The Sleeper and the Silverblood

“I accept.”

The stunned expression on his father’s face made the self-loathing churning in Storm’s gut worth it.

The unflappable Cornelius Avensäel had been flapped.

Ever the politician, the older immortal quickly composed himself. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear—”

“You were. You’re offering me a role that requires me to work with Kitara Vakrenade. You couldn’t have been more clear.”

The dark-headed, blue-eyed angel studied Storm with narrowed eyes while a blond angel absentmindedly studied the knick-knacks on Storm’s bookshelf.

His grand suite included a large sitting room, furnished with no fewer than half a dozen chairs, plus a couch. An additional doorway led into a bedroom decorated in the same sumptuous style as the rest of the rooms. He even had a small kitchenette. The room was carpeted, draped, and decorated in varying shades of ivory and gray gilded with gold.

A suite fit for the de facto prince of Valëtyria.

“Storm,” his father tried again. “If you accept these terms, there’s no withdrawal short of misconduct or death.”

“Even better,” Storm replied, adopting a nonchalant air though he felt anything but. “Whatever it is, it must be important.”

“Your flippancy does not inspire confidence,” the blond angel interjected, leaning on a silver and gold cane.

“I apologize, Tyrrell,” Storm ground out the words. “It’s not my intention to be flippant, but rather…calm. I’ve requested a meaningful assignment for decades. This is the first I’ve been offered. And you wouldn’t offer it if the role was outside my skillset—not if it risked anything in the AIDO—which implies either strategy or combat. That it’s Kitara Vakrenade makes no difference.”

He met Cornelius’s blue eyes with an impassive silver gaze, daring him to end this charade. His father thought he’d immediately reject the proposal when he mentioned Kitara? Not if it meant a stepping stone toward bigger and better things. That the High Councilor acted so cagey about the whole thing only implied something important.

Said High Councilor currently participated in a silent conversation across the room with Tyrrell Wynregrin: the High Technologist and a member of the High Council. Mindspeaking offered an excellent way to discuss someone in the room without them hearing, even if it was considered rather rude.

Storm knew better than to point this out, however, and waited quietly as they likely discussed Cornelius’s chagrin at his son’s agreeing so readily to work with Kitara.

The High Councilor arched an elegant dark eyebrow, which the High Technologist returned with a placid nod.

Finally, with a sigh, Cornelius turned his attention back to his son. “Again, so I ensure there’s no misunderstanding: this role involves working directly and closely with Kitara Vakrenade. Regardless of any…personal feelings, you’ll be expected to behave with the utmost professionalism and discretion. To do less might jeopardize intricate AIDO operations. So I’ll ask one more time; do you accept these terms despite her connection to your mother’s accident?”

Those final words nearly broke Storm’s resolve. His father’s expression betrayed no hint of emotion; he could have been asking the question of a stranger, not the son of his beloved wife.

Storm shifted into parade rest, clasping his hands at the small of his back to hide the evidence of his distaste flickering in his palms. But the change to a more official stance, even a relaxed one, also added extra weight to his words.

“Yes, High Councilor. I accept.”

Cornelius had his emotions and expression well in hand now, acknowledging Storm’s affirmation with a nod. “Very well. You’ll need to sign this.” He extended a crystalline tablet in Storm’s direction, who accepted it after a half-second delay in which he composed the electricity writhing around his fingers.

Control. Control.

Grateful for the distraction, Storm perused the document displayed on the tablet. “An NDA,” he mused aloud. “When you mentioned discretion, I didn’t think you meant so formally.”

“Will that be a problem?” Cornelius’s tone sharpened.

“No, of course not,” Storm replied, his eyebrows rising a fraction at the mention of treason. “But I’ve never seen a document like this before.”

“Most haven’t,” Tyrrell said as he examined Storm’s advanced swordsmanship commendation on the wall. “Very few know this program exists.”

“Treason for talking, possible execution even?” Storm looked up at his father. “You weren’t kidding. This really is an assignment with impact.”

“I wouldn’t lie about that,” his father rejoined, unbothered by Storm’s close scrutiny of the document. “Once you sign this, you’ll be bound by it to the AIDO and the highest authority involved.”

That prompted a wry smile from Storm. “Which is you.”

“Mm. By all rights, you shouldn’t know Kitara’s name at all. But the High Council felt it important to provide that information, given past circumstances. It’s a testament to their faith in you—that you will not mention her name in the context of this conversation should you opt to decline this assignment.”

Cornelius was still offering Storm a last-minute out.

Storm scrawled a signature on the screen with his finger, then pressed his thumbprint beside it, acknowledging the terms. “That won’t be necessary.”

With a sigh, the High Councilor reclaimed the tablet and gestured to Storm’s living room. “Let’s sit. The rest of this explanation is a bit lengthy.”

Storm’s eyes cut in the direction of the High Technologist still leaning on his cane. No one knew the exact details of Tyrrell’s injury, but whatever could have so grievously and permanently injured one of the High Council’s angels must have been horrific indeed. He nodded. “Sure.”

