Angel-Seeker (36 page)

“I appreciate it,” she said, forcing herself to sound serious. “I've always known I could count on you.”

The day took forever to dodder past, creaky and as full of irritations as an old woman with an achy back. Rebekah had a quick, snappish fight with her mother over something stupid—the color of her jeska, perhaps, or the way she'd styled her hair—and Hepzibah lectured her for ten minutes about her table manners when she failed to answer a question addressed to her at dinner. Everyone was in line to use the water room right when Rebekah wanted to take a quick bath, to freshen herself up for her evening assignation.

And no one, it seemed, wanted to sleep at all that night. Rebekah stood for half an hour in the hallway outside her door, hand on the knob so she could pretend she was just stepping back inside if someone spotted her, and listened to all the movement going on up and down the corridor. Was everyone lying awake, finishing up an embroidery project, or holding a last conversation before bedtime? Was no
one ready to turn off her gaslight and tumble onto her mattress, bid good night to Jovah, and drift off to sleep?

At last she could stand it no longer. She vowed to tell anyone she met that she was hungry (she was, actually), and that she was just stepping into the kitchen for a late snack. She glided silently down the halls, encountering no one, and felt her way cautiously past the stoves and tables in the kitchen. Once in the garden, which seemed quite bright by moonlight after the utter darkness indoors, she stayed in the shadows as she circled around to the gate. She paused a moment to listen to the sounds from all directions—the house and the street—then lifted the latch and stepped out.

Obadiah almost wept when he saw her. She felt the shivers shake his body as he swept her against him, holding her wordlessly for the longest time. She lay against his chest with her eyes closed, reveling in sensation: the heat of his body, the strength of his arms, the sweetness of his scent. His feathers tumbled across her hair, down her back, textured as velvet. She did not know how she would be able to leave him when the evening came to an end.

“I have spent the last day praying for the god to strike me dead,” he whispered against her cheek. “I was sure you were already in Jovah's arms, and I wanted to join you there.”

“No, nothing has happened. I didn't even get the scarf until today. I didn't know you were here.”

“And it's been so
long!
Weeks! And I couldn't get back, I couldn't leave the hold, there was so much to do, and I thought, she will not believe in me, she will think that I have forsaken her.”

“No,” she lied. “Not for a minute.”

“By the god's own heart and heartstrings, I have missed you, Rebekah.” He groaned, holding her even tighter, pressing her bones into his bones. “I did not imagine I would ever have to go so long without seeing you again.”

“And I have missed you.” She gasped, since she couldn't get enough air to speak in a normal voice. “Obadiah, I must breathe—”

“I will give you my own breath,” he said, and covered her mouth with his. And it was true, he breathed for both of them, or else she ceased to need oxygen at all. For it seemed she did not once inhale on
her own again for the rest of the night, but drew all her sustenance, all her cues, even the pace of her heart, from Obadiah's body; and that was enough to satisfy her.

After they made love, they were both starving, so instead of lying in bed and murmuring endearments, they sat at the fancy table and had a hearty meal. Obadiah told Rebekah of all the farms and provinces he'd visited in the past four weeks, praying for a change in weather or a gift from the god. She was fascinated by the variety of tales, the glimpses into so many different lives, amazed that none of them were like her own.

“And what was
she
wearing?” she asked, every time his tale included mention of a woman. “What did her husband say to her? How did her son treat her?”

Or: “But how did she break her wrist? Working in the
field?
You mean, in the direct sunlight? With—no, you mean those other men were not her brothers?”

Or: “What do you mean, she's a teacher? She teaches the little children? The
adults?
The men, too? Does she—and she doesn't wear a veil? Don't they stare at her?”

She had always known, in a vague way, that women outside of Breven lived somewhat different lives. But she had just assumed they were very much like her own life, except in small, unimportant details—that the foods they preferred featured different spices, that they only covered their faces in daylight, that they walked unescorted in the world, but only to certain destinations. She could not imagine living in a world so free of boundaries, so filled with frightening, constant choices.
What should I wear today? What shall I eat? Whom might I encounter on the street?
How did such a woman know what expressions to hold upon her face, when anyone might see it at any point and guess what thoughts were circling in her head? How could she calculate the cost of food, how could she judge when to plant and when to reap, how could she barter products in the marketplace? How could she lie down at the end of the day, carefree enough to sleep, knowing that she relied completely on her own skill and wit?

Earlier this very day, Rebekah had laughed at the notion that
Jordan would care for her, but she had never considered the implications of having to care entirely for herself. She did not think she could do it. She did not know how.

“I wouldn't want to be that woman,” she said quietly, when Obadiah described an isolated farm wife whose husband and son lay sick with fever.

“No, I pitied her sincerely,” Obadiah said. “She must have been so lonely out there! But the food was in for the winter, and her older boy looked like he'd be a help around the farm, so I imagine she'll pull through well enough.”

She looked at him helplessly. She wouldn't have wanted to be any of those women. But she didn't think she could explain.

“So how have you passed your time?” he asked. “More eavesdropping on Isaac's conversations?”

She laughed. “Yes, just the other day he was telling us—telling Hector's
uncle
—about a trip to Manadavvi country, and Martha and I got to listen. He didn't seem to like the Manadavvi much.”

“Well, see? Your betrothed and I have one thing in common.”

“He thinks they treat their women poorly.”

Obadiah laughed. “The only women treated
less
poorly than Manadavvi women are those who happen to be angels. Spoiled and beautiful, those Manadavvi girls. And powerful and clever and full of secrets. I don't think he needs to feel sorry for them.”

