Nocturne

Page 10

 

  “It’s not fair,” Rhesa muttered under her breath, but Deborah gave her a minatory look, and she subsided.

  No, it’s not fair, I wanted to tell her. Angels are selfish and high-handed. They don’t care who else is inconvenienced as long as their own needs are met. You can’t gainsay them, so your only choices are to do what they want or to run away.

  But I found that I didn’t want to run away from this particular angel.

  Now that I didn’t have to creep to the Great House unobserved, I was able to bring fresh supplies to Alma when I climbed up to the house a few minutes later. She was sitting in the kitchen, sipping tea, and I complimented her on her ruse as I put potatoes in the pantry and a crock of butter on the table.

  “So what’s the name of this place we both worked in Luminaux?” I said. “In case anyone asks me. ”

  “I actually managed a dress shop there, so we might as well claim that,” she said. “Have you ever even been to Luminaux?”

  I put my hands against my chest in a mock swoon. “The Blue City! The most wonderful place in all of Samaria, as far as I’m concerned. ” It was an artisans’ town, full of musicians and potters and jewelers and painters, and I would live there again in a heartbeat. If I thought I’d be safe.

  “So you’ve moved around a little,” she said.

  I nodded. “At various times, I’ve lived in Semorrah and Castelana and Velora. But I was in Monteverde longer than I was anywhere else. ”

  I could tell that caught her attention—most mortal women who spend much time near the holds turn out to be angel-seekers—but she didn’t ask any questions.

  “Just so you know,” she said, “it was the angelo who requested your assistance. I could have gotten along perfectly well on my own. ”

  That made me grin, but I said, “So what did he do? Shout down the stairwell at you?”

  She shook her head. She still looked a little unnerved. “He came downstairs, bringing the dinner dishes with him. That’s the first time he’s been down here since—maybe since he arrived. I was worried he’d bang his head on a door frame or snag one of his wings on a nail, but he managed very well. ”

  “Yes, he’s not nearly as helpless as he’s let himself believe,” I said.

  I read agreement in her expression, but she couldn’t bring herself to criticize an angel. “Anyway, he said he’d learned you were pulling double duty and he wanted that to stop—but he wanted you to keep bringing him his meals. ” She gave me a shrewd look. “He doesn’t like strangers, but I suppose he’s gotten used to you. ”

  I suppose he likes your company. What exactly have you been doing to charm the angel out of his misery? “I guess I’d better take him his dinner, then,” I said, loading up the tray.

  Alma gestured. “I made enough for both of you. I think it makes him more cheerful if he has company while he eats. ”

  Oh, her sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing. But all I said was, “Glad to hear it. I’m hungry. ”

  Corban was waiting for me when I made it to the top story—not sitting, as before, but on his feet, as if he had been pacing impatiently until I arrived. “Good, you’re here,” he said. “Did you remember to bring a coat? It’s cold again tonight. ”

  His eagerness made me laugh. “Yes, and a sweater underneath it,” I said. “But if you’re planning to be outside for a long time, could we eat first? I don’t want to starve any more than I want to freeze. ”

  He hesitated, then said, “All right,” and moved to the central table. I could almost read the thought in his head. He didn’t want to waste the time it would take to consume the meal, but he didn’t want to seem indifferent to my needs; he was trying to be considerate of someone else. Probably for the first time in his life, I thought as I joined him at the table.

  We ate quickly and were back on the roof within twenty minutes. The moon was just past full tonight, and the clouds were thicker; there was a little less light than the night before.

  That didn’t matter to Corban, of course. He strode straight for the wall on the northern corner and placed his hand on its rough surface. “Just like yesterday,” he said and propelled himself up to pose for a moment on its narrow shelf. He shook out his wings as if to shake off water or dust, then pumped them twice.

  And then he was flying.

  Again, for the first moment or two, I was so enthralled by the sheer impossible gorgeousness of flight that I forgot my own role. I ran to the wall just to watch him swoop and caracole through the air. He didn’t seem troubled by the previous night’s shakiness; the launch was smooth, the arabesques confident. More quickly than he had the night before, he climbed upward and spiraled outward, and I was seized with fear that he would drift beyond the reach of my voice before I even remembered I was supposed to be singing.

  So I drew a hasty breath and offered the first melