asks, unexpectedly gutted by the thought. “I saw the skies were overcast, but I didn’t see it rain.”

“It did while you were asleep,” Dan tells him, and he watches Casper’s wings rather than his face. There’s no possibility of him missing the turn of Casper’s feathers. Dan frowns before his eyes widen. “Oh,” he says. He stretches out his leg and presses his boot against Casper’s flight feathers, the motion subtle enough that his brother and Sir Robert might not observe it. “You’ll see the next one. Next time it rains, you can even be outside for it.”

“I’d like that,” Casper understates. He’d never much cared for flying through clouds when they were common nuisances, too much of his grace tied up in keeping his feathers from freezing, but that attitude has had centuries to change.

Once the carriage stops but before they disembark, Casper manifests his blade once more and returns it to Dan. Though there is still some faint dizziness, it costs him less this time.

They climb out, Sir Robert first, Prince Sam and his cane second, then Dan and Casper last of all. Prince Sam asks Dan, “How did you manage that for three days?”

“His longer feathers were cut off on the right, so we could tilt him,” Dan explains, answering a question Casper himself had been wondering.

“My primary flight feathers,” Casper clarifies, indicating them.

“Dan, you really need to learn what your husband’s body parts are called,” Prince Sam mocks with a smile.

“Consummation laws, Sammy,” Dan answers, winking. He looks back at Casper. “Haven’t had the chance for a lesson.”

Casper smiles as best he can, in the human manner, and the way Dan looks back at him nearly makes the rest of the day worth it, as is Dan’s reverence when Cas returns his blade. They all agree Dan should be seen wearing it.

Parliament the building is an immense stone edifice, full of high arches and stylized warding. The hallways are tall enough and wide enough that Casper could comfortably stretch, which he does before they head inside the actual meeting hall. The pages minding the door stare at him. One presses back against the papered wall with eyes wide with fear, but no one makes a move against Casper, particularly not after Prince Sam politely inquires as to how Casper’s wings are healing.

Parliament the group of humans is a countless number of mages, each arrayed in what Casper presumes to be fine clothing. Despite being announced before he enters, his appearance nevertheless takes many of these lords and ladies aback. To a mage, they fall silent in a room not built for silence.

How many of them Casper had met during Prince Sam’s party, he has no idea. The humans are arranged in a long half-circle and are jarringly identical in appearance without the aid of costumes. There is some variation in skin and hair color, but far from enough to make each individual distinct without memorizing their specific facial features. The one human Casper confidently recognizes, he knows best by the crown.

Prince Sam takes a place beside his father, bowing to him before sitting at his right hand. At the king’s left are a number of others, also wearing crowns and circlets; foreign heads of state, perhaps. Sir Robert remains by the door at their backs, and Dan guides Casper forward to take the floor. Dan steadies Casper as if he needs to be steadied. He holds Casper’s arm and they walk together, not as they had at the party, but as an aide assisting an invalid. Casper allows himself to lean.

There is a swearing in ritual, attesting to his name, rank, and honesty. Dan prompts him where he needs prompting. The questions begin, and Dan preempts many of Casper’s answers with the polite but firm request to have pertinent sections of the latest draft of the treaty read aloud. Dan turns formal in his strength, a polished politician Casper wouldn’t have recognized if he hadn’t already memorized Dan’s face. Even his voice changes, his tones and cadences.

And so Casper answers all that is put to him, to the best of his ability. He speaks of his people, of their history. He explains that they have no interest in the lowlands, or indeed any land beyond their mountaintops. He speaks of the basic semblance of trade they once engaged in, feats of magic and healing in exchange for the trappings they never deigned to craft themselves; he adds that their exile has increased their appreciation for those goods, once they were truly limited to all they carried upon their backs.

He speaks of the creation of demons. Of Michael’s censure and Lucifer’s rebellion. Of five centuries of worsening battles against more and more demons, culminating in the plan of banishment. He speaks of Raphael as he was then, a healer and one ruler of a triad, balanced by his remaining brothers. He speaks of Michael’s stratagems and Gabriel’s crafts.

He speaks until his body tells him he was wrong to stand. He leans on Dan more and more heavily. One member of Parliament sitting at the end of the half-circle asks him a question, and in turning to face her, Casper nearly loses his balance. He catches himself, snapping a wing around Dan’s shoulders, and more than one human in the room shouts.

“I have him!” Dan calls out, polite and cheerful, as if those cries of alarm had been for Casper’s sake. “I understand it’s against tradition, but wishing no insult to the respected members of Parliament, I would request a stool for my betrothed.”

“I don’t need one,” Casper says, still holding onto Dan with both arms and wing. He keeps his voice low and shakes his head, but when he begins to fold his wing, Dan reaches up with his free hand to take hold, keeping Casper’s wing around his shoulder.

Dan drops his mouth low to Casper’s ear and murmurs, “Unless you’re aiming for a cuddle in front of every major government on the continent, we should get you that chair.”

Casper returns this sentiment with a significant look that Dan, remarkably, seems to understand. Dan winks back.

A page fetches Casper a stool, and he perches for the remainder of the session, Dan remaining at his side to steady him and clarify the strangeness of humanity.

The gist of the session points Casper toward several conclusions:

First, the degree of omens in the south points to a concentration of demons not seen since the days of the war, pre-banishment. Lucifer has been found, and he is protected.

Second, until those demons gathered, most of Parliament didn’t seem to understand the danger Lucifer posed. Even the many members who had themselves fled out of the throne room from Lucifer that night weeks ago had downplayed the threat. Though these people don’t truly believe in angels—even when seeing one before them—they are clearly well-versed in the dangers of demons.

Third, and perhaps most crucially, despite Prince Sam’s views and Dan’s summaries of the situation, many of them require further swaying to Casper’s side. This is nothing like the straightforward rule of an archangel triad, or a single archangel. They all have their own interests, their own views, and Casper has never been considered an orator.

There comes a break in the proceedings—a recess—and Casper has a moment to hurriedly write to his siblings. He tells them he is safe, and mending, and engaged. He writes to them of the day he has just had, that he is currently having, and he hopes the summary of the questions put to him will serve as a useful reconnaissance.

Then the humans finish eating their dinners and Casper’s letter is rushed away. Members of Parliament grumble about “keeping wartime hours” for this matter, and there is no amount of glaring King John can do to put an end to this. It is jarring to see the limits of his power, and Casper must wonder where the true power resides. Is it truly so split? And how? On what merit?

He begins to ask these questions of Dan, who merely shakes his head and holds a finger to his lips. The sight serves to silence Casper more than the actual request for silence.

Having rested during the recess, Casper stands once more. He seems now to be present as a figure to gesture to and point at, rather than an actual participant. Though no longer physically supporting him, Dan still stands beside him that full span of time, as if they are truly and wholly united.

Listening to the debates around them, Casper watches Dan, knowing best his reactions. Dan watches him back. They are surrounded and they are alone. They are powerless in these proceedings, their battle already fought.

Slowly, Dan shifts his hand to the hilt of Casper’s blade. The full press of his palm. His fingers curling.

Casper breathes steadily, as if his chest is not tight. He keeps his feathers neutral. He keeps his hands to himself. He simply looks, watching the slow swipe of Dan’s thumb over the pommel.

Around them, the future of Casper’s entire species is decided, and though Casper has no further say in it, he does have this.

The decision comes only once everyone understands that, otherwise, they are well and truly f****d. The demons amassing down south are a gathered force unlike anything they’ve seen in Dan’s lifetime, or in his father’s, or in Grammy Millie’s. It takes a few days for those reports to come in, but during that time, Dan’s already prepping the castle against Lucifer.

The night after they take Cas to Parliament is the last night Cas actually sleeps. He and Dan spend the next day armed with chalk and paint, Cas attempting to break into the castle and Dan keeping him out. Neither of them is permitted to join in the anticipated battle to the south, each too important to the treaty, and it seems to sit as poorly with Cas as it does with Dan.

After a full morning and most of an afternoon of warding the castle against angels, Cas touches his shoulder. A day out in the sunlight has done Cas good, but he’s tense in a way Dan’s starting to recognize in the folds of his wings.

“What’s up?” Dan asks, washing his hands of paint in the gardener’s pump. He’d do it inside, but then, Cas can’t exactly follow him in now, can he?

“Are we going to live together?” Cas asks. Though Dan nods in answer, Cas doesn’t look reassured. “Where?” he asks.

“Not sure,” Dan says honestly, straightening up. His back tries to c***k, but Cas shifts his hand from Dan’s shoulder. The instant Cas touches a finger to the side of Dan’s neck, the pain fades, a shivering warmth flooding through his body in one too quick wave. “Dude, don’t do that. Seriously, why can’t anyone hold off on the magic? You’re supposed to be resting up.”

“No other part of today was spent ‘resting up,’ Dan,” Cas replies, looking at Dan that way he does. Then the look changes to that other look he has for Dan, and he leans in close, voice lowered. “Also, this is the only way I’m currently permitted to be inside you.”

An entirely different kind of shivering warmth makes its way through Dan. Before he can get his mouth to form words—something around the lines of “I’m looking forward to it” except with maybe more profanity—Cas adds, “I do understand you won’t be able to take my blade, but it is an enjoyable thought.” And he strokes Dan’s forearm, thumb sliding down from the crook of Dan’s elbow to his palm.

Dan’s straining mind hovers on an edge before flipping back the way it had come. “Cas,” he says, and laughs, catching Cas’ hand. “For the record, when a human talks about being inside you, he ain’t talking about the magical blade part of marriage vows.”

There’s the briefest second before Cas gets it. Those blue eyes widen and then Cas actually f*****g blushes. But he doesn’t withdraw his hand from Dan’s. Lips parted, he looks down at Dan’s mouth, then at the rest of him.

“You really haven’t?” Dan asks. “Ever? We’re a long way past purity laws, Cas, I ain’t gonna judge you.”

