Angel-Seeker (24 page)

But Uriah was determined, and Obadiah thought he knew why: It gave the Jansai leader a certain amount of prestige to be seen in the company of an angel, especially if that angel appeared to be doing his bidding. But Obadiah did not really mind being constrained to perform, even in front of such a hostile audience. If, by some remote chance, Rebekah
were
in this crowd tonight and had failed to mark him as he made his slow progress across the fair, she would be almost certain to see him when he stepped onto the stage. See him or hear him. He had that much faith in the power of his voice.

Accordingly, he took the stage and smiled at the crowd, and gave them two songs that could offend nobody. He was rather proud of both his rendition and his reception, since it was obvious the audience had not expected to be moved by his performance. He wondered how many of them had heard an angel sing before—had made the
pilgrimage to the Plain of Sharon to observe the Gloria, or visited Raphael's debauched hold back when the Jansai and the Archangel were close allies. Some significant percentage of them, surely. And yet all of them appeared to be more moved than they had expected.

He bowed and exited the stage, trying not to give in to an irrational disappointment. Well, admit it, then, he had hoped for some divine reaction, a mark of the god's favor. He had not been able to erase from his mind the tales of how Gabriel's singing had always woken the colors in Rachel's Kiss. He had hoped for some sort of similar miracle, fashioned just for him: a flare in the crystalline heart of his own Kiss, proof that Rebekah was near and had overheard him. And that the god approved.

Ridiculous. How could he have been so foolish? Even if the god had made some effort to bring together Rachel and Gabriel, Nathan and Maga, it was hard to believe Jovah could have such interest in the doomed romance of a minor angel and an unimportant Jansai girl.

He joined the conference held behind the stage and graciously accepted the compliments of the men who pushed back here just to give him their praise. Slowly that crowd dispersed, leaving only Uriah and his attendants, and Uriah's energy was mostly directed to an argument with his son. A little bored by now, Obadiah glanced around the underlit clearing and was amused to see yet another Jansai boy hiding under the overhang of the platform, mesmerized by angel wings but too shy to come out of the shadows. He scarcely heard Uriah's curses and apologies, but willingly agreed to meet the Jansai again in the morning. He was just as happy when everyone left, and he could turn his attention to the lurking admirer.

“You can come out and talk to me if you like,” he invited, but he had to continue to cajole for another five minutes. It was quiet and strangely restful back here behind the stage, a welcome break from all the hell-bent Jansai machismo he'd been bombarded with for the past few hours. The Semorran harpist played a pensive melody, neither happy nor mournful, and the sputtering torchlight lent the whole scene flickering unreality.

“My name's Obadiah,” he said, thinking to coax the boy's name out of him in return. But no, that just sent his small hand up to cover his mouth, scarcely to be seen anyway under the feathered mask of
black and gold. The gesture sent the bracelets jangling on the boy's wrist, and Obadiah's eyes dropped automatically to the sound of gold against silver.

It was the silver that he recognized first. When he lifted his gaze to meet her own, it was the eyes he recognized next.

“
I
can't believe you're here,” the angel said.

Rebekah had taken three steps away from the overhang of the stage because, after all, what good did it do her to hide in shadows now that she had been discovered? But she was still having a hard time speaking.

“I looked for you, but then I thought—it would be too dangerous for you to try to come to this event, even in disguise, and so I gave up. But then I thought—if I sang—and you heard my voice—”

Incredible. He sounded as nervous as she felt, his words disjointed and his beautiful voice strained. He kept peering down at her, as if he was still not entirely positive she was the person he hoped to see. He was so tall. Behind him, the white wings lay like untouched snow, drifted into miraculously exquisite patterns.

“But I didn't
really
think you'd be here.”

“Obadiah,” she said.

He stood utterly mute.

“Obadiah,” she said again, just to feel her lips shaping the syllables again. “I wasn't going to come tonight. I was afraid to see you.”

“Afraid—of
me?
”

She shook her head. “Of—seeing you. Of learning I had remembered you wrong.” She smiled a little, behind the mask. “Or that I had remembered you right. Just as bad, you see.”

“Yes,” he said with such passion that she was sure he understood her entirely cryptic remark. “But which is it?”

That made her laugh. “I remembered right,” she said.

“I can't stand being in this city and having no way to see you,” he said. “I've been to Breven a hundred times, and never felt so—how can people live like this? How can you be so close to me and yet completely out of reach?”

“That's just how it has always been,” she said. “That's just my life.”

“I have to be able to see you,” he said.

