by Sharon Shinn
Gaaron smiled. “A pretty sentiment,” he said. “Jovah guard you in your wandering.”
The breakfast was good—fruit, a coarse bread, and some kind of fried meat that he did not recognize. Gaaron shifted on his stool to try to get a view of the Lohora tent, but the way was obstructed by other tents and a constant stream of moving Edori. He thought he had seen Dathan duck out through the door a few minutes ago, heading for the water tent, but he had not seen Susannah emerge.
He thought he would have noticed her.
“And you, angelo? Where do you go next?” Bartholomew asked.
“Back to the Eyrie,” Gaaron said, shifting his attention back to his host. “I am as happy to be going home as you are to be moving on.”
Bartholomew made a gesture that was almost placating. “To each the joys of his own life,” he said.
Suddenly, the tent nearest to them collapsed with a breathless whoosh as the center pole was pulled rapidly out. A chorus of children’s laughter and adult admonitions led Gaaron to believe this was not the way a tent was normally disassembled. Frankly, he did not care if it had been struck down by the hand of the god himself, for it removed the biggest obstacle between him and Susannah’s tent.
Where, he could now plainly see, Susannah and Dathan stood face-to-face, engaged in heated discussion. They stood a little to one side of the tent, and he guessed they were trying to keep their voices low, but that they were having an argument there could be no doubt. The other members of their clans were huddled around the fire, faces turned elaborately away, expressions carefully neutral. It must be hard to live and love in such close quarters, so that every cold word, every unhappy gesture, could be witnessed by everyone else you knew in the world.
Gaaron came to his feet, making no pretense of not watching. Bartholomew said something to him, but Gaaron did not reply. He was intent on Susannah’s face, Susannah’s crisis.
Dathan said something that, if his tone matched his face, was harsh and unforgiving, and then he strode off into the tangle of tents still standing. Susannah stood there a moment, hopelessly watching him go, giving her head a series of tiny shakes, and putting her hands to her cheeks.
And then slowly, as if the power of his gaze had drawn her attention, or as if, all this time, she had known exactly where he was, she turned and stared at Gaaron. She dropped her hands; her expression became remote and unfriendly, but she did not look away. Her jaw set. Her chin came up. She watched him.
“Excuse me,” Gaaron said, without looking again at Bartholomew. “I have greatly enjoyed your hospitality, but it’s time for me to leave.”
Making his way as quickly as he could through the crowded Edori campsite, Gaaron crossed the few yards separating him from Susannah. She met his eyes and watched him approach her, but she did not move, and she did not turn away. When he stopped in front of her, she said nothing.
Neither did he. In one quick movement, he bent to scoop her into his arms. Her hands went around his neck to help her keep her balance. He heard the cries and questions of the Edori camp falling away from him as he threw himself aloft, the Edori woman in his arms, and flew hard and fast in the direction of the Eyrie.
C hapter S even
Susannah stood inside her room and wished she would die.
It was a pretty enough room, filled with green furnishings and white curtains and a bed she had yet to sleep on because it was too soft and yielding for her body. The double windows were accented by heavy shutters that she had folded back to reveal a breathtakingly beautiful sunny day and a lovely expanse of golden-red mountainside falling away from her view. She had been told that she could have anything else she desired to fill her room—rugs, furniture, pillows, artwork—but so far nothing had come to mind. She had never, until three days ago, slept inside a building, slept with a stone roof overhead and stone walls surrounding her. Even at night, she kept the shutters open, to admit the starlight, to admit the air, so she could breathe.
But it was not the close confines of the room at the Eyrie that had made her so miserable.
