by Sharon Shinn
Her silence caught his attention, and he looked over at her with a little smile. “And you are thinking that one of my difficult assignments is Miriam,” he said. “And you are thinking that Jovah gave me a rare task there.”
“That’s not what I was thinking,” she said quietly.
He stretched, and those fatigued muscles rippled and lay quiet again. “I disappointed my father in every way, and I had a chance of carrying out his dream,” he said. “You can imagine how he felt about Miriam, who could offer him nothing. She has lived her whole life trying to prove to him that she could be worse than he even imagined.”
“I don’t think he’s the one she’s proving it to anymore.”
He thought that over and nodded. “So I have become my father in her eyes? I have tried very hard not to. But Miriam was set long ago on a path of self-destruction. And loving her does not seem to have done much to turn her feet another way.”
“I think you have done as much for her as you can,” she said softly, coming to her feet. “Now it is up to Miriam to decide what road to take.”
He looked up at her in surprise. “You’re leaving?”
“Gaaron, you look exhausted. I’m going to let you sleep for a few hours. Don’t answer the door. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll handle Miriam and any questions that come our way.”
“You’re tired, too,” he protested, but he did not stand. He did not look capable of standing.
She stepped around the table between them and laid her hands on his tousled hair. He had changed into reasonable clothes before they rushed off to Velora, but he had not thought to comb out his hair, tangled from sleep. For a moment he looked young and vulnerable; his resemblance to Miriam was suddenly pronounced.
“Get some sleep, Gaaron,” she said quietly. “I can manage just fine for a few hours without you.”
She bent down to kiss him on the top of the head, between her spread fingers. So she would have kissed Amram or Kaski or Keren or anyone who had been crying. His hands lifted hesitantly—paused in midair—settled again along his thighs. She drew back and smiled down at him.
“You’re a good brother,” she said. “I’ll tell Miriam what you’ve decided. Now get some sleep.”
He watched her to the door, neither rising to escort her out nor to set the lock behind her. She felt his eyes upon her back but did not turn around to look at him again before shutting the door between them. She was too tired to hurry down the hallway and around the corner, so she moved slowly, her steps measured, her face grave. At her own doorway she paused, not sure if Miriam or Kaski or anyone else would be inside. She glanced from side to side, but no one appeared to be stirring in this corner of the world.
So she pulled off her jacket there in the hallway to inspect the source of pain on the upper portion of her right arm. Not pain, exactly, but a sense of pressure, a faint hot lick of heat. She was not surprised to see the pale Kiss in her arm threaded with a glowing white coil. She put her left hand out to touch it, but the crystal dome remained cool to the touch, though the tight opal spiral in its depths still sparked and twisted. A tiny flush, a breathless exhalation of excitement; this could not, surely, be the flaring and flaming that Miriam had talked about when she told dreamy tales of Kisses igniting when true lovers revealed themselves to each other.
She pulled her jacket back on and pushed open the door.
C hapter T hirteen
Nicholas and Ahio took Miriam and Susannah to Luminaux, and never once asked why.
The trip took two and a half days and was accomplished with remarkable economy, since Miriam was not disposed to disrupt plans by sleeping late or wandering off in the mornings before everyone else was awake. She was quiet and well-behaved, a little cowed, Susannah thought, and both Ahio and Nicholas eyed her with a certain speculation as the trip proceeded. Like Susannah, they had expected more temper.
Like Susannah, they did not really believe Miriam had changed.
They stayed each night in small inns along the way, where the owners scrambled to give them the best rooms and the most sumptuous meals they could provide. Susannah was pleased to see that Miriam and both angels were gracious guests, though the standards of luxury these small-town innkeepers could meet were nothing like they were used to at the Eyrie. Nonetheless, they thanked everyone warmly and always said complimentary things about the cooking. One night, when requested, the two angels sang for the other diners, an event that seemed to leave everyone in the room blissful with disbelief. A rare treat, to hear an angel singing! Even more than the special seasonings, those songs turned the common meal into a fabulous banquet.
They arrived in Luminaux before noon on the third day. Susannah, riding comfortably in Ahio’s arms for the morning, had been thinking hard about how exactly to leave Miriam behind, how to make the transition seem less abrupt. Therefore, once they had made their landing and they were all standing on their own feet again, she turned to the angels with a cheerful smile on her face.
“I’m sure the two of you know how to entertain yourselves in Luminaux,” she said.
Nicholas grinned. “Anybody could.”
“Then I’d like you to find something entertaining, and meet me back here tomorrow morning.”
That surprised them. Ahio’s blond eyebrows rose, and Nicholas made a soundless whistle. “What will you be doing all that time?” Nicholas asked cautiously. “I don’t think Gaaron—”
“I think Gaaron has left this in my hands,” she interrupted. “I will take Miriam, and you two will go somewhere else, and in the morning the three of us will meet back here at”—she glanced around her—“at the front of the Divinity Club, whatever that might be.”
Ahio grinned. “Music bar,” he said. “Good music, too.”
“One would expect good music in Luminaux,” Susannah said loftily.
