“He’s very good,” Jared said. “I take it he’s come in for your dinner party a day early? That must make you happy.”
“Yes, it’s always a treat to see my son. As you will know, when you yourself marry and produce children.”
“The day seems far away,” Jared said, amused.
“You’re not so young that you can afford to be putting off the inevitable for long,” Bael said with a quick frown. “It is good for any angel to breed, but for one in your position, it is essential. I tell you this not only as your friend, but as your Archangel. It is well past time for you to marry. May I suggest a proper girl such as Annalee Stephalo, who is even now visiting at the Eyrie? She has attractive manners and a desirable background. You could do worse than turn your eyes her way.”
So that answered that question. Not the girl’s father, but her Archangel, had encouraged her to dally with the visitor from Monteverde. “I do not find my affections leaning in her direction,” Jared said softly.
Bael nodded. “Fine. Then some other girl. There must be plenty of eligible young women among the Manadavvi who would not look upon your suit with disgust.”
“Thank you,” Jared said faintly. “I will bear your advice in mind. I assume you give the same to your son—who is my age and older, and unmarried himself?”
“He is not angelic, so his responsibility to reproduce is not as high as yours—but yes, we have had this discussion,” Bael said seriously. “It is the duty of every righteous, intelligent, and devout man to marry, and marry wisely. I have a special interest in Omar, of course, and am keenly desirous of seeing him settled well. And I have ideas on that score, and he is not loath to entertain them. But his case is entirely different from yours.”
Jared was conscious of a sudden overpowering desire to fly to Cedar Hills and repeat every word of this conversation to Mercy. He could hardly wait to hear her caustic comments on Bael’s attempts to pair off the world to his own specifications. But. He was by now ruffled enough to let some of his own ire show. “Marry him off to an angel,” he said flippantly. “Then she can be named Archangel, and he’ll still have the power, if not the position.”
He was shocked when Bael turned those wild prophet’s eyes on him with a fanatic intentness. “Such a plan might please Jovah,” the Archangel agreed. “And my son is such a man as could be expected to appeal to any woman, even an angel girl who has her pick of suitors.”
I was not serious, Jared wanted to say, but Bael clearly was. It was a wholly new thought to Jared, but he realized instantly it had been a scheme long gestating in the Archangel’s mind. And why not? From Bael’s perspective, it made a great deal of sense. It put his son in power; it kept him deeply connected to the rule of Samaria. It allowed him to continue whatever political and religious policies he had instituted over the past nineteen years….
“Tell me,” Jared said slowly, “does Omar feel as you do on most topics that concern the realm?”
“We discuss most of my important decisions before I make them,” Bael said. “I have found my son to be a clear-eyed adviser. At times we disagree, but he has most often conceded later that I have been correct. At other times I have allowed his opinion to sway me and have not been sorry. He has gifts for statesmanship that are very great, and which many do not appreciate because he stands in my shadow.”
Not an entirely straightforward reply, though clearly the Archangel had answered Jared’s question in the affirmative. “On the Jacobite issue, for instance,” Jared said, very quietly, “he concurs with you?”
“Anyone who holds dear the safety of Samaria and its continued existence must concur with me on the Jacobite issue,” Bael said sharply. “The Jacobites are extremely dangerous. They are seditious both politically and theologically, and those who believe in them court destruction by the hand of Jovah.”
“I have heard,” Jared said, still softly, “that you have been at some pains lately to—drive the Jacobites from the shores of Samaria. I confess I had not realized you were so passionately against them. But perhaps I have heard wrong, and you do not direct violence against the rebels?”
He was not sure Bael would answer, for it was an accusatory question, but the Archangel nodded his silver head. “I wish them gone from Samaria, yes,” he said. “Think about it, Jared! Do you not see the risk they pose? To be telling people that the god does not exist—! The god who nurtures us, watches over us, saves us from flood, delivers us from famine—the god who, with a single thunderbolt, can destroy our entire world! Is it not dangerous—is it not terrifying—to anger such a god? Do you not realize that no one in Samaria is safe if a single Jacobite remains to preach of heresy?”
Sweet Jovah singing, then everything Christian had told him had been true. This was a zealot speaking, a man who felt his goal was so just that he could not envision setting any limits to attain it. And yet, and yet … “I agree, the hazard is great,” Jared said cautiously. “But I do wonder how you plan to usher them from Samaria. I suppose you could shepherd them all to Edori boats and ship them off to Ysral—”
“Jovah hears every whisper uttered in Ysral as clearly as he hears every word spoken here,” Bael said sternly. “We are no safer if they emigrate. They must be eliminated—or converted.”
“Eliminated?” Jared repeated. Surely Bael would not admit …
The Archangel turned his mad eyes to his visitor. His face burned with a righteous fever; he lifted his hands as if to invoke the will of the god. From the speakers around them, Omar’s voice suddenly burst free of the flute in a dark and portentous solo lament. “They must be executed,” Bael proclaimed. “They must be cleansed from the face of Samaria. Their blood must be spilled so that the blood of innocents is not shed. They have betrayed their god, and they must die.”
Jared stared at him, too stunned to say another word. Bael stared back, his face alight with passion, and stabbed his finger suddenly in Jared’s direction.
“And all who do not agree with me must be questioned. And all who do not see the truth must be enlightened,” the Archangel continued. “Who knows how far the heresy has spread? Who knows how many the poison has tainted? Look to your devotions, Jared. Jovah sees all, and judges all, and avenges all. And no one is safe until we are all back in Jovah’s arms.”
After that, the visit to the Eyrie ceased to be merely tedious and began to seem almost dangerous instead. Jared was miles from embracing the Jacobite theories—though he did concede they had a certain logic to them—but by Bael’s criteria, he was most certainly a heretic. Which made him suspect. Which put him at risk.
Seeing Omar that night over dinner did nothing to improve his sense of security. The Archangel’s son approached him in the few minutes before the meal when they all milled about in the drawing room.
“My father told me you had honored the Eyrie with a visit,” Omar said with his usual suave smile. “How long are you here?”
“I’ve been persuaded to stay through the party tomorrow night,” Jared replied. “But then I must get back to Monteverde. I’ve been gone too long.”
“Oh? Where else have your travels taken you?”
To Ileah, where I consorted with Jacobites, Jared thought about saying. He cursed himself for his unwary tongue. “I was in Cedar Hills a while back, and then in Semorrah with Christian Avalone,” he said easily.
“Business? Pleasure?”
“Wanderlust. I never stay still for long.”
“I like Christian, but I wonder at some of the company he keeps,” Omar said idly. He was studying his glass of brandy as if it was a scrying crystal, filled with visions. “Solomon Davilet, for instance. Christian knows how opposed my father is to rapid technological advances, and yet he insists on encouraging the very men who are investing all their resources in such development.” He looked up quickly to catch Jared’s frown. “I don’t know if he’s aware how much this has displeased my father.”
So; another warning, or so it looked to Jared. “Christian’s a bu
sinessman,” Jared said lightly. “He’s looking for the profit. I don’t think you have to ascribe to him any more ambition than that.”
“Well, Christian is a smart businessman,” Omar said. “He sees that my father has only one year left of his tenure, and he thinks the next Archangel may view his projects with more leniency.”
“But he has no idea who the next Archangel may be.”
“No,” Omar said. “That is why it would behoove him to move slowly with his developments.”
The supper bell rang just then, which Jared was grateful for, till he went into the dining room to find himself directed to sit by Annalee Stephalo. She gave him that dramatic look, suddenly raising her eyes to his face, as he took his seat next to her.
“Good evening, Jared,” she said in her soft voice. “I haven’t seen you all day. Have you been keeping busy?”
Worse and worse and worse. He knew it would be best to keep his head clear, but at this moment he couldn’t bear the thought of getting through dinner entirely sober. He signaled the servant for a glass of wine, and drank half of it with his first swallow.