Cornelius settled on the couch, and Storm dropped into an armchair. After a moment, Tyrrell limped across the room to join them, settling into another armchair with a huff of discomfort. The High Technologist always insisted on taking a turn around the room with the help of his cane, waiting until everyone else sat before choosing a seat. Just to prove he could—and to preempt any offers of assistance, no matter how well-meant.

“Okay, Dad,” Storm began, lacing his fingers over one knee. “Tell me.”

Tyrrell, not his father, spoke up first. “Your acceptance of this assignment has officially initiated you into the Sleeper profession.”

Storm’s eyebrows rose, a silent question in his gaze. “Sleepers,” he echoed, and Tyrrell nodded.

Despite himself, a thin line of electricity arced over his knuckles, betraying his shock. “Double agents.”

Kitara descended from a Netherling family. The only reasonable conclusion was…

“Kitara Vakrenade is a Sleeper?” Horror and outrage laced his words.

“Yes,” his father confirmed. “Headquarters’ Sleeper was found dead recently, and the High Sleeper offered her the role. She accepted.”

“How?” Storm managed to grit out. “How did she of all people become a Sleeper? Aren’t there a few prerequisites required to become one? Like, oh, I don’t know, being trustworthy and a decent immortal being?”

His father’s wince might have gone unnoticed if Storm hadn’t spent so much time studying the man’s face in the past for signs of approval or affection in an often-impassive countenance. Now, Storm knew he had hit a nerve.

“Kitara is more than capable,” Tyrrell interjected, his gaze sharp. “She wouldn’t have been offered the position otherwise.”

“Capable of what?” Storm growled. “Of deceit, of betrayal? Or is it her ability to leave destruction in her wake that caught the High Sleeper’s attention?”

“Enough.” Cornelius’s quiet command crackled through the room. “If I must bear this, so will you.”

Storm’s eyes flicked to his father. The normally stoic High Councilor bore an expression of profound weariness bordering on sorrow. The sight gave Storm pause.

So often, the two stood on opposite sides of a chasm as Storm’s ambition clashed with Cornelius’s overprotection. The High Councilor refused to speak of the tragedy that facilitated their strained relationship, but the implication of his own negative feelings around Kitara Vakrenade momentarily soothed Storm’s outrage.

On that subject, they would always agree.

“Your primary duty,” Cornelius continued when Storm didn’t reply, “will be to ensure Kitara has everything she needs to succeed. This extends beyond just resources and information. You’ll be her protector, her advisor, and her supporter.”

“Her babysitter,” Storm retorted, the bitterness returning in his tone.

Cornelius’s expression hardened. “Her handler.”

The title hit Storm like a physical blow. His heart clenched, and his fists tightened on his knees. “And if she doesn’t accept me as her handler? What then?”

“She already has,” the High Councilor replied.

For a moment, Storm’s surprise momentarily eclipsed his simmering anger. “What?” His focus oscillated between Tyrrell and his father, searching for some sign of jest in their expressions but finding none.

“She was given the option to refuse,” Cornelius said.

“But she didn’t.”

“No,” his father confirmed. “She accepted the assignment, knowing you would be her handler.”

This was a blow Storm hadn’t seen coming, a sucker punch to the gut. His anger flared again, hot and fierce. Kitara had agreed to this absurd arrangement, fully aware of their shared history and how it might affect him. She agreed to have him bound to her in this sickening way.

But I knew she would be a large part of this equation, a small voice in the back of his head reminded him. I accepted the assignment anyway. This is an opportunity—one I can’t let her ruin.

“So when do I report for duty?” Storm asked, voice devoid of any warmth or humor.

Tyrrell cleared his throat. “You will meet tomorrow morning when she arrives at headquarters. But keep in mind, you are neither her subordinate nor her superior. You are her partner—there to guide, aid, and protect.”

Storm’s jaw tensed. He was no guardian angel, especially not for Kitara Vakrenade of all people. But he would play the part if it meant accepting a role beyond a glorified mascot. He met his father’s gaze, and in that moment, they silently acknowledged the unspoken pact between them.

In the weighty silence, uncharacteristic uncertainty flickered in his father’s eyes.

The rare sight made Storm feel slightly less alone. “Very well,” he said quietly, his mind racing. The words settled over them all like a heavy weight.

His father’s mouth formed a tight, brittle smile. “Good,” Cornelius said, but the word seemed lodged in his throat, as if he too had swallowed a bitter pill. “Your dedication to the AIDO does you credit, Storm.”

Sarcasm bloomed on Storm’s tongue, but he swallowed it whole. His father’s praise was rare and often couched in criticism, so he chose to interpret his comment as a genuine compliment. The bitterness still lingered, however, despite the aftertaste of validation. While his thirst for recognition had been slaked for the moment, it didn’t taste nearly as sweet as he’d imagined.