A hollow look came to Kostas’s eyes. “The females have always been harder to control. Most angels consider their daughters too dangerous to live.”

“Why?” Malachi asked.

“Think about it,” Max said. “If we draw the Irin and Grigori parallel out, Grigori would be able to work magic if they could write as we do. If they were taught the spells.”

“But the Fallen do not teach them,” Malachi said, still profoundly grateful for that fact. Kostas the heretic might be controlling himself, but that hadn’t changed his opinion of Grigori as a whole.

“Nor should it,” Kostas said, looking at Malachi.

He tensed, realizing the man had heard his thoughts. “You’re telepathic?”

Kostas shook his head. “Not truly. I hear whispers of thoughts every now and then. Barak’s children sometimes do. If I’d had training from my father, I might know more.”

“They offer you no teaching at all?” Malachi could hardly believe it. Knowledge was revered in Irin culture. Training started before children could speak. It was given in playful verses and songs from the time they were born. The teaching of magic was an Irin parent’s primary responsibility.

“They do not teach us, or they cannot,” Kostas said. “We don’t know. I’m certain they wouldn’t, even if they could. It would make us more powerful. And if we were more powerful—”

“You might be harder to control,” Malachi said. “But why are your sisters considered more dangerous than their brothers?”

“They hear things,” Kostas said, his voice low. “Sometimes they say things. Dangerous things they have no idea how to control. Many are unwell in their minds. Tormented by—”

“Voices,” Malachi said, glancing at Ava. “If they are like our women, they hear the soul voices of humanity.”

“Obviously your women have a way to control it. Ours do not. My sister… I try to keep her as isolated as I can. She wanted to come and meet your mate, though I advised against it.”

“Ava was the same.” Malachi offered that one comfort. “Before we found her. She survived.”

Kostas took a deep breath. “I love my sister. I cannot remember a time when I did not. Even when my father was alive. Barak was… negligent. He didn’t kill his daughters, but they were sent away. He had places that were mostly prisons. Those who escaped were left alone, but then they were at the mercy of the humans. Yet his negligence was still better than most of the Fallen. Many infant daughters, even if they aren’t killed, die of neglect when their mothers give birth to male children.”

“Why?”

“Because we kill our mothers,” Kostas said. “Simply by existing.”

Malachi tasted acid at the back of his throat.

“Don’t you understand?” Kostas continued. “Your ancestors were forgiven because they recognized the truth: Angels don’t belong here. Their children—all of us—never should have existed. We are abominations. They left because they knew that, so the Creator had mercy on the Irin. My people?” Kostas leaned back. “We received no mercy. We don’t deserve it. We’re all murderers before we can speak.”

The man’s self-loathing was so evident Malachi had a difficult time condemning him further.

Max leaned forward and said, “You fight to make things better, my friend.”

Kostas gave him a rueful smile. “I would call you my friend, Maxim, but for your willful ignorance of the truth.”

“It’s not ignorance. I simply don’t judge you as harshly as you judge yourself.”

“I saved Kyra,” Kostas said to Malachi. “I have been able to save a few others. I protect them. That is my penance for the lives I’ve taken. The harm I’ve done.”

“How many women?” Malachi asked. “How many do you protect?”

“I don’t trust you that much, Scribe. No matter who you are mated to.”

“When I finally discovered it,” Max said, “I knew I had to tell you. For Ava.”

Malachi narrowed his eyes at Max. “You think Ava is Grigori?”

“No. Yes?” Max said. “I don’t know. I see more in common than different.”

Malachi’s eyes turned to Ava and Kyra. He could see it, see the similarities, but he could also see profound differences. Ava didn’t look inhuman, as Kyra did. Her skin wasn’t as pale or as luminous. Her eyes were the same, but she was no ethereal creature. His mate had a delicate, yet earthy, beauty.

“I don’t think she is, Max.”

“There’s something…,” Kostas said. “Her eyes drew me at first. But I agree. Your mate does not look like our women.”

“She’s at least half human. Her mother is fully human, but her father is not. That may be the connection.”

“Is her father Grigori?” Kostas asked. “Some of us are able to father children with human women. Some have enough control.”

“He doesn’t smell it. Or look it. Though there is something different about him.”

“Reed’s mother,” Max said. “That has to be the connection. Ava’s grandmother must have Grigori blood.”

Malachi said, “We’ve been trying to find her, but we haven’t had much success. Could she be one of yours?”

Kostas took a deep breath and frowned. “If she is, I’d have no way of knowing without meeting her. No records are kept in our world, particularly for females. The ones who survive are mostly in the human population because they’re safer there.”