Nicholas turned his attention to Miriam, who was looking around her with interest, though the expression on her face was not nearly as lively as it usually was. “How about you, little girl?” he asked. “Are you going to be all right here?”
She turned her dark eyes his way, a scowl across her brows. “I’m not a little girl.”
Nicholas ruffled her hair. “No, you’re a little hellion,” he said affectionately. “We’ll miss you.”
She flicked him another unreadable but far from tame look. “Susannah was right,” she said. “You should go now.”
Ahio ignored the warning expression and stepped forward to take the blond girl into a tight embrace. He whispered something into her hair that made her laugh and squirm to get free, but she was still smiling when Nicholas also gave her a hug.
“You boys behave yourselves,” she said with a hint of her old mischief, and they laughed.
Susannah pointed. “This way,” she said to Miriam, and guided her through the streets of Luminaux.
They passed meat vendors selling pies and musicians singing on the street corners; they walked by an array of little shops selling everything from jewelry to toys. The sun poured down over the blue rooflines and across the sparkling sapphire-studded marble of the buildings. Everything glittered with azure highlights, and the sky itself was a concentrated color not seen anywhere else in Samaria. It was hard to walk through Luminaux and not be happy, Susannah thought. Even Miriam appeared to be enjoying herself as they strolled along.
Frida sia Mirita had opened a small bakery along one sunny boulevard of the city more than five years ago, and today it appeared to be doing a brisk business. There were trays of glazed sweets arrayed in the display window, the tantalizing scent of bread and sugar drifting out the open door, and half a dozen customers inside, making purchases and stuffing pastries into their mouths.
“Looks like Frida would be happy to have more hands available to help,” Susannah said as they entered the shop. Miriam gave her a sideways glance and did not respond.
The two girls working behind the counter were Frida’s daughters, Susannah knew, though she had not met them durin
g the summer when the Lohoras stayed near Luminaux. When Susannah approached, they looked up with the typical Edori welcoming smile.
“Is Frida here?” Susannah asked. “I have a favor to ask of her. I am Susannah of the Tachitas and the Lohoras, and she will remember my name.”
Frida was elbow-deep in a vat of dough but exclaimed with delight when Susannah stepped into the back room. “Susannah! I have heard such stories of you lately! What changes there have been in your life since you were here this summer! Let me wash my hands and sit down with you for a few minutes.”
“I hate to pull you away from your work, when it is obviously so successful,” Susannah said with a smile. The instant she was around an Edori again, she picked up those lilting, semiformal patterns of speech. “I still cannot believe you are a businesswoman. What would your father say?”
Frida laughed and dried her hands on a scrap of cloth. “My father never slept in the same spot for two nights running,” she retorted. “But my mother—she was half allali, you know. She liked to buy things and own things. She had a use for money, and she taught me some allali ways.”
Susannah glanced around the kitchen, clean and well-apportioned. Here the scent of yeast was strong, and the rich smell of baking bread made her whole body yearn with hunger. “You appear to have learned very well,” she said. “I am impressed.”
Frida came over to give her a hug and then drew them both to a small table in the back of the cluttered kitchen. She called out directions to two young women minding the stoves, and then settled herself at the table.
“But you have a story these days that I am crazy to hear,” Frida said. “You have left the people to go live with the angels! To be the bride of the new Archangel! Susannah, how did this come about?”
There had been no chance that that tale would not have circulated immediately among the Edori, the travelers who shared news with every other chance-met clan. In fact, Susannah had counted on Frida knowing her story before she ever set foot in the bakery.
“It is partly because of my new circumstances that I am here to see you today,” Susannah said softly. “Yes, the god has directed that I go live with the angels now. And the man I am to marry has a young sister . . .”
The story was long and not quickly told, but Frida listened with genuine interest, interjecting comments from time to time. Susannah edited out any reference to Dathan, and tried to make the whole event seem less fantastical than she knew it was. By the shrewd expression on Frida’s face, she could tell the older woman realized there were parts of the story she was not being told. But Frida nodded, and listened, and absorbed it all without asking difficult questions.
“So this sister—Miriam—you have brought her to Luminaux with you? I would be happy to take her in,” Frida said.
Susannah smiled at this easy offer. “Gaaron thought I would have a hard time convincing you to take responsibility for her,” she said. “He was afraid to ask what you might charge me for such a service! Because he can think of nothing else to do with her.”
Frida brushed this off with a laugh. “Ah, he does not know the Edori ways! How many times has a daughter of the Manderras been shipped off to the Havitas because the Manderras could no longer control her? And how many Bar-cerra boys have gone to live with the Chievens to learn to behave? The Edori know that we are all family, and that every hand must pitch in. I will happily take in the angel’s sister for as long as he needs.”
“She is wild,” Susannah warned. “And I do not expect you to be able to curb that wildness. Just—just to give her a safe place to live.”
Frida nodded. “I understand. And to show her a different face of love. My daughters will adore her.”
Susannah smiled. “You have not even met her. You cannot know that for sure.”
Frida smiled back. “You adore her,” she pointed out. “She must be very easy to love.”