But the morrow brought a welcome respite. Jared had just emerged onto the central plateau, preparatory to flying down to Velora for the day, when he happened to investigate the commotion of a new arrival coming up the grand stairway. It was a cadre of liveried servants carrying boxes, luggage, and cartons; beside them, holding up her skirts with one hand and looking very cross, toiled Isabella Cartera. Jared broke into a grin and paused, waiting for her to arrive at the top of the stairwell.
“Isabella! Invited to the Eyrie to partake in the grand banquet, I see!” he greeted her, clasping her hand and helping her up the last few steps. “I’m glad to know you are still considered part of the upper echelon of Bethel society.”
“Why is it,” she fumed, “that two of the most-visited places in all of Samaria require you to arrive on foot? You can travel by private bus all the way to Breven, and through it, if you choose. You can ride up and down the streets of Cedar Hills or Monteverde in your truck, and Luminaux can be navigated by any means possible. But to get to Semorrah you have to leave all your vehicles behind you on the banks of a river and ride a horse into the city—and to get to the Eyrie, you actually have to walk! You have to climb! This is not the life to which I have been accustomed, I assure you. If it were not for the honor of the invitation, which has been growing paler as the day progresses, I would not be standing before you now, hot, windblown, and in a temper.”
“Next time you must arrange to have an angel meet you in Velora so you can be flown into the hold in style,” Jared said, amused. “Had I known you were coming, I would have been your escort myself.”
She put back the lace confection that had shaded her head from the warm spring sun. “Yes, and had I known you were here, I would have sent for you,” she said, gazing up at him. “Which reminds me to ask, why are you here? Surely not for Mariah’s little dinner party?”
He grimaced. “I made the mistake of dropping by two days ago and have been coerced into staying. I leave with the dawn tomorrow, I promise you.”
“Well, I am very glad to see you,” she said decidedly. “For I cannot bear any of the others who will be present. You must sit by me in the drawing room and flirt with me all night. It will make Mariah so angry. She does not approve of my morals at all.”
Jared grinned; Isabella was fast recovering her customary good humor. “If you wish, I will take you down to Velora with me now, and we can commence the flirting right away,” he suggested.
She laughed up at him. “I have just come from Velora,” she protested.
“This trip will be much easier. I will carry you.”
“Very tempting. I should—but all right. Give me twenty minutes to find my room, change my clothes, and rejoin you out here.”
“You must greet Mariah, too, of course. I should give you half an hour. Maybe an hour.”
She grinned. “I will not trouble Mariah just yet. Twenty minutes. It is good to see you, Jared.”
Therefore, his second afternoon in Velora passed much more pleasantly than his first Isabella could not resist dragging him back to the bazaars he had frequented the day before (“Say what you will about Velora being the most provincial of the angel towns, it still has a market that far exceeds the merchandise at Shepherd’s Pass”), but he didn’t mind that. He didn’t mind carrying her purchases for her, either, or allowing her to hold up a sweater to his chest to determine if it might fit her son (“For you’re about the same size, though you’re a little more muscular”). Isabella was like a chorus of harmony after a month of dissonance, and he was glad to be in her company.
Later, they sat at one of the outdoor cafes and sipped iced drinks laced with alcohol. “So tell me the grim roster,” she said. “Who besides me is expected at this dismal dinner?”
He laughed. “I’m not sure of the entire guest list. But I did hear Mariah mention a few names.” He reeled them off; Isabella alternated between nodding agreeably and grimacing sharply. “And of course, we have the usual assortment of Bael’s court— Omar is here, and Annalee Stephalo, who has been my particular bane this visit.”
“Has she really?” Isabella asked with her throaty laugh. “Throwing herself at you, is she? You’ve been a friend of mine for fifteen years, Jared, but if you marry her, I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Glad to hear it. Now at least I have a reason to give Bael when next he proposes her as my bride. Sorry, can’t do it, Isabella Cartera will drop me from her list of friends.”