She shifted on her feet and changed the subject. “How are your wounds?” she asked. “I don't see any scarring on your wing.”

He brought his left wing forward with a slow, sweeping motion. It draped from his shoulder to the ground like a carelessly thrown shawl. “Not a mark on me,” he said. “I'm completely whole. My leg, too.”

“So you made it back to Cedar Hills without incident?”

He gave a rather hollow laugh. “Not exactly. I was sick for a few days. But I mended. How was the trip to Castelana?”

She grimaced. “Boring. No more angels to take care of. And very little to do on the whole trip except argue with my mother and take care of the baby.”

“You're wearing my bracelet,” he said.

So he could change the subject just as quickly as she could. “Sometimes I do.”

“So you can be reminded of me?”

“I like it. It's pretty. I don't have much silver.”

“Point out the booth. I'll buy you whatever silver trinkets you like.”

“I don't need any more of your gifts, thank you.”

“Do you want me to go away?” he asked. “Do you want to forget me?”

She stared up at him. The feathers of the mask imperfectly rimmed the eyeholes, throwing little wavering fronds before her vision, making the edges blurry. Or maybe she was just having a hard time seeing clearly, thinking clearly. “I won't be able to forget you, even if you go away,” she said.

“I want to see you,” he said.

“You're seeing me.”

“Not like this.”

“Then what do you want?”

There was a sudden roar from the crowd as the harpist finished his song and then clattered down the steps, making more noise than it seemed one man should. Rebekah drew back into the shadows, saying nothing until the next group of performers tramped up the stairs and began to array themselves on the stage.

“Not like this,” Obadiah said again. “Where I'm afraid any minute that someone will see us together and question who you are. I want to be able to
talk
to you. I want to be able to see your face.”

“I'm betrothed to marry Isaac,” she said baldly.

He was silent so long that the musicians on the platform above them had time to warm up their instruments and dive into the first measures of their music. A reel of some sort, lively and inappropriate.

“When will you be married?” he asked at last.

She shook her head. “Sometime next spring. They have not finished all the arrangements yet.”

“Do you want to marry him?”

She shrugged and found herself on the move, unable to stand there so quietly discussing this. She paced away from the shadows and in a tight circle around the angel. He pivoted slowly, following her. “I don't know what I want! Marriage to somebody like Isaac is what my life has always held. Why should I not want to marry him? Because I have met you?” She stopped and stared at him. “I don't even know you,” she said.

“I hate to think of you living here,” he said, speaking very rapidly. “Trapped in some house, forced to wed at your stepfather's whim, forced to live as your husband says—with no voice, and no choice, in your own life.”

“That is the life of every Jansai woman. What else should I expect?”

“You could come back with me to Cedar Hills,” he said. She had the impression that the words surprised him just as much as they surprised her, but he pressed on after only a second's hesitation. “I realize—you don't know me—I understand that. But there is a great deal of work to be done in Cedar Hills. There is an entire hold to be
built, and there is work for all hands. You could sew or teach or watch the children. You could see me only when you wanted to. A woman can live on her own in Cedar Hills, can make her own way. And I would be a friend to you forever.”

“I can't leave Breven.”

“You say that because you have never been on your own,” he replied. “You're afraid. But it would not be frightening for long. Not as terrifying as living here, compelled to do as someone else decided—”

“But here at least I understand my place and my purpose,” she interrupted. “To go to Cedar Hills—to leave here and go anywhere—that is like asking me to jump in the ocean and live under the sea. That is like asking me to do something that is—that's not possible. That's crazy.”

“You don't have to decide tonight,” he said. “But think about it. Promise me that. You'll think about it.”

“Every time I see you I start thinking about things, whether or not I want to think about them,” she said crossly.

He grinned. “Well, then, I must hope that you see me quite often! I like to have you thinking about me and things I've said.”

“I am not always sure it was such a good thing that I found you by the water and saved your life,” she said with a little scowl.

“Well, it was a good thing for
me,
so I'm very happy you found me that day! I'm very happy I found you
this
day. And I want to see you again. How can I see you again?”

“There is no way,” she said.

“There has to be.”

She looked up at him, shaking her head in the negative, but her mind had not accepted that impossibility. She considered and discarded ideas even while she told him no.

“I will be here tomorrow night as well,” he said. “At the fair, I mean. I can stay another full day and another full night. If you will tell me someplace I can meet you.”

“There is no place,” she said, still trying to manufacture a different alternative.