That long flight from Jordana to the Eyrie had been accomplished in almost total silence, though from time to time Gaaron had put his mouth to her ear to ask if she needed to stop, to eat, to refresh herself. And from time to time she had indicated yes, and they had come to a halt, and he had taken care of her needs with a dignified courtesy. She had not caused him any trouble, though she had not been able to meet his eyes and she had not volunteered any conversation. She had not even told him, each time he took wing again with her in his arms, how cold she was as they traveled so rapidly through the high, thin air, how her blood mewled and shivered in her veins, how her feet were so chilled she could not be sure she still had feet until she twisted her head and looked. She could feel his own skin, warm and reassuringly solid where she was gripped against him, and it was clear he was not bothered by the frigidity of the high altitudes. So she said nothing. She did not care if she was cold. She did not even care if she survived the trip.
But it was not the memory of the wretched journey that made her so unhappy now.
She took a few steps forward, and then a few steps to one side, and then stood there again, absolutely unable to fathom what she should do next. In camp, she would be watching the babies, or berry-picking with Amram, or stirring the pot, or skinning the fresh kills, or washing out soiled clothes, or any of a hundred other tasks that gave some shape and purpose to her life. Here, she had nothing to do, no way to fill the time, no one to speak to, nothing to think of.
But it was not idleness that made her walk to the tall window, and lean her elbows on the sill and stare out, wondering if she had the nerve to fling herself from this high place onto the stones below.
Dathan had lied to her. Lied to her the way she would have lied to a frightened child who saw monsters in the dark. Swore he had not spent the evening with Cozbi, when he had. When everyone knew he had. Susannah had lain abed late that last morning in camp, troubled by things the angel had said and Dathan had not said, idly listening to voices outside the tent. And Dathan had been standing by the fire, and Cozbi had come by and made some laughing remark, the kind of remark one lover makes to another, and Dathan had laughed in return. And Susannah had realized he had lied to her, and that he had probably lied to her in the past, and that he would always lie to her, and that she still loved him.
And she had wanted the angel to take her away so that she would never have to look at Dathan’s face again.
But now that she was so far from him, hundreds of miles, maybe, likely to never see him again, she missed him so much and she hurt so much that she would really rather die than live.
The sill was not so high. She, who could climb treacherous mountain paths with a child in her arms or a heavy pack on her back, could easily swing up to the ledge and launch herself forward. The mountain face was steep here and she would probably fall a good distance. Far enough to break her neck.
She leaned her elbows on the sill and pillowed her chin in her hands and did not move for the next hour. Just stared out the window and imagined her fall.
When the chime sounded, she jumped back from the window and glanced around the room, unable to identify the source. She heard music here all day and all night, and she could not identify that source, either, but at least that seemed remote and unthreatening. This noise had been much closer and insistent. As if she was supposed to do something about it.
The chime called again and was followed immediately by a quick knocking on the door. “Hello? Are you in there? Can I come in?”
Susannah did not recognize the voice, a woman’s, so she did not answer. Then again, she had met dozens of people during her short stay here, and she did not think she would recognize any of their voices if they called to her through a closed door. Gaaron’s. No one else’s.
“Please? Can I come in?”
Susannah shrugged. “Yes,” she said finally.
Instantly, the door was flung open and a radian
t girl stepped inside. She looked no older than Keren, but there the resemblance ended. Where Keren was night-dark as any Edori, this girl was fair as daylight, her hair a bright yellow and her skin flawlessly white. She wore Keren’s same look of mischief, though, contained in one exceptional smile.
“Oh, I just got back from Gaza this morning and I could not wait to meet you,” she said, tumbling into the room and looking around as if greedy for details Susannah may have imprinted on the furnishings in three short days. “I know I should have waited for Gaaron or Esther to bring me by, but once I heard the story, there was no holding me back. But you haven’t come out of your room! It’s nearly noon! I couldn’t wait any longer.”
Susannah, whose heart was breaking into two parts, actually felt a smile come to her face at this artless speech. “I am glad you have come to meet me,” she said gravely. “I’m Susannah. Who are you?”
“But I’m Miriam, of course!” the girl said, coming closer so she could get a better look. “Gaaron’s sister. He probably hasn’t mentioned me—or if he did, he said such dreadful things about me that you were afraid to meet me.”