Cas shakes his head, shifting closer. His wings widen, peeking out farther and farther around his shoulders, but he doesn’t wrap Dan up in them again. “Is that so surprising?”

“Yeah, man,” Dan says. “You’re f*****g old.”

“You think I’m old?” Cas asks, his feathers fluffing up in two soft waves out from his center. It looks gorgeous and touchable, and so Dan touches, running his palms over sunlight-warmed softness.

“Yeah,” Dan says, and Cas smiles at him like it’s an art form he’s been practicing.

“There were a few people I might have considered, if they had survived the war until our banishment,” Cas says. He shrugs, another practiced motion, or maybe he just pushes up his wings into Dan’s hands. “But none did. So I ask you, how are we to cohabitate?”

“When we’re out on patrol, none of the roadhouses will be warded against you,” Dan promises. “As for here... I don’t know. Some of the warding will have to come down for wherever Hannah and Balthazar end up.”

“But we will be together?” Cas asks, so earnest that Dan wants to forgive him everything. Maybe someday, he even will.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dan promises. “We’ll be together.”

They’re together the next day, but not the day after that. Parliament sends Cas to survey the demon threat and, with great misgivings, King John permits him to go. Cas flies away in the morning and flies back by mid-afternoon, carrying letters and reports in a satchel strapped to his middle.

He lands with clear elation and a huge amount of spectacle, as word has spread through the city that an angel will be flying into Parliament that day. And so Cas comes swooping in over crowds to the sound of cheers and shouts. If, standing on the Parliament steps and waiting to receive him, Dan takes advantage of the situation and kisses his fiance in front of a crowd that thinks Cas a hero, well. It’s nothing his dad can get mad at him for doing.

The reports carry the seal of a commander stationed two days hard ride to the south, the kind of hard ride that exhausts horses, angers the post office stables, and destroys the rider’s ass. In one direction.

Cas had fetched and returned the reports in just under eight hours. While still recuperating. He’s damp with cloud water and splattered with bugs, but his eyes shine the way they do after a night of dancing. So, yeah, Dan kisses him on the steps of Parliament, bug splatter and all. People cheer and Dan tells Cas to wave. Dan demonstrates, just in case this is one of those human things Cas only pretends to get, but when Cas turns to wave at the crowds with an entire wing raised high, people go nuts.

The royal family is bringing about a time of angels, is the way it’s being phrased on the streets. The Mage Prince’s teacher found them, the royal family is restoring them to the world, and the Knight Prince is marrying one. The rumors of Cas’ rank and origins go wild, and more than one scholar manages to find records—fables—of Seraph Casper defeating Archdemon Alistair.

“They f*****g love you, man,” Dan says into Cas’ ear, not bothering to whisper beneath the roar of that shouting.

“Why?” Cas asks, his head tilted toward confusion.

“They think you guys are going to be the end to demons,” Dan says. “That you gave everything to save us, and that’s why we gotta ‘rescue’ you out of that realm in the first place.”

“But humans were never more than a passing consideration,” Cas says, and Dan shushes him.

“Yeah, don’t tell people that,” Dan says.

They wave again, this time with Cas wrapping one wing around Dan’s shoulders, and then head inside.

What follows is a great deal of standing around and saying nothing while other people read those reports aloud, but what it all boils down to is, they’re screwed without some help. Which means it is officially time to set that help loose, which means it naturally takes two more days. Which is rushing it. Because even with Lucifer getting ready to regain consciousness any day now, they still need to safeguard the crap out of things so that, one, the released angels don’t proceed to destroy all the humans, and, two, the humans don’t all end up going at each other.

So all the usual politics, except higher risk and at higher speeds.

Cas keeps flying reports and orders, and Dan keeps standing around looking pretty. But when the angel releasing day comes, less than a week after Cas awaking, less than a month since they met, it comes in full pageantry.

The night before, they sent letters formalizing the treaty and specifying the time and place to move the portal. The day of the release, they troop down to the specified location: a field lying fallow on the outskirts of the city. It’s an inauspicious place, a long expanse of dirt and weeds that themselves seem bewildered to be playing host to royalty. But it is a large, open space nearby, and a much better location than the palatial complex to release a couple thousand angels out of a giant portal. Both the landlord owning the fields and the farmers tending them have been compensated for their use, one for the disruption upon the land, the other for the disruption to their work.

On the human side of things, they approach by carriage and on horseback. The last minor portal is to open at noon, and everything is fully arranged by ten that morning. Rugs cover the dirt, and every uneven step crunches the dry grass beneath. There is a pavilion tent up, this one without the angel warding, and all the big names of the nation and their neighbors mill about beneath the cream fabric.

Crowds gather, as crowds tend to do. Dan, among others, herds them back to a reasonable distance, shouting from horseback about the space the spell requires. Cas circling above doesn’t particularly help, drawing the eye, pulling fingers to point, and guiding in far too many curious bodies. Ultimately, Dan canters back up the road a bit, waves Cas down, and they control the crowd that way, by giving them something to gawk at.