Archangel (19 page)

Rachel was intrigued. “So Windy Point is like the Eyrie? High up?”

“Wholly inaccessible,” Gabriel said shortly. “Higher than the Eyrie by at least a thousand feet. You cannot get to it unless an angel takes you.”

“I am familiar with that inconvenience,” Rachel said dryly.

“But it possesses a wild beauty all its own,” Raphael said in his sugared voice. “You were born in the shadow of the Caitanas, angela. You know how rugged and romantic that range can be. Were you never at Windy Point?”

“I was a hill-farmer’s daughter,” she said evenly. “We were not often invited to visit the angels.”

“And yet—surely—I have always made such an effort to interact with my people,” Raphael said. “Did I never visit your village?”

There was a moment of silence even more tense than the one before, but at least this one was not witnessed by everyone else at the table. “If you had,” Rachel said at last, “surely the event would have been so momentous that I would never have forgotten it.”

To Gabriel’s relief, the servants came through again with another course. Conversation, when it resumed, was a little more guarded but along much the same lines. Leah spoke little, watching her husband covertly during most of the meal. Gabriel spoke up whenever he got a chance. His wife and the Archangel continued to spar.

Gabriel was never so pleased to see a meal come to an end. He had not expected it to be such an ordeal. He could not imagine
why Rachel and Raphael had taken such a dislike to each other that they were willing to show their feelings in public—although Rachel, at least, seemed willing to do verbal battle with anyone at any time. And then, even more inexplicably, she had seemed to feel a certain fondness—no, that was not right—protectiveness for the cowed and tentative angelica, to the extent of championing her three or four more times before the breakfast ended. He had never seen Rachel act nicely to anyone before, except the servants.

But it was over, Jovah be thanked, requiring just a last little bit of theatrics before the whole affair concluded. Gabriel rose to his feet, tapping his knife against his glass to draw everyone’s attention.

“Friends—angels—I want to take this chance to thank you all for attending one of the most important events of my life,” he said. He hated speechmaking, but it had to be done; Nathan had helped him with the words late last night. “The ceremony had double meaning for me, because of your presence and your affection.”

He glanced down at Rachel. She could school her features into impassivity, but he read the suspicion in her eyes. He could not help a faint smile. “I wish also to pay tribute to my beautiful new wife, the woman who will be my angelica and stand beside me on the Plain of Sharon for the next twenty years. It is a custom among angels,” he said, now speaking directly to her, “to give gifts to their loved ones on auspicious occasions. It is also a custom among angels to wear a certain item—and for angelicas to wear them as well. I thought our wedding would be the perfect time for me to give you—these.”

He handed her a white velvet bag secured with a gold drawstring. Her hands shook very slightly when she took it from him; now there was no mistaking the wariness on her face. He smiled again.

“Open it,” he said. “Put them on.”

She loosened the bag and shook its contents onto the tablecloth. An appreciative murmur went up all around the table as angels and mortals craned forward to get a better look. Gabriel had given his bride the traditional wedding gift of bracelets, but these were more beautiful than most. He had commissioned them last month in Luminaux, two bands made of braided gold, studded with sapphires arranged in floral clusters. They were delicate,
as befitted a lady’s wrist, but the woven design had seemed to Gabriel to perfectly reflect both the sturdiness and the complexity of Rachel’s character.

“When you wear these at the Gloria,” Gabriel continued, now speaking to the top of her bent head, “Jovah will know who you are and who you represent. All angels from the Eyrie wear sapphires in their wristbands. Those of my family wear the sapphires arranged in just such a pattern. No matter where you go among angels, when you wear these bracelets it will be instantly known that you belong here, and to me.”

There was light applause around the table at this pretty speech. Nathan had not helped him write that one; it had come to him extemporaneously as he gazed down at the unruly curls. She had not looked up. She had not even touched the plaited metal of the bands. He was seized with a sudden cold premonition of catastrophe.

“It would please me,” he ended formally, “if you would wear them now.”

“Put them on!” someone called out, and others took up the cry around the table. He heard other murmurs—”They’re so beautiful!” “Where did he get those?” “Lucky girl”—but the predominant response of the crowd was one of urging. “Put the bracelets on, Rachel,” Ariel said.

