Archangel (15 page)

Confounding her new community gave her enormous satisfaction, but it only filled a few minutes of every day. For the most part, she was profoundly bored.

Boredom had driven her to the kitchen early on, where she and the red-faced cook had forged a quick friendship. True to her word, Rachel had taught the woman twenty or so of the finer dishes she had learned to prepare in Lord Jethro’s household. This
had been a way of passing the time, although she had been forced to strangle unhappy memories of slavery. In fact, she might have spent only one afternoon in the kitchen had not Gabriel made it imperative that she return as often as possible.

She had to admit that was not what he’d intended.

He had been back for one of his rare dinners at the Eyrie, and the cook had wanted to make him a special meal. Braised beef livers in wine-and-mushroom sauce; Rachel remembered the menu very clearly. The meal had proceeded well enough, if you discounted the fact that Judith had joined Gabriel, Rachel, Nathan and Hannah at the table in the dining hall reserved for the leader of the host. Nathan had even complimented Rachel on her gown.

“Is that one you made yourself, or part of Lord Jethro’s dowry?” Gabriel had asked.

She disliked being reminded that she owed anything to Jethro’s charity, but she managed not to scowl. “My own,” she said.

“It’s very pretty.”

Nathan reached over to rub a fold of the material between his fingers. “Nice and heavy,” he teased. “Warm as a blanket.”

She smiled at him. She found Nathan much easier to like than his brother. “Not nearly warm enough,” she retorted.

“Are you cold?” Gabriel asked.

“Most mortals are cold in the holds,” Hannah murmured.

“How can you even ask?” Nathan demanded. “She always wears sleeves down to her fingertips and about five layers of clothing.”

“But despite all that—you’re still chilled?”

The concern disarmed her. “I’m fine,” she said. She was relieved for the slight diversion when one of the cook’s assistants came by to refill their water glasses. “Thank you,” she said, smiling at the girl. The girl smiled back and departed.

“You don’t have to thank them
every
time,” Judith said.

Rachel’s wary attention swung back to the beautiful dark-haired girl. “What?”

“When they bring you your water. When they bring you your dinner. When they take away your plates. Every time someone approaches the table, you thank them. It’s a little excessive.”

There was a moment’s blank silence. It was so rude that Rachel could mot even be offended. Hannah was the one to speak, in her well-bred, perfectly pitched voice. “Actually, Judith,” said
the Manadavvi woman, “you yourself could show the servants a little more appreciation without being considered guilty of any social indiscretion.”

Judith pettishly hunched her shoulders. “They’re doing their jobs,” she said. “They don’t need thanks—they’re getting a good salary. It’s not like they’re slaves, after all.”

“Judith!” This from Gabriel, of course.

“Oh, I
am
sorry,” the girl said, turning ingenuous eyes on Rachel. “I didn’t mean to say anything to bring up—you know, your other life …”

“You meant to be cruel, and you were cruel,” Gabriel said. “I would have thought your upbringing and the smallest streak of courtesy would have prevented you from saying such things.”

Rachel could not help it. She smiled warmly, if insincerely, at the angel for championing her. “
Thank
you,” she said.

Judith jumped to her feet with a little huff. “I didn’t
mean
it,” she protested. “You’re all just determined to think the worst of me.”

“Now, Judith, don’t get all upset over nothing,” Nathan began, but she had whirled around and run from the table. Nathan watched her go and sighed. “There’s trouble in a very pretty package,” he said.

Rachel worked hard to keep her pleasure from showing. She couldn’t stand the troublesome, pretty package herself, and it was hard to gauge exactly how Gabriel felt about this childhood friend. On the few occasions when Gabriel
was
at the Eyrie, Judith always seemed to be there too. This defection was almost a first.

“She’s getting too old to keep trading on her childish ways,” Hannah said. “Someone’s going to have to take her in hand. We should be looking for a suitable husband for her.”

There was an unexpected, wooden quality to the ensuing silence. Rachel looked up from her plate to find everyone else studying familiar hangings on the walls. “What?” she said. “What’s so hard about finding her a husband?”

“The task of arranging marriages often falls to the angelica,” Gabriel said expressionlessly.

Rachel stared at him. “You want
me
to look around for a husband for
Judith
?”