“Can you get to my hotel?” he said. “I think we might be safe there.”

“At a Breven inn?” she said, her voice derisive.

“It's a Manadavvi establishment. The Hotel Verde.”

Her racing mind stopped dead on that thought. “The Hotel Verde,” she repeated. “Do they have any Jansai servants working there?”

He shook his head eagerly. “No! Only Manadavvi. And there's a woman who works there, the daughter of the owner, she goes about with her face uncovered. All the time. Even in the market.”

“Her complexion must be as rough as a man's,” Rebekah said without thinking.

Obadiah smiled. “That wasn't my point.”

“Yes. I know. Your point was that, if I could make it to your hotel, I would be safe there from prying eyes. But that would mean leaving my house and traveling through the city, and being stopped by no one, and not being missed while I was gone—”

“No,” he said, suddenly, and his voice was bleak. “No. I can't ask you to try that. I'm sorry, I—no. I don't realize how much actual danger you face. All I realize is that I—I'm sorry. I don't want to put you at risk.”

On the instant, she decided she would do it. “I can't promise anything,” she said. “It depends on if I can get out of the house. Nighttime is more likely. But I can't promise.”

He came a step nearer, so there were really only a few inches between them. “Rebekah,” he said, and his voice was urgent. “I don't want you to risk your life for me. I don't want you to risk your life for anything. I want to see you—more than anything I can think of at this precise moment, I want a chance to be alone with you—but my blood chills in my veins at the thought of you putting yourself in danger. For me. Because if something happened to you—”

“Before midnight,” she said, as if he hadn't spoken. “If I'm not there by then, I won't be coming.”

He grabbed her arms with a clasp so strong it swayed her almost against his chest. “Promise me you won't even try to come if someone will discover you,” he said. “If you'll be in danger, promise me you won't come.”

“I'm in danger now,” she said calmly. “But here I am.”

Silence fell like a warning the instant the words left her mouth. The performers hit their last chords, and the crowd took a moment
to react. Still in the angel's grip, Rebekah lifted one hand to tug her mask from her head. They stared at each other like penitents gazing into the face of Jovah.

“Angelo?” said a voice behind them, and then the thunderous applause of the crowd drowned all other noise.

A shove, a swirl of feathers, and Rebekah found herself pushed behind the angel, his wings half folded around her as if to shield her from all hazards. Her heart was pounding and her blood clamored with terror. She had dropped her mask, and she could not see it anywhere on the ground. Who was there, who had seen her, how could even the angel explain away such an intimate conference with a young Jansai boy? Unless, with her mask gone, she had not appeared to be a boy.

“What is it, young man? Who are you?” Obadiah asked sharply. She had not thought his pleasant voice could sound so imperious.

“Angelo, I was looking for someone. I thought he might be back here, with you.”

It was hard to make out the voice over the noises of the night, but Rebekah thought there was the slightest chance it could be familiar. She tried to peer around Obadiah's wing, but it was too high, too broad.

“There is no one here but me,” Obadiah declared.

“I'm sorry, angelo. There was a boy here a moment ago. I saw him—”

“That boy is no concern of yours.”

Rebekah dropped to her knees and stared out through the froth of feathers at the base of Obadiah's wing. It was still hard to see, but she could make out a figure standing beside the platform, casually dressed in trousers and a vest. The new arrival was wearing a mask of black and gold feathers and toying with a pendant hung around his throat.

“But I'm looking for my cousin,” the boy said.

Rebekah scrambled to her feet and pushed past the startled Obadiah. “Martha! Where have you been? You disappeared!”

Martha gave her one quick, indignant look, easy to read even through the mask. “
I
disappeared!
You've
been gone forever! And
where do I find you? In a dark field somewhere, exchanging kisses with an angel!”

Rebekah didn't know if she was more embarrassed at the accusation or the fact that Obadiah could overhear it. “I was not kissing him,” she hissed. “
You're
the one who—”

“I take it everything is all right, then?” Obadiah interrupted.

Rebekah turned to face him. “This is my cousin Martha. I came here with her. But then
she
went off somewhere—yes, you did, don't pretend you didn't, I
saw
you with him—”

“Saw me with who?”

“Some Manadavvi,” Rebekah said and had the satisfaction of seeing Martha's defiance melt away. She returned her attention to the angel. “Anyway. I came with her. She won't betray me.”

“Then you're safe,” he said.

“We have to go,” Martha broke in. “Ephram and Jordan are both back looking for us. I thought I saw angel wings behind the platform, which is why I came back here—”