thought to bring her myself,” he said. “It did not work out that way.”
“But you have found her? Jovah has identified her?”
“Oh, yes. He’s identified her.”
Raphael was watching him with those golden eyes. The direct question would be impossible to evade, but Raphael did not ask it. He merely gave Gabriel that sleepy smile that so many mortals found endearing. “Well, I look forward to meeting her,” he said. “Jovah’s choices are always instructive.”
Which comment did not improve Gabriel’s mood either.
He endured the hours in the ballroom, successfully pleading ineptitude to avoid having to dance (Nathan was one of the few angels who had mastered the art and managed to hold his wings close enough to his body to prevent their being trod upon by everyone else on the floor). Gabriel made polite conversation with the merchants who were standing near him, dodged the angel Saul most of the evening, and went to bed exhausted by the effort of trying to conceal his true emotions for hours on end.
He woke in the morning conscious of two things—excessive heat and a dull ache in his right arm. The source of the heat was quickly identified—Jethro’s admirable servants had slipped into the room while he was still sleeping and built a fire, an amenity that was completely unnecessary for an angel. For the pain in hisarm he could find no immediate explanation. He rubbed the muscles along his biceps, wondering if he had slept oddly during the night. In a few minutes, the soreness evaporated, and he forgot about it.
It was a busy day. The wedding breakfast was elaborate, the marriage ceremony itself extraordinarily long and solemnly performed. The only part of the event that Gabriel actually enjoyed was the singing. But he always loved to sing.
It was when he, Nathan, Raphael, Saul, Magdalena and Ariel were aloft and in the middle of the Te Deum that he realized why his arm had hurt so much that morning. The angels had joined hands to form a circle, Nathan as always managing to get hold of Magdalena’s fingers. Even as the swell of the music bathed him in a mild rapture, Gabriel watched them; he saw that Magdalena very properly had her face turned toward Jovah but Nathan’s eyes were fixed on the Monteverde angel. Angels could not intermarry—it was one of their few prohibitions—and it was a law that had never been transgressed. But Nathan had been in love with Magdalena these past three years, and time did not seem to be diminishing his affection.
And indeed, when they were near each other, if you watched for it, you could see the faint flicker in the heart of each angel’s Kiss, the divine reply of one to another. Jovah in all his wisdom had not foreseen that.
Gabriel tightened his grip on Nathan’s hand, and his brother turned his face upward to the god. Again, Gabriel was half-drowned in the glory of the music. His tenor note held firm against Magdalena’s descending alto line, and when Ariel’s soprano rose ecstatically above both, he felt himself tremble all the way to the tips of his wings. Then his own voice took the lead, while the rest fell back in choral harmony, and he sang the words of invitation and celebration with delight.
And at that moment he felt the stabbing pain in his right arm again, and he suddenly knew what it was. A response to the music, a response to his voice, a response to him. The Kiss on his own arm was alive with muted sparks, and he felt that heat down to its anchor in his bone.
Against all probability, Rachel was in Semorrah, perhaps even in the hall below them, near enough to hear him and attuned enough to react to the sound of his voice.
* * *
It became a matter of importance, therefore, to speak to every woman in the house. It was a very different Gabriel who attended to his social duties this day. At the luncheon, the following reception, the dinner, the second ball, he moved with great determination through the throngs and engaged each of the women in
“But you have found her? Jovah has identified her?”
“Oh, yes. He’s identified her.”
Raphael was watching him with those golden eyes. The direct question would be impossible to evade, but Raphael did not ask it. He merely gave Gabriel that sleepy smile that so many mortals found endearing. “Well, I look forward to meeting her,” he said. “Jovah’s choices are always instructive.”
Which comment did not improve Gabriel’s mood either.
He endured the hours in the ballroom, successfully pleading ineptitude to avoid having to dance (Nathan was one of the few angels who had mastered the art and managed to hold his wings close enough to his body to prevent their being trod upon by everyone else on the floor). Gabriel made polite conversation with the merchants who were standing near him, dodged the angel Saul most of the evening, and went to bed exhausted by the effort of trying to conceal his true emotions for hours on end.
He woke in the morning conscious of two things—excessive heat and a dull ache in his right arm. The source of the heat was quickly identified—Jethro’s admirable servants had slipped into the room while he was still sleeping and built a fire, an amenity that was completely unnecessary for an angel. For the pain in hisarm he could find no immediate explanation. He rubbed the muscles along his biceps, wondering if he had slept oddly during the night. In a few minutes, the soreness evaporated, and he forgot about it.
It was a busy day. The wedding breakfast was elaborate, the marriage ceremony itself extraordinarily long and solemnly performed. The only part of the event that Gabriel actually enjoyed was the singing. But he always loved to sing.
It was when he, Nathan, Raphael, Saul, Magdalena and Ariel were aloft and in the middle of the Te Deum that he realized why his arm had hurt so much that morning. The angels had joined hands to form a circle, Nathan as always managing to get hold of Magdalena’s fingers. Even as the swell of the music bathed him in a mild rapture, Gabriel watched them; he saw that Magdalena very properly had her face turned toward Jovah but Nathan’s eyes were fixed on the Monteverde angel. Angels could not intermarry—it was one of their few prohibitions—and it was a law that had never been transgressed. But Nathan had been in love with Magdalena these past three years, and time did not seem to be diminishing his affection.
And indeed, when they were near each other, if you watched for it, you could see the faint flicker in the heart of each angel’s Kiss, the divine reply of one to another. Jovah in all his wisdom had not foreseen that.
Gabriel tightened his grip on Nathan’s hand, and his brother turned his face upward to the god. Again, Gabriel was half-drowned in the glory of the music. His tenor note held firm against Magdalena’s descending alto line, and when Ariel’s soprano rose ecstatically above both, he felt himself tremble all the way to the tips of his wings. Then his own voice took the lead, while the rest fell back in choral harmony, and he sang the words of invitation and celebration with delight.
And at that moment he felt the stabbing pain in his right arm again, and he suddenly knew what it was. A response to the music, a response to his voice, a response to him. The Kiss on his own arm was alive with muted sparks, and he felt that heat down to its anchor in his bone.
Against all probability, Rachel was in Semorrah, perhaps even in the hall below them, near enough to hear him and attuned enough to react to the sound of his voice.
* * *
It became a matter of importance, therefore, to speak to every woman in the house. It was a very different Gabriel who attended to his social duties this day. At the luncheon, the following reception, the dinner, the second ball, he moved with great determination through the throngs and engaged each of the women in
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