Susannah’s smile grew wider. “I think he did say your name once or twice,” she said. “I don’t remember any dreadful details.”
“I’m the bane of his existence,” Miriam said promptly. “But it’s his own fault for being gone just now so he couldn’t introduce me to you as he should have.”
“Gaaron’s gone?”
“Yes, Esther said he left this morning for—for somewhere first, and then for Windy Point. He should be back in about a week. But let’s not talk about him! Tell me about you! Who are you and why are you here and are you really going to marry my brother? That’s so romantic!”
“It doesn’t feel very romantic,” Susannah said. “In fact, right now I’m feeling—very alone and—scared and—lost.”
Miriam came up and put a hand on either side of Susannah’s face. Like Gaaron, she had warm skin, even in this chilly mountain hold, and her eyes were Edori-dark. “And sad,” the girl said in quick sympathy. “But no one wants you to be sad. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Feeling the tears rise, Susannah stepped away, and Miriam dropped her hands. “I miss my friends—my family,” Susannah said. “I don’t know anyone here. And it’s so . . .” She laughed softly. “How can you live this way, all separated from each other by walls and hallways? I am used to having everyone I love right at the end of my fingertips. I have never slept alone a single night in my life.”
Miriam had crossed the room to the too-soft bed and plopped herself on it with a little bounce. She patted the covers in invitation, and Susannah settled next to her. It seemed much more comfortable when two people were sitting on it than when one person was trying to sleep in it. “Really? You all sleep in tents? With a lot of other people?”
Susannah laughed again. The action drove the tears a little farther away. “I don’t know what you consider a lot. There were six besides me in the tent I shared with the Lohoras. Seven with the Tachitas.”
Miriam’s eyes opened wide. “All in one tent? How was there enough room?”
“Everyone curled up together like puppies.”
“We could do that here, I suppose,” Miriam said thoughtfully. “Though I don’t think I’d want a bunch of us sleeping in one bed. But I’ll stay in your room with you, if you want. And I bet Zibiah will. And Chloe and Sela. Oh, and the little girl—she follows Zibiah everywhere, she’ll have to come.”
Susannah was touched to the heart by this easy offer of companionship. “Miriam, that’s so kind of you! But I can’t take you up on such generosity.”
“Zibiah and I sleep over all the time,” Miriam said dismissively. “Nicholas and Ahio used to, too, but Gaaron put a stop to that and now they won’t even when I ask them to, because Gaaron said so. Even if no one will find out. As if I—but that’s Gaaron for you, everything has to be so strict.”
Susannah was smiling again. This breathless girl seemed to have the knack for amusing her. “Who are all these people?”
“Nicholas, Ahio, Chloe, and Zibiah are angels. Sela’s a mortal, like me. And they’re my best friends, though Zibiah is my best best friend. And she’ll do anything I ask, so I know she’ll come sleep over with you, too.”
“That’s so kind,” Susannah said again. “But I know it’s not your custom to share quarters that way. And, I suppose, it’s time for me to become used to angel ways.”
Miriam leaned forward. “So it’s true? You’re really going to marry my brother?”
Susannah spread her hands in a gesture of complete uncertainty. “I suppose so. I—he said the god decreed it and—here I am. I guess I’ll go ahead and do what he wants.”
“No, no, no, no,” Miriam scolded. “You can’t just do what Gaaron wants! Everyone does what Gaaron wants! You have to be a little troublesome. It’s good for him.”
Susannah smiled. “Why does everyone do what he wants? Are they afraid of him?”
“Oh, no. It’s because he’s always right. It’s very annoying. Nicholas and Ahio think he’s practically the god himself, it’s always ‘Gaaron said this’ and ‘Gaaron said that,’ and I can’t stand it.” Miriam’s expression was of righteous indignation. “I mean, it’s unbearable.”
