Angelica (56 page)

She didn't really care what she ate at any meal from now till she died, let alone what she had for breakfast on the day she married Gaaron. Life was so strange now that she could not imagine a wedding making things any better, so it was hardly something she wanted to celebrate, or even think about. She just wanted to sleep.

Still, after an hour of dutifully singing harmonics in the chilly cupola, she returned to the kitchen to see what Esther had come across now.

“I got it from a chef in Luminaux—a good friend of mine,” Esther said a little smugly. “It is practically nothing but sugar and butter, but, see, the recipe calls for a touch of cream, very rich and delicate—”

“I can't tell much from a recipe,” Susannah apologized. She had said those exact same words about thirty times in the past few weeks, but Esther continued to insist on handing her a list of ingredients as if it was the most wonderful treat in the world. “I'm sure it will be delicious.”

“But, Susannah, you must
decide
,” Esther said. “This pastry or the almond-nut one? We could do both, but I think that might be too much dough, since we're also having the fresh-baked bread and the cherry tarts—unless you don't want the tarts, and I think that would be a mistake, and you can't not have
bread
with the meal.”

“Esther! I simply don't care!” Susannah exclaimed. “Serve what you like! Plan the entire menu! It doesn't matter to me if we eat dried meat and raw prairie grass! I—just—don't—care.”

Esther was staring at her. The few women left in the kitchen, still wiping down stove and ovens, gaped at one another and then back at her. Susannah put her hands to her cheeks, which should have been hot with mortification. But instead they were cool and dry, waxy with indifference and exhaustion.

“I'm sorry,” Susannah said abruptly. “I'm not—I'm not feeling well. I have a great deal on my mind, and food for the wedding is not something I worry about much. Because I know whatever you choose will be perfect. Now you must excuse me . . .” And making no attempt to add anything to that inadequate apology, she blundered from the kitchen and through the hallways to her room.

Where she burst out crying and did not think she could ever stop.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. So many things in the world that mattered more than her own lonely heart. It was small-minded and self-indulgent to feel sorry for herself because nobody loved her and this sham of a marriage would only underscore that. It was stupid to think now of Dathan, who was merry and faithless, and whom she had not loved or even thought about for weeks now. It was stupid to think of Gaaron, big and blind and awkward with women, but so
good,
so strong and so steady and so kind to her, but so oblivious, completely unable to read the emotions that Susannah felt must be painted on her face.

She crossed to her window and opened the glass, letting the cold starlight rush in. If Miriam were only here—if Miriam were only
safe
—if Chloe or Zibiah or Keren or even Kaski were here—she would not feel so alone and worthless. She missed the warmth of a second body in the bed, the sound of breathing in the night. She missed—Yovah, she missed being loved.

She knew the god loved her, for the god loved everybody, but sometimes that simply was not enough.

She remembered standing here, in this room, at this
window, the first week she had been brought to the Eyrie. A thousand years ago, that seemed, and much had changed since then. But that day she had been depressed by solitude and crushed by loneliness, and tonight she felt at least as abandoned and betrayed as she had felt then. She folded her elbows on the sill, and rested her head on her arms, and let the winter air turn her teardrops to ice.

When the chime sounded at the door, she was too stiff and frozen to turn and call a welcome. No need to, since the chime was immediately followed by the door being thrown open and Gaaron striding in.

“Susannah? Are you here? It's late, I hope you're not sleeping—”

She straightened quickly and stepped away from the window. She had only two candles lit, and the room was dark, but light enough for her to see the excitement on his face. Too dark, she hoped, for him to see the frost on hers. “What is it?” she said, trying to make her voice sound normal. “Good news?”

He laughed. “I hope so! Though it doesn't sound like good news to begin with. There was another attack—”

“Oh no!”

“On one of the towns on the western coast. Small place, but maybe five hundred people. They'd been alerted, of course—everyone has been—so they had men standing guard, even at night.”

“But—against men with those fire sticks—what could they do even if they were standing guard, unless they had weapons of their own?”

“That's just it! They had crossbows—well, not crossbows, exactly, but something like them that they use to catch big fish off the coast. So they were standing guard, and these black men showed up and aimed their fire sticks at them. And the men shot back with their crossbows, and wounded some of the invaders, and there was a lot of noise and yelling, but then the
best
part. One of the arrows from the crossbow hit one of the fire sticks and caused it to explode or something. Huge fireball right in the middle of the crowd of black men, and some of them burned up and they were all screaming. And then the rest of them disappeared,” Gaaron added.
He was speaking so fast it was hard to understand all his words, but he was clearly thrilled. “So the town held fast! They turned back the enemy! It was such good news I could hardly believe it.”

Susannah stepped closer to him. Even her feet were numb; she must have stayed at the window longer than she realized. “Gaaron, that's wonderful,” she said as warmly as she could. “Perhaps if these black men learn we can fight back, they'll go away and leave us alone. Have you told Adriel and the others? Because certainly there are men and women throughout the provinces who can use a crossbow.”

“No, I just found out this afternoon. I'll be off for Windy Point in the morning. Yes, this is news I'll be happy to spread—though it might just have been a lucky shot, and maybe all fire sticks don't explode like that, but it's something to try. It gives us a defense.”

“Does it change your mind about weapons?”

“No,” he said seriously. “What I have not wanted is the technology for destruction. I do not want us to develop an appetite for firepower. I do not like where that hunger leads. But this is something simple, and useful, and designed for another purpose, and so it does not seem chancy to me.” He smiled a little, the faint expression hard to read in the shadowed room. “I don't know, perhaps that makes me inconsistent. I just do not want to develop weapons that we will someday turn upon ourselves.”