“Not any time soon,” Gabriel said somewhat hastily.

“Judith can’t stand me! And I am not even an advocate of marriage!”

“Unfortunate, since you will be married in a few weeks,” was his dry response.

“You know what I meant! The Edori do not believe in marriage—”

“Neither, apparently, does Judith,” Nathan said irrepressibly.

“Coming from an angel who does not hold to high moral standards himself, that remark is singularly unkind,” Hannah said.

“Well, I’m not going to be responsible for her,” Rachel said decisively. “She’s your friend. You find her a husband.”

“She’s partial to angels. We could send her back with Raphael when he comes,” Nathan suggested.

Gabriel bent a quelling look on his brother. “Is it your wish,” he inquired, “that I send yet another person hurrying from the table in disgrace? If so, just continue making such ill-natured remarks.”

“Well,
he’s
in a poor humor,” Nathan said to Rachel. “Don’t cross him tonight of all nights.”

“What put him in such a temper?” she asked.

Nathan shrugged. “Actually, this is pretty much what he’s always like. It’s better not to cross him at any time.”

She risked a glance at Gabriel, to see how he was taking the banter, and found him busy with his food, ignoring them. “It’s good, isn’t it?” she asked.

He nodded, finishing up the last of his meat. “Our cooks must be practicing for the honor of serving the Archangel. I wonder where they got the recipes.”

Rachel intercepted a warning glance from Hannah, but did not interpret it correctly. “Oh, I spent the day in the kitchen, teaching them,” she said blithely. “If you think this is good—”

Gabriel dropped his fork. “
You
spent the day in the
kitchen
?
Cooking
?”

Rachel nodded. She saw that this wasn’t going over well, but too late. “Of course. I know how to make anything you’ve seen on any table in Semorrah. Better food than the Edori ate—and probably better than what the angels usually eat… .”

“You were cooking with the servants?”

Now she became defiant. “And why shouldn’t I? Is there something wrong with being in the kitchen? Is there something wrong with
food
? Is there—”

“You’re angelica! You have—or will have—the highest ranking position of any woman in the three provinces! You have duties to the people in your hold, to petitioners, to Jovah—and you spend your time cutting up carrots in the kitchen!”

“If one of my
duties
is to see that people eat—”

“Your behavior gives rise to just the sort of unkind remark that Judith made five minutes ago! How can you expect people to treat you with respect when you yourself have no dignity? Do you
want
people to make references to your years of slavery in Semorrah? Do you plan to converse with them on the differences in rank between a bondwoman and a servant? Do you think they will be interested in your stories of carrying coals and cleaning out chamber pots and waiting on strangers? Or are there other, more sordid tales you wish to share with visitors, and, indeed, with us—”

Like Judith, she had had no choice. She had swept to her feet, nearly knocking over her chair in her haste to be gone. “You scolded Judith, but you’re the one who’s offended by my shameful background,” she shot at him. “I can’t change what happened to me and neither can you. But I can live with it. And I don’t think you can. Any time you choose, just let me know, and I’ll be gone from here. You can pick an angelica more to your liking the second time around. Make both of us happy for a change.”

And she too had stormed from the room. After that, of course, only a meek woman would have eschewed the kitchen, and no one had ever called Rachel that. She had managed to spend part of nearly every day there, particularly those days when Gabriel was expected back at the Eyrie, Her only regret was that he never alluded to the fracas—or the infraction—again.

But the cook had been right. She had better things to do. Today was her wedding day.

She found Hannah awaiting her in her chamber, and gave the older woman a somewhat guilty smile. Rachel did not wish to be married, but neither did she wish to look ridiculous at the ceremony, so she had smothered her pride and asked Hannah’s help in getting ready. Hannah had chosen the gown and agreed to help her dress. And Rachel was late.

“Sorry,” was her brief apology.

“We don’t have a great deal of time to waste,” Hannah said. “Are you bathed? Is your hair washed?”

“I washed my hair this morning, but I think I should bathe again…”

They had perhaps an hour’s worth of work to do. Rachel was reminded of the day, a little more than four weeks ago, that she had dressed the nervous Lady Mary and explained the wedding night mysteries to her. No need to worry about that part of this marriage, however; the other day Gabriel had pointed out to Rachel the door to his own quarters and told her to look for him there “if you ever need me and I’m ever home.” It had been half an annoyance and half a relief to be so cavalierly dismissed.

