“Harsh.” But he didn’t refute the summation.

“You have Hannah to tell you if you’re getting close to the edge. Uram was alone.”

“There were servants, assistants, other angels.”

“Uram was never merciful,” Raphael said. “He rewarded any show of spine with torture. As a result, his castle was filled with those who hated him and those who feared him. It didn’t matter to them if he lived or died.”

Elijah looked up, his eyes clear, almost human. “There’s a lesson for you there, Raphael.”

“Now you are acting like my big brother.”

Elijah laughed, the only archangel aside from Favashi who ever did such a thing and meant it. “No, I see in you a leader. With Uram gone, the Cadre of Ten has the potential to fragment—you know what happened the last time we splintered.”

The Dark Age of man and angel, when vampires bathed in blood and the angels were too busy warring with each other to care. “Why me? I’m younger than you, than Lijuan.”

“Lijuan is . . . no longer of this world.” Frown lines creased his forehead. “She is, I think, the oldest angel in existence. She’s gone beyond petty problems.”

“This is no petty problem.” But he understood Elijah’s meaning. Lijuan no longer looked upon this world. Her sight was focused somewhere far in the distance. “If not Lijuan, why not you? You’re the most stable of us all.”

Elijah fanned out his wings as he thought. “My rule in South America has never been challenged. It’s true I have a steel hand with dissent, but,” he said, shaking his head, “I have no desire for killing or blood. To hold the Cadre together, the leader must be more dangerous than any other.”

“You call me brutal to my face,” Raphael commented softly.

Elijah shrugged. “You inspire fear without Astaad’s cruelty, or Michaela’s capriciousness. It was why you clashed with Uram—you were too close to taking what was his. The leadership is already yours, whether you know it or not.”