“Well, it's excellent news, Gaaron,” she said. “I hope this gives you some reprieve from your worries.”

Now he was the one to come a few steps closer. “Yes, but—you do not look like
you
have had any reprieve from worries,” he said unexpectedly. “You look worn and tired.”

She smiled a little. “I
am
tired,” she said. “For no reason, really. I do not have the cares weighing on me that weigh on you.”

“It is not that you look tired, exactly,” he said. “You look more as if you have been crying.”

Even more unexpected. “Oh—I was feeling a little sad tonight,” she said, trying to make her response airy and careless, but sensing that her voice sounded dull and heavy.
“Sometimes moods catch up with me. It doesn't mean anything.”

He came closer still. “It means something to me,” he said quietly. “What has made you sad? I know you are worried about your Edori friends.”

“Yes—but there are so many people to worry about, throughout Samaria—it is not only my people who are not safe.”

“And it is not just the Edori who are your people now,” he said. “You will be the angelica for all the races.”

“Yes—very soon now—” she said somewhat at random, for she was not sure how to answer that. The angelica for all races, indeed. What was that supposed to mean? She didn't even have a single friend, and now she was supposed to be a figure of hope and comfort to every malcontent in the three provinces? That hardly seemed fair.

“Is that what troubles you?” he persisted, peering down through the dark as if trying to read the secrets on her face. “Your responsibilities when you become angelica?”

“No—Gaaron—nothing troubles me. I am just—tired and sad and lonely. It does not matter, it—”

“Lonely?” he interrupted. “There is an entire hold full of people here, all of whom admire you greatly. There is Keren, and Chloe and the girls, and Nicholas and Ahio are your friends, too—you have a connection with all of them—”

“Gaaron, you do not know what true
connection
is if you think that!” she exclaimed, suddenly able to hold back her emotion no longer. “I am used to sleeping five or ten in a tent that is maybe twice the size of this bed—I am used to mornings where five people kiss me before I've even had breakfast. If I was sad, I could sit beside any of twenty people and have them put their arms around me and comfort me with the feel of their pulses matched to mine. Now I—I am so isolated. No one touches me. Miriam is gone, Kaski is gone, Keren has gone to Nicholas' bed, and I cannot sleep at night for the loneliness and the dreams. There is—every night—I wake up with dreams in the middle of the night, but there is no one to wake up beside me and tell me I am safe. I cannot make you understand me. I am not a bad angelica
by daylight, but at night I am a frightened Edori woman who has no one to hold on to.”

He stepped even closer. “Susannah—”

But she had turned away. She was shaking uncontrollably now, and the tears had started again, hot enough to melt the rime of frost on her cheeks. She wanted to tell him to go away, to not worry, to leave her until this mood passed, if it ever did, but she could not force any words past her closed throat. She put her hand over her eyes and felt the sobs increase in force.

“Susannah,” he said again, and put his arms around her, and wrapped his wings around them both.

She had been cold; now she was enveloped in warmth. The heat of his body was so great it was as if she had stepped inside a gentle fire burning at a pitch just high enough to raise her temperature by a degree. The feathers of his wings lay against her flesh like bolts of the finest satin, layer after layer unrolled from the merchant's hand. She stirred a little, just to feel the delicious sweep of texture against her skin, and found herself turning in his arms, laying her cheek against his chest, letting her arms go around his back. He was so warm; he was a steady generator of heat and power and security. She pressed herself closer against him to absorb even more of his heat, and found herself inhaling his complex, musky odor. He smelled like sweat and far distances, high-altitude night skies, leather, winter, and skin. She took a deep breath, and then another.

She had stopped trembling. She felt as she always had, first thing in the morning, lying warm and cozy in the center of a Lohora tent, surrounded by love.

“I will sleep beside you tonight, if you like,” Gaaron murmured into her hair. “It has not seemed to me—clearly I have been wrong—it has not seemed to me you had much need of me beside you, since you had so many who shared your time. But I would not want you lying here lonely when I can lie beside you.”

She stirred a little, enough to lift her head but not enough to pull away from his delicious warmth. “Gaaron—I do not want to be one of your many burdens,” she said.

“You are not a burden,” he said. “You are a thing I care about.”

“You care about all your burdens,” she retorted.

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Not Zack so much,” he said. “Not Esther.”

She giggled. “I'm afraid I made Esther mad tonight.”

“You can apologize in the morning.”

“Gaaron, I—”

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Don't talk about it. Don't worry about it. Just relax and go to sleep.”

“I'm so tired,” she admitted.

“I know,” he said. “Let's just go to sleep.”

It was not as smooth as that, of course. They both had to make quick trips to the water room, and then there was the strange business of climbing into the big bed next to someone who had never lain in that bed before. Some of Susannah's nervousness had returned by the time she settled herself next to Gaaron, her face scrubbed and her hair combed and her thoughts in turmoil. But he merely moved to one side, making a space for her, and she snuggled against him, fitting the curve of her body to the curve of his. He had pushed the blankets to the foot of the bed, and it was clear she would not need them since the heat of his body instantly made her warm.

He shifted, and the darkness in the room was momentarily swept with eerie light as one of his white wings unfolded and drifted down to cover her. Again, that sensation of serrated satin against her skin. She shivered a little at the sheer sensuousness of the contact.

“Are you cold?” he asked instantly.

“No—no—” she said, a little breathless. “I'm—thank you—you're so warm. This feels so nice—”