Hannah worked swiftly to make up Rachel’s face and arrange her hair. The angels did not affect quite as much simplicity in their wedding attire as the mortals did, but Hannah had not gone to elaborate lengths. She had caught up a knot of Rachel’s hair in a gold clasp on top of her head, and coaxed some of the wild curls to spill down on either side of her face. The rest of the thick hair she allowed to hang free, tying tiny gold bows here and there in the dense tresses. The effect was at once windblown and elegant; Rachel liked it.

The gown, one of Jethro’s gifts, was also gold, an exact match for the color of Rachel’s hair. The rich silk was embroidered with gold thread in a pattern of doves, roses and deer, although the embroidery thread so closely matched the fabric that it was nearly impossible to make out the shapes. The cloth was stiff and heavy, encrusted with blond lace at the high neck and the tapered cuffs. It met Rachel’s only two requirements: It was warm, and the sleeves covered her arms an inch or so past her wrists.

Hannah stepped back to admire her handiwork. “You look beautiful,” she said. “Now if you can act somewhat regal—”

Rachel smiled. “I’ll try,” she said. “But it’s not something I’m good at.”

The door chimed. Nathan’s voice called, “Are you almost ready? Everyone is assembled.”

“Just a moment,” Hannah called back. “Go tell Gabriel we’re on the way.”

A few more minutes and they were done. They hurried from the room, through the tunnels and down to the bottom level of
the Eyrie. Music led them to the great open plateau, where the ceremony was to take place. Rachel stepped outside and her gown was instantly afire in the angled light of the late afternoon sun. She paused a moment to get her bearings.

As Hannah had promised, the plateau was warmed by a ring of braziers, all merry with fires. Several hundred people were crowded together in a space that seemed too small to accommodate them. Mortals were gathered on one side, angels on the other, with an aisle between them. Everyone was watching the doorway through which Rachel had entered. The muted, pervasive music was the sound of more than a hundred angels humming. She knew this mass; she had heard Hagar sing it. One written specifically for the ceremonies of joy.

Hannah had deserted her; what was she supposed to do? She stood there stupidly, lit by brilliant flame, unable to move. It was Gabriel who appeared suddenly at her side, a vision in black and silver and blue. He took her arm, and she clutched his in response. He slid his hand down until he reached her palm, and then he twined his fingers comfortingly with hers. He was smiling. The blueness of his eyes reflected the blueness of the sky. She felt some of her panic subside.

He walked her slowly forward, and the angels and the mortals closed ranks behind them. Soon they were in the center of the arena, and from all sides the audience pressed forward to watch them. Rachel felt her hand tighten on Gabriel’s, but he did not protest. A small man detached himself from the anonymous crowd and came forward with his hands outstretched. He had a dignified authority and a sweet expression, and the smile he directed at Rachel calmed her almost at once.

“I am Josiah,” he said to her in a low voice. “One of the oracles to the god. It is his wish that I speak the words that unite you in marriage to the angel Gabriel.”

Later, she did not remember a single word that Josiah said, although the whole marriage rite was a new one to her. She did not remember being cold, although she knew she had been; she did not remember a single song the angels sang, although their quiet background music never ceased. But she remembered Gabriel’s face, as she stood turned toward him, both of her hands now caught in his. He was so serious. His blue eyes, his striking features, the black hair falling in a frame around his cheeks—each
detail of his image was burned into her mind forever. She stared back at him and scarcely moved at all.

“Married in the sight of Jovah, the sight of angels, and the sight of men. Now and forever, till death dissolves the tie. Amen,” Josiah said. And cheers went up from the hundreds of voices around them.

Gabriel smiled at Rachel and at last dropped her hands. “Amen,” he said.

She smiled back, but she had no words.

That was the last moment of stillness she was to experience for the next few hours. From all sides, angels and mortals surged forward to offer congratulations and expressions of good will. The press of the crowd instantly separated them and Rachel felt herself tumble into the hands of strangers. “Thank you,” she said over and over again, mechanically, not meaning the words but not having the energy to tell hundreds of strangers the truth:
I do not want to be married. He does not want to be married to me
.