Susannah came to her feet. “Come meet her,” she said.
Almost to her surprise, Susannah saw that Miriam was still in the bakery, having waited patiently all this time. She’d purchased a cream-filled pastry and was eating it slowly, concentrating on every bite. She looked over at Susannah and Frida when they emerged from the back room, and the expression on her face was guarded and hard to read.
Frida marched right up to her and put her hands on both slim shoulders. “You are Miriam, and you’ve come to stay with me a little while,” she said. “I am very happy to have you. I think you’ll like Luminaux so much you won’t ever want to go back to the Eyrie.”
Unexpectedly, Miriam smiled at that, a brilliant, absolutely winsome smile. “I think you may be right,” she said.
When most of the customers had cleared out, Frida introduced Miriam and Susannah to her daughters, explaining the story, and they all paused for an afternoon snack. But there was no such thing as a truly quiet moment at the bakery. Every few minutes someone else came in to buy bread for dinner or cake for a party, and someone had to hop up to wait on the customer and make the sale. Miriam was behaving extremely well, talking gaily with the daughters and presenting her best manners to Frida, but Susannah could tell Frida was not deceived. The Edori woman watched the angel’s sister with the small smile of a woman who had raised three daughters and could map out any girl’s heart without a single mistake.
They had been at the bakery for nearly two hours and were now discussing evening plans, when the door opened again and three customers stepped in. Susannah did not automatically look up, as Frida and her girls did every time someone walked in, so she did not instantly realize the newcomers were Edori. And Edori who recognized her.
Until “Susannah!” was shrieked into the quiet room and suddenly she was in the middle of a screaming, crying, gesticulating crowd of women. “Susannah! You’re here! Susannah! Susannah!”
“Keren—Tirza—Claudia! Oh, I cannot believe it! You’re in Luminaux! Oh, it is so good to see you! Where are you camped? Why are you back here so soon? Oh, look at you, look at your beautiful face—”
They would not answer any of her questions but demanded she tell them her own story. “To leave like that—so suddenly—and then we heard nothing more from you, not a word,” Claudia said, her voice scolding and even now a little shaken. Susannah remembered with remorse that final morning in the Edori camp, the fight with Dathan, the look at Gaaron that invited him to take her, if he really wanted to take her, the leave-taking that had occurred without a single good-bye.
“Oh—such a long story—we cannot talk here, not in the middle of Frida’s bakery,” Susannah said, stammering a little.
“Use the back room. The other girls are gone for the day,” Frida offered.
“No, no, come back to camp with us,” Tirza said impatiently. “How long are you in Luminaux? Spend the night with us.”
“I couldn’t,” Susannah said, feeling a moment’s panic. “I was going to stay with Frida for the evening and leave in the morning—”
“Come back with us,” Claudia said firmly. “You can stay in my tent if there is not enough room in Eleazar’s. It will do you good to be with the people again for at least one night.”
An unexpected voice spoke next. “Yes, Susannah, let’s camp with the Lohoras tonight,” Miriam said, her words clear and distinct. “I can come back to Frida’s in the morning.”
In the end, because she could not come up with any rational argument not to except I want to too much, Susannah agreed to spend the night with the Lohoras, Miriam coming along. The clan was camped just outside the city limits, where they had been for five days.
“Bartholomew has had a fever for a week or more, so we have stayed in Luminaux, where we could buy medicine from an apothecary,” Tirza explained as they walked back through the city streets toward camp. They traveled erratically, detouring to pick up cheese at this stall and fresh fruit at a little shop. And, of course, they had to pause frequently to admire merchandise deemed desirable by Keren—who seemed to have formed an instant friendship with Miri
am. The two young women walked ahead of the other three, their heads together; Claudia had drifted to the other side of the street and was eyeing the vendor carts there. Tirza and Susannah had been left more or less alone to talk freely.
“Bartholomew is ill?” Susannah exclaimed. “He’s never sick!”
“And he’s much better. I think we’ll leave in a day or so. But it’s made us so lazy you cannot imagine, since we haven’t had to cook or hunt for a week. We just walk into the city and buy whatever we need.” She laughed. “I think it will be very hard on Keren when we pull up stakes. She has loved being here.”
“How is she? How are you—how is everyone? I cannot believe—it has been so long, it seems like a lifetime—”
“I wish you could have gotten in touch with us, Susannah,” Tirza said quietly. “We all knew where you had gone and that you must be safe, but it was so difficult not to know how you were feeling, if you were lonely or if you were happy. It was so hard to see you leave like that, without even a good-bye.”
I didn’t have a choice, Susannah wanted to say. Gaaron stole me from the campsite—what could I do? But she knew that wasn’t true. Tirza knew it wasn’t true. That last night in camp, after that strange and disturbing conversation with Gaaron, Susannah had slipped back into Eleazar’s tent to find everyone else asleep. She had picked her way through the tangled bodies to find Tirza and shake her awake, and she had knelt beside the other woman’s pallet and whispered into her ear the whole transcript of the conversation with the angel.
Tirza had told her to go.
Susannah had said she would not.
