Lunacy backed from Tamar’s hand before she had even opened the stall door, and whickered plaintively as if to call for help. “You have no idea how this hurts my feelings,” Tamar told her in a low, steady voice. She always talked incessant nonsense to the nervous horses; it usually calmed them. “To have you reject me in this way. I’ll have you know I’ve never abused a horse. Never will. You’re completely safe in my hands.”
The dainty ears flicked forward, and the big, intelligent eyes watched her warily. Tamar could not help smiling. Lunacy was irritating, no question, but Tamar felt a certain kinship with her. Just so she pictured her own reaction—to anyone, male or female—if she was suddenly transmogrified into a horse.
“Now, I know you’ve been fed already. Come out with me to the corral. We’re going to see how you take the saddle and bridle this time. Don’t you want to learn how to behave prettily enough to have Isabella choose you as her favorite mount? She’s quite the most important person on the farm, you know. Everyone will admire you if she’s your rider.”
Eventually, Lunacy allowed herself to be bridled and led from the stall. Once outside in the golden spring morning, she pranced a little—nerves, maybe, but Tamar thought it might be a small celebration of her delight in the lovely day. She smiled.
“All right. Let’s walk once around the corral. I’ll just hold the bridle, like this, and you can walk beside me, and you can see how easy it is, just walking, just having a nice little chat.”
They circled the corral twice, Tamar talking all the while, and Lunacy’s initial skittishness quickly evaporated. Tamar considered trying to mount for a brief ride, but thought she’d wait a day or two, till the horse was used to her voice and her presence. Then she’d see how Lunacy reacted to a saddle and a rider.
“See. Wasn’t that easy?” she said, coming to a halt and patting the filly’s nose. “Would you like a little sugar? Would that make you like me better?”
“Doesn’t take sugar to make me like you better,” said a smooth voice behind her, and she whirled so suddenly that the horse whinnied and tried to jerk the lead rope from her hand. It was Devon and his blond companion Alan, and they were both smiling at her in a menacing fashion.
“She’s a beauty, now, isn’t she,” Devon said, coming closer to run his manicured hand down the horse’s nose. Tamar tried to step away, but she didn’t want to let go of the bridle. She kept thinking there must be some way to spin around, leap onto the horse’s back, and gallop away. “Not too well trained, though. Is that your task—to break her in?”
“My favorite kind of work,” the towhead drawled. “Breaking in a new filly.”
Both men laughed. Devon was already as close to Tamar as he could get; now the blond stepped forward, crowding her against the horse. Lunacy neighed and backed away, but Devon’s hand was on the halter, and his iron grip forced her to a standstill.
“I like them spirited,” the tall man observed, “but not so stubborn they can’t be taught.”
No way to get on the horse and ride off. Tamar stood frozen in place for five seconds, then lunged forward and ducked under Devon’s arm. There was a flurry of motion as the horse reared backward, both men yelled, and someone dove after Tamar. She felt hands close on her arm and jerk her back; she whirled around with the motion and lashed out with her free hand, making solid contact with someone’s chest. Alan’s. She heard his small grunt of surprise, and his clutch on her arm loosened. But before she could do more than think of running away, Devon’s arms snaked around her from behind, and he crushed her to his chest. She could feel his heart pounding, hear his sudden ragged breathing, smell his mixed scent of cologne, leather, and finely starched linen.
“I think we deserve a little more courtesy than that,” he murmured in her ear, drawing her even closer. She felt her ribs protesting the strain, and there was a terrific pain building up in her right arm. Perhaps Alan had bruised her when he grabbed her. “Alan, show the young lady how we prefer to be treated.”
She could not back up but she whipped her head from side to side as the blond leaned closer, clearly intent on kissing her. “Feisty,” he said with a laugh, and placed his hands on either side of her face, holding her still. She kicked out furiously, missing his groin but connecting with his knee, causing him to howl and hop backward. Devon was laughing; she could feel his chest shake. As soon as Alan regained his balance, he rushed forward and slapped her viciously across the cheek.