Susannah thought of Keren’s fights with Eleazar, who was also an unimaginative and sober type, and she could completely understand. Even Susannah had found Eleazar a little hard to take at times. And Gaaron was even more strict and judgmental? The thought was too depressing. “Well, I don’t suppose we have to marry right away,” she said, trying to make her voice sound cheerful. “Maybe we can get to know each other a little first.”
Miriam wriggled where she sat. “Make him woo you,” she suggested. “Make him bring you flowers—and write you poems—and sing you love songs.”
Susannah was amused. “Gaaron is the type to do those things?”
“No! That’s why you must make him do them. It will be good for him to have to court you. It will make him less sure of himself. And then, when he falls in love with you, then you can marry him.”
But talk of love instantly made her think of Dathan, not Gaaron. “As I understand it, there does not have to be love between the Archangel and his bride. Only a certain understanding.”
Miriam rolled her eyes. “Well, of course he’ll fall in love with you. It always happens. Even Hagar and Uriel were in love with each other, though the stories say they fought all the time.”
“Who?”
“Hagar and Uriel—the first angelica and the first Archangel. Oh, never mind them. The point is, you will make Gaaron’s life difficult, and he will fall in love with you, but you won’t let him know you’re in love with him, but your Kiss will light when he walks into a room, and his Kiss will light when you speak his name, and it will be very romantic.”
“What’s this? The Kisses will do what?”
“Don’t you know anything? The legends say that Kiss calls to Kiss, that when true lovers meet for the first time, their Kisses light with fire and heat with flame. I’ve never seen it happen,” Miriam added, “but I know it’s true. And if the Archangel and the angelica aren’t true lovers, brought together by Jovah, then who else could possibly be?”
“But I’ve already met your brother. And my Kiss behaved very well, thank you, and I’m sure his didn’t send off any sparks, either.”
Miriam shrugged. “Sometimes it takes a while.”
“Oh, I’m sure. And sometimes it never happens at all.”
Miriam smiled and jumped from the bed. “You watch,” she said. “I’m starving. Let’s go to the kitchen.”
Susannah had eaten very little at the dinner last night, though Gaaron, sitting beside her, and Esther, bringing in five or six different trays to tempt her, had been most solicitous. She’d skipped breakfast this morning, choosing instead to stand at her window and contemplate death. She had not felt any stirring of hunger the whole three days she’d been here.
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“I’m starving, too,” she said, astonished to realize it. “I’d love to get something to eat.”
Over their meal in the nearly empty dining room, Miriam bombarded Susannah with questions, only sometimes waiting to hear the answer before she asked another. She wanted to learn more about the Edori lifestyle, and Susannah’s two families, and, once she heard his name, everything about Dathan. But she was quick and empathetic, in addition to being curious. When Susannah said stiffly that she would rather not discuss Dathan just now, Miriam instantly changed the subject.
“You sing, of course,” she said, but even so, her tone was questioning. “Don’t all the Edori get together and sing once a year at some kind of Gloria of their own?”
Susannah smiled. “The Gathering? Yes, singing is a part of it, though there is much, much more. It is a chance for all the clans to gather together, to share the things they’ve learned and experienced during the months that they are apart.”
“Yes, but you do sing,” Miriam repeated.
Susannah eyed her. “Yes, I enjoy singing. Why is it so important to you that I do?”
Miriam’s brown eyes opened very wide. “Because you’ll have to sing at the Gloria, of course. You’ll have to lead the mass that everyone sings at dawn. The angelica always does.”
“Me? All by myself? Singing the Gloria? I don’t think I can do that.”
“Well, usually just the opening section is the angelica’s solo. I mean, all the masses are written for at least two voices, a man’s and a woman’s, and every mass has a choral response. So you aren’t singing the whole thing by yourself, but—well, some of it!” Miriam smiled with a charming, mischievous dimple. “It’s rude to ask, of course, but do you have a good voice? Because it’s really important.”
“I—my voice is fine, I suppose, but I—well, I don’t know any masses! And when is the Gloria? In the spring?”