Abruptly, the new bride came to her feet, next to him. He had thought she was pale before, but now she was completely colorless. Across her face was the old defiance; her expression was absolutely stony.

“Thank you for the honor,” she said in a tight, controlled voice. “I cannot wear these. Now or ever.” And she strode from the perfectly silent room without another word.

It was nearly an hour before Gabriel could get to Rachel to demand an explanation, and he would forever mark that hour as one of the worst in his life. First, there was the excruciating fifteen-minute interval to endure at the breakfast table, as angels and powerful mortals sat and stared at him in stupefaction, disbelief and—he had to believe—secret glee at the sight of this most supercilious of angels humiliated in public. He had Nathan and Ariel to thank for filling the vacuum with a few exculpatory comments and brisk observations that all new couples had some problems to work out. The group broke up very quickly after that,
people excusing themselves with remarks about getting their packing done and how they needed to be home right away.

Gabriel stood where Rachel had left him, nodding at those who made their farewells, accepting their good wishes, trying not to grimace at their good-natured jokes and assurances that all would be well. He didn’t really hear anything that was said to him until a small, timid hand was laid upon his arm. He frowned down and tried to place the face; the woman was of the type he always immediately dismissed as negligible.

“Angelo,” she said in a voice that matched her appearance, “be kind to her.”

His frown deepened. “I assure you—”

“She—at heart, she is such a good person. I know she has made you angry, and a woman should not make her husband angry, I know—but do not scold her too cruelly.”

Lady Mary of Semorrah. The name suddenly came back to him. Young Daniel’s wife. “I am not in the habit of scolding anyone, nor am I in the habit of practicing cruelty,” he said, although his freezing voice belied both assertions.

“She is Edori,” the young lady said helpfully. “Perhaps they don’t wear jewelry.”

This shy young noblewoman seemed truly anxious to dissipate his rage. Her partisanship was so unexpected that, unconsciously, the edge of his fury was worn away. “Madame,” he said, inclining his head to her slightly, “I will ask her. Your husband is awaiting you and I wish you would go to him. Have no fears for Rachel.”

With this she had to be content; young Daniel indeed was watching her impatiently from a group that included his parents and her own. She lifted her skirts and skipped back to them. Gabriel found himself confronting the Archangel, who had come to his feet on the opposite side of the table. The rest of the room had suddenly emptied.

“A decided show of spirit,” Raphael murmured. “I congratulate you on your choice of bride.”

“Merely a misunderstanding,” Gabriel said stiffly.

Raphael was still sipping from his juice goblet. He seemed prepared to stay and enjoy a tête-à -tête for the rest of the day. “But such a public one. Perhaps you should rehearse your appearances a bit more often with your angelica.”

A double meaning to the word rehearse. Gabriel flinched,
knowing it was true. On both counts. “It was an unfortunate occurrence,” he said. “Still, I prefer a woman who speaks her own mind to one who does not speak at all.”

Raphael laid down his beverage and began nibbling on leftover fruit. “An unkind observation,” he said mildly. “And my wife is used to thinking of you as such a courteous man.”

Gabriel’s face flamed; he had not meant to insult Leah, though it was true he would prefer Rachel any day to someone as vapid as the current angelica. “We all suit ourselves to the god’s choices,” he said.

“And yet,” Raphael said, still in that smooth, ruminative voice, “one sometimes wonders about the god’s choices. The differences between generations are so striking that one almost cannot see any parallels. And—actually—any continuity.”

Suddenly, Gabriel felt alarm cycle through him, coldly allaying the anger that had consumed him for the past quarter hour. He regarded Raphael through narrowed eyes. “Things change,” he said. “That is the way the world is set up.”

“Gabriel,” Raphael said sadly. He spread his hands, for this moment empty of either food or drink, as if words alone could not convey the depth of his emotion. “Gabriel. I lie awake at nights dreading the Gloria. Not for your sake—you have a powerful voice and we all know Jovah spreads his ears when you sing. But—Gabriel. This woman? As angelica? Even you, eager as you are to take the power from my hands, must see that she is not fit for the role. She will bring the wrath of Jovah down upon us if she sings on the Plain of Sharon.”

Gabriel was so shocked, he could not answer.

Raphael began ticking off liabilities on his fingers. “A hill-farmer. When there has never yet been an angelica who was not bred among the gentry. An Edori. When the Edori do not even believe Jovah is the supreme power. A slave.” His gesture conveyed just how impossible that was. “And—may I ask you?—can she sing? Has she a voice? What will we hear, what will Jovah hear, if she tries to lead the Gloria in a few months’ time?”

Gabriel wanted to put his hands over his ears, to physically shut out the questions that eternally circled in his own mind. “All of what you say may be true—is true, is indisputable,” he said, his voice very hard. “And yet the doubts of men are invalid. Jovah chose her. Jovah wishes to hear her voice—be it melodious or wretched, her voice is the one he asked for. Hers is the voice that
must be heard on the Plain of Sharon this spring—or in truth there will be death and destruction, as you fear.”

Raphael delicately toyed with the silver serving trays still on the table. “Not necessarily,” he said. “There is still an angelica, proven and beloved, also chosen by Jovah. She could sing this spring. Your Rachel could be—given more time—trained more properly. In a year or so—”

“But for Leah to sing at the Gloria, you would have to sing beside her,” Gabriel interrupted.

Raphael nodded. “Precisely. But in the interests of the realm, I am willing to do that. For you. For—well, for Rachel.”

It was brilliantly clear to Gabriel, suddenly, frighteningly. “You don’t want to give it up,” he said, his voice disbelieving. “The Archangel’s power—you don’t want to cede it.”

Raphael made a gesture of denial. “I am Jovah’s servant, as you are,” he said graciously. “I exist merely to worship him, and to bring to him the word of inarticulate mortals. As we all do. But those same mortals depend on us, to defend their lives, their homes—this entire planet. Gabriel! An untrained angelica lifting a cracked voice to Jovah while the fate of all Samaria hangs on her song? Can you risk that? The lives of every man and angel on this planet? While there is still an angelica available and an Archangel willing to sing at her side?”

“I have to risk it,” Gabriel said, his words hurled like rocks at Raphael. “You have given your twenty years. Jovah never asks for—never
wants
—more than that from any angel. If you were to sing at the Gloria this summer, then indeed we would see the doom descend that you are so worried about.”

“But I say—”

“
I
say that you are an ambitious man who has learned to love the taste of power so well that you cannot tear yourself from the banquet,” Gabriel flung at him. “Is that true? Is that what you are in fact telling me? Do not come here pretending to be my savior when in fact you are plotting against me—and my bride. Tell me openly what you desire.”

“I desire the well-being of the realm,” Raphael snapped. “You are a fine one to talk of ambition. You close your eyes to the unsuitability of your own angelica because you are too powermad to admit she will destroy us all.”

“I am not power-mad,” Gabriel replied grimly. “I am not the one seeking to overturn divine laws. But I thank you for your
offer. You have now made it clear to me where you stand—and what I have to expect from you until I am Archangel.”

“If you become Archangel,” Raphael said in a low, silky voice.

Gabriel gave him the slightest of bows. “Oh, I will. Make no mistake about that. Your time is coming to an end, Raphael— and the sooner the better for all of us.” He turned and strode for the door, pausing at the threshold for one parting shot. “Thank you so much for attending my wedding.”

His intention was to go directly to Rachel’s chamber—and, if she was not there, to track her down wherever she had hidden— but Ariel waylaid him when he was ten steps out the door.

“It couldn’t be better!” she exclaimed in a low voice, clutching his arm and stopping him when he would have stalked right past her.

“How strange you are,” he replied. “To me it seems things could not be worse.”

She waved one hand, still gripping him with the other. “So it was an embarrassing moment for you. But Rachel has given us the perfect opening. In fact, I think it’s almost arranged.”

“Ariel, could we discuss this later—”

“No, listen to me! We were leaving and Maga said that Rachel looked so unhappy when she was running from the room, and I said I thought she
was
unhappy and that you’d told me she was having a hard time making friends, and that she was suspicious of all the Eyrie angels, and if only I had time to try to get to know her—”