“Stupid bitch!” he exclaimed. “Would you like to see what we could really do to you if we wanted?”
She pursed her mouth to spit at him. But before she could act, before either man could speak again, the air around them suddenly changed. It grew both shadowed and iridescent, as if the sun were filtered suddenly through a vibrant, translucent awning. The air ruffled around them; a rapid, muffled rhythm seemed to offer up the heartbeat of the wind itself. All three of them gaped upward. All three of them grew loose and stupid in a moment’s quick shock.
It was an angel hovering barely ten feet above them, looking like Jovah’s wrath personified. He blocked the light with his outstretched wings; his arm was extended in an accusatory gesture. The bracelets on his wrists glittered with baleful emerald light, and just below his shoulder, the Kiss in his arm blazed like a miniature sun.
“And this is what noblemen consider a fitting pastime for their idle hours! Devon Malpasson and Alan Parlair—I recognize both of you. Who are you troubling now with your ugly faces and your ill-bred desires?”
Not until the angel spoke their names did Tamar’s attackers actually release her. “Let’s get back to the house,” she heard Alan mutter. Devon snarled, “What mix is it of his?” but she could feel him slinking past her with much less of his usual arrogance. For herself, she could not move a muscle, not to retrieve the drifted horse, not to run to the stables, not to cover her face in mortification. For the angel could just as well have called out her name—he knew it. She knew his. The angel Jared, leader of the host at Monteverde.
He waited till the other two had stalked away, then canted his wings and came down for a noiseless landing. He looked not at his feet or the terrain beneath him, but straight at her; and while he watched her she could not turn her eyes away.
She had remembered the tangled brown hair, the shape of his face, even the timbre of his voice. She had forgotten the color of his eyes, gray and stern as a father’s reproach. She had to force herself not to open the conversation with an apology. He came a step closer, still staring at her, and she stiffened her backbone and stared right back.
“So. You made it safely from Ileah, I see,” he said, the sarcastic edge very faint in his voice.
“I did,” she said. “How was Peter when you left him?”
“In good hands. I did not linger to watch his recovery. I wanted to hurry back. In case I was needed.”
She winced a little; but she would not be cowed. “You did not rush back because you feared for my safety,” she retorted. “You wanted information—secrets about my friends. I left before you could try to force that information from me.”
“Wrong on all counts,” he said, and now his voice showed a certain grimness. “I wanted—I still want—to help you, and possibly help your friends. And even if I was after information, I never would have resorted to the tactics those two fellows tried. You were safer with me than you have been at any time since.”
Tamar did not exactly sniff, but the sound she produced was fairly close. “I have been in no danger.”
“Well, you will be,” he said soberly, and reached inside a pocket on his leather vest. It had not escaped Tamar’s notice that he was very casually dressed, in tight leather leggings and a sleeveless vest; and he was, by any standard, more appealing than the last two men she had just viewed. Not that it mattered, not that she cared. “The Archangel—who, as you know, is not fond of Jacobites—has managed somehow to come up with a portrait that resembles you. And this he has passed along to all the Jansai and any
other mercenary souls who might be willing to make an easy dollar by bringing you to the Eyrie. Not a great likeness, but a passable one, don’t you think?”
He handed over a piece of paper. She looked down at her features, ill-drawn but unmistakable, and felt a chill hand wrap bony fingers around her heart. “You drew this,” she whispered. “To frighten me.”
“It is not a skill I have,” Jared replied coldly.
She looked up at him, blindly now, seeing not his face but her own, chalky and blurred on the much-folded paper. “But—I don’t—why?” she stammered. “There is no reason—I am not someone Bael should care about one way or another.”
“Oh, he has other portraits, which I’ve got copies of. A man called Conran—I can see by your face you’ve heard of him— a couple of others. But you and Conran seemed to be the two he was most interested in. Don’t ask me why. I wouldn’t have pegged you as the dangerous type, myself. Stupid, maybe, but not dangerous.”