“Although Bael is right. It is time you married. Or at least took a lover or two.”
“I have had my share of lovers, though I thank you for this interest in my life,” he replied, amused but a little discomfited. “As for marriage—”
“I know, it is a wretched business, and I was much happier after my husband had the good sense to die,” she replied. “But you do have a position to uphold. And there are people who might think you a little less—flighty—if you were settled with some sober girl, raising your family and staying home of nights.”
“From you of all people! Bael, yes, or even Mercy, but you—!”
“I have always been respectable, Jared, whatever my other failings. It is good advice. Though I do not blame you for rejecting Annalee Stephalo or any other bride of Bael’s providing. But surely, among your own people—the Manadavvi must have produced some charming young women who are only too eager to share your bed and your fortune.”
“Dangerous to dally among the Manadavvi,” he told her. “They’re too near Monteverde. Too much ill will is created if nothing comes of it. You must see that.”
“Yes, unless there was some great and overwhelming attraction … But I know! You must come to me at Cartabella. I am having my own party in two months—one which I trust will be much more pleasant than the one we are suffering through now. I am hosting a wedding for my niece, and there will be all sorts of young women present. Girls from good families, too—bright, educated girls who have been schooled at Luminaux and Semorrah. You might find one there who is a little to your liking. How does that sound?”
At present, one more social engagement—even at Isabella Cartera’s—sounded dreadful, but the offer was a kind one and he knew he should not refuse. “It sounds most delightful,” he said. “Tell me exactly when it is, and I shall be there.”
She laughed at him. “You must try to feign more enthusiasm when you arrive,” she said. “Don’t worry, I shall entertain you royally. And who knows? Perhaps you will find yourself a romance.”
They stayed in Velora until the last possible moment, then flew back to the Eyrie in time to change for dinner. Isabella told Jared that she could only bear these events by dressing in the most outrageous manner possible, and true to her word, she appeared in the drawing room attired in a flimsy white gown that was almost transparent. She had also bedecked herself with ropes of diamonds around her throat and her wrists, and in the
braided coronet of her hair, so that she glittered wickedly when she made the smallest movement. Mariah stared at her wrathfully and almost could not bring herself to cross the room to greet her, but Omar, Bael, Richard Stephalo, and most of the other male dinner guests were by her side in moments. She laughed delicately, extended her hand to each man in turn, and sipped from her wine while keeping her eyes on the face of whoever happened to be talking. Jared, watching from a distance, couldn’t help smiling. To such heights of sophistication Annalee Stephalo could only aspire.
He had been resigned to having Annalee as his dinner mate, and he was right, but when he arrived at the table, he was pleasantly surprised to find the oracle Jecoliah seated on his other side. She was peering about in her usual shortsighted way, but smiled at him cheerfully when he sat beside her.
“Jared! I thought I heard your voice across the room, but since I could think of no reason you would be here—”
“Ill luck,” he responded, which made her laugh, though she tried to strangle the sound. “How are you, Jecoliah? I have not seen you since the Gloria.”
“Well, and happy to have spring here again,” she said. “Quickly, before the others are seated. Who is sitting near us and on my other side? I see very poorly these days and I am too embarrassed to ask for the names of people I should know.”
So he obligingly sketched in the composition of their table and pointed out the luminaries at the other tables. Then, while the meal was served, he took advantage of this rare chance to have an extended conversation with the oracle.
“You might be able to answer a question for me,” he said, leaning back in his chair and sipping his wine (Manadavvi vintage, unless he greatly missed his guess, and very good). “Someone questioned me about the oracle Alleluia the other day, and I found I knew little about her—except that she was Archangel briefly, and oracle forever—”
“And the Jacobites have taken her up as their patron,” Jecoliah added calmly.
Jared started violently, then glanced around quickly to make sure no one was paying attention. “Well, yes,” he said, in a lower voice, “but here that’s a word that it isn’t even wise to whisper.”