She didn't bother to explain. “Full of secrets? How would you know that?”

He grinned. “I've talked to a few of them from time to time. I always came away convinced they were concealing something vital. And now that I've talked to Zoe so often—”

She could not identify the peculiar tingle of heat that prickled across her face and hands. “Zoe? Who's that?”

“The woman here. The one you usually see downstairs when you arrive at night.”

“Oh. Oh, that one. I didn't know she had a name.”

“Yes, and it's pretty, isn't it? Zoe.”

“I've never heard of anyone having a name like that,” she said coldly.

“She's lived here almost a year. Can you imagine that? So far from
her friends and her familiar places and her customs. The only people she can really speak to are the travelers who stay here, since the merchants and the Jansai men treat her like sin incarnate, and naturally she hasn't been allowed to meet any Jansai women. I imagine she must feel like a prisoner here sometimes, but she's always polite and helpful. Always friendly. You'd never know it if she was unhappy. That's one of the reasons I think Manadavvi women keep secrets.”

“All women keep secrets,” Rebekah said shortly. “I'm sure this Zoe is not so special.”

Obadiah laughed out loud. “What, you can't be jealous!”

Was that the name of this feeling? This sense of cold rage mixed with a hot urge toward murder? “It is just that if I had known you preferred Manadavvi women—”

He leaned forward and kissed her quickly on the mouth. “I have only one preference,” he said. “I prefer you.”

It mollified her, but only a little. “Still, if you talk to this Zoe person every time you are here—”

“You might consider talking to her sometime as well,” he interrupted. “Next time you arrive.”

Rebekah arched her eyebrows in disbelief. “And what would I say to her?”

“She is—she might—she could be a friend to you sometime, perhaps,” he said, uncharacteristically awkward. And then, all in a rush, “Rebekah, she knows you are a girl.”

She jerked back so hard that the fine ribs of the chair bruised her back. “She
what?
How does she—did you
tell
her?”

“No, no, I would never do that. One night I told her I was expecting company, and she said, ‘The same young lady who has been here before?' and so I realized that she knew. I thought that—”

Rebekah covered her face with her hands (too late to be hiding her face
now,
she thought savagely), and felt more unnerved than she had since beginning this charade. “Jovah's bleeding bones,” she said through her fingers. “Then if
she
knows—if
she
could guess—anyone could tell. Anyone might know me.”

He was reaching for her, pulling her tense body over onto his lap and cradling her against him. “No, no, she saw you under strong light, and she is trained to assess whoever steps through that door,” he
soothed her. “No one else has noticed, no one else has known. You know that women are much more clever than men. They see things that men do not.”

She laughed through her panic. “That's certainly true!”

“And she swore to tell no one. I believe her. Manadavvi women and their secrets, remember? But I thought—I asked her—”

She lifted her head then to glare at him. “You asked her what?”

He offered a tentative smile. “If she would stand friend to you if you were ever in need.”

Her scowl grew even fiercer. “And what might I ever need from a Manadavvi stranger that I could not get from my own friends and family?”

“I don't know. A safe place to stay for the night?”

“In a Manadavvi tavern!”

“It's a hotel, and a very luxurious one.”

“I would never run from my family's house to this place.”

“You never know when you might need succor.”

“I never know when an angel might say crazy things.”

He shrugged and kissed her on the cheek. “So. Anyway. She knows, and now you know she knows, and if you ever have a need that she can fill, you can go to her.”

“Nobody does favors for free,” Rebekah said suspiciously.

“News to you, but outside the Jansai world of barter and payment, many people
do
perform favors for no cost,” he retorted. “But if a fee is involved, I will pay it. So you may ask her with a light heart.”

“I don't think my heart can ever be light now that strangers know my identity,” she grumbled. It was bad enough that someone had unmasked her; worse still that it was the beautiful Zoe whom Obadiah already admired so much. She did not actually feel that threatened by the exposure. She just was not happy with how the entire conversation had gone. Manadavvi women and their secrets, indeed.

He tightened his arms around her and brushed his lips along her cheekbone and around the curve of her eye. “What can I do to lighten your heart?” he whispered. “I am prepared to make any sacrifice.”

She couldn't help herself; she laughed. She slipped her arms around his back, marveling as always at the silky heat of his skin and
the cool dazzle of his feathers. “Well, I am very sad,” she said in a mournful voice, hard to manage through her smile. “I think you will have to work very hard to make me cheerful again.”

He rose to his feet, holding her in his arms. His wings flowed behind him like a robe thrown open. “I shall not rest,” he declared, “until you are radiant again with gladness.”

The radiant gladness was relatively quickly achieved, and then they both found themselves almost too drowsy to talk. Obadiah actually fell asleep with his head pillowed on Rebekah's shoulder. She toyed with the edges of his wing feathers, brushing her fingers back and forth against the wispy edges, and listened to the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing.

It was a sound that woke her up—which made her realize that she, too, had fallen asleep.

The sound came again—a knock on the door. “Angelo?” A woman's voice. “Angelo? It is quite late—it is almost early—”

Rebekah scrambled from the bed, fired by a choking sense of panic. “Dear Jovah, sweet Jovah, what time is it? My lord, my god, sweet Jovah—”

She was throwing on her clothes and bending to tie her sandals before Obadiah had even shaken the sleep from his eyes. “What's wrong? Who's knocking?”