The epithet cleared her mind and restored her vision instantly. “Just because I don’t trust you is no reason to call me stupid,” she said fiercely. “At least I’m alive, which is more than I can say for many of my friends. And who knows if trusting angels isn’t what killed them?”
A strange, reluctant smile crossed his face. “I have to give you credit for spirit, if nothing else,” he said, almost as if he spoke to himself. “What can I do to make you believe me? For you have to believe me. We need to leave Isabella’s the day the wedding is over. I must take you to Ysral. I don’t think you’ll be safe anywhere else.”
“Ysral? Why should I go to Ysral?” she demanded, though she had decided just a few days ago that was her ultimate destination. But she would not travel anywhere with this man, not a mile, not an inch.
“Because it’s not Samaria, for one thing. And because I believe the rest of the Jacobites are there, for another.”
“How would you know anything about the Jacobites’ plans?” she said suspiciously. “How do you know about these—these portraits? Where do you get all your information?”
“I have a friend. Christian Avalone, do you know of him?” She nodded. “He’s a merchant who has no love for Bael. And because Bael has no love for the Jacobites, Christian has decided to help the Jacobites where he can. Also, I suspect that in his heart Christian likes the idea of a mechanical god instead of a real one. Christian has only a very small heart, you know—most businessmen do—and that would simplify his life considerably.”
“You talk in riddles,” she said. “And nothing I have heard about Christian Avalone makes me trust him any more than I trust you.”
“Then it appears we are at a standstill,” he said lightly.
She waited, but he said nothing more, which was very annoying. She had quite enough anger left to counter everything he said with a good, hard insult, but she felt ridiculous just standing there looking at him when he did nothing but stand there in return.
“Did you come here searching for me?” she asked, just for something to say.
“No, I had another reason for coming to Isabella’s. I am as astonished to see you as you are to see me. Though not surprised to find you in trouble.”
She scowled at that, but even through her narrowed eyelids she could see the residual opal glow on his arm. “And why in the world is your Kiss all lit up like that?” she said irritably.
He glanced at it, as if he hadn’t noticed, and then gave her the most peculiar smile. “And why is yours?” he asked in return.
Quickly she checked, but it was true. The pain she had taken for Alan’s mishandling was the result of a pulsing, swirling fire in the depths of her Kiss. She felt both bewildered and very, very wary. She looked back at the angel. “Why does it do that?” she asked. She remembered the stories she had heard— but Ezra had told her they were fairy tales—surely the angel was not about to tell her—
He was still smiling. “Legends say your Kiss will light when you meet another person with whom you have some—bond,” he replied. She had the sense that he was editing. “There appears to be some sort of link between us. For instance, I know you were working at the Herman House in Semorrah.” She could tell that her face showed her astonishment; he nodded. “The night I had dinner there, my Kiss flared just like this. I didn’t figure it out till later, then I returned to Semorrah looking for you. Jasper told me you had gone to visit your sick sister.”
He had the story right; he must be telling the truth. “And now?” she breathed.
“Minutes after I arrived on the farm, I felt a kind of pressure in my arm. I couldn’t believe it—after all the time I’ve spent looking for you, could you possibly be here? And then, a few hours later, the pressure became intense. Painful, actually. They say that the angel Gabriel felt fire in his Kiss when his angelica Rachel was in danger. All I know is that the pain in my arm sent me out of the house in a hurry, looking for you.”
She stared bleakly down at the Kiss again. Yet another reason to hate it! First dizziness, then music, and now an uncontrollable, undesirable link to the angel Jared. “I should never have had this installed,” she muttered darkly. “It has caused me no end of grief.”
“And will not serve its intended purpose of hiding you from the Jansai,” he added. “For they will not be looking at your arm, but your face.”
“There are no Jansai at Cartabella.”
“Do you plan to stay here your whole life?”
She did not answer.
“And anyway, I know for a fact that Isabella trades with the Jansai,” he went on. “Just because you haven’t seen any doesn’t mean they won’t show up. And then how will you defend yourself? Isabella is not the type to ruin a good relationship with a Breven merchant just to save a nameless servant.”
“I don’t think you need to concern yourself,” Tamar said evenly. “I have taken care of myself so far without your help.”
“But things are much more risky for you now,” he said urgently. “Your life has taken a very hazardous turn.”
“And what do you know about the hazards of my life till now?” was her furious reply. “What do you know about the deaths I have witnessed or the indignities I have suffered? What do you know about my terrors or my dreams? What do you know about me at all?”
He was silent a long moment, watching her, this time not responding to her anger with a flare-up of his own. “Very little,” he said at last “But I would like to know it all.”
Which was not the reply she had expected. She flung her head back, taken by surprise, but there was really no answer to that. Not saying another word to him, she stomped across the corral to retrieve Lunacy, and led the horse none too steadily to the stable. The angel let her pass in silence.
Once inside the aromatic dimness of the stable, she paused to catch her breath and marvel over the events of the past half hour. Menace on all sides; hard to know what to fear most. Oddly enough, she felt as much exhilaration as fear, at least in regard to the angel. She didn’t trust him, of course, but somehow she did not hate him as she should. Something to do with that damned Kiss, no doubt.
Only after she had stood there a moment or two and her eyes had adjusted to the relative darkness did she realize that Gene was standing there, watching her. The soberness of his expression made her realize that he had witnessed at least some part of her adventures.
“None of my business,” he said diffidently, “but if that angel was one of the ones bothering you, I’m not afraid to go to Isabella even so. Some of the angel folk are no better than the gentry.”
“No,” she said quickly. “He had some advice for me that I didn’t want to take, but I’m not afraid of him. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
He nodded slowly, thinking it over. “You know him, then? The angel Jared?”
“I’ve met him before. Very briefly.”
“They say he’s the best of the lot. But I just wanted to let you know that if there was something to complain about, you shouldn’t let the fact that h
e’s an angel stop you.”
“No. No complaints,” she said. “But thank you anyway.”
And she had stabled Lunacy and led out one of the other estate horses before she realized she had barely exercised the filly at all. So she was not succeeding particularly well even at the specialized job she had been assigned; but somehow she did not think it was entirely her fault.
Jared came out to the corral the next morning to watch her work. She was leading Lunacy around on a halter, talking nonsense words, when out of the corner of her eye she spied the angel approaching. Tamar made no attempt to acknowledge him, but it was a little hard to overlook him when he swung himself up to the top railing of the fence, swept his wings behind him, and hooked his feet over the bottom rung. The day was hot, and Tamar felt her hair beginning to stick to her forehead as the sweat built up along her scalp. She was covered with bits of straw and no end of horsehair, so all she needed to look really attractive was to have perspiration redden her face and flatten her short hair.
Not that she cared how the angel viewed her.
Jared watched her in silence for perhaps half an hour while Tamar did her best to ignore him. But finally his presence goaded her to such supreme irritation that she wrapped the reins around her hand and hauled the horse over to his perch.
“What?” she exclaimed.
Jared merely raised an eyebrow. “What what? I’m just sitting here enjoying the fine day.”
“You are not. You’re trying to distract me.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“Well, you’re staring at me.”
“I will endeavor to turn my eyes elsewhere,” he said. And suiting action to words, he let his gaze wander past her, to the maze of buildings that housed the granaries, the dairies, and the machinery.
Tamar almost stamped her foot. “Have you come to frighten off Devon or any of his friends? Is that it?”
“No, I told you, I’m just enjoying the sunny day.”
She pushed her hair back with her free hand. “Perhaps you’d like to ride? Not Lunacy, of course, because she’d throw you, but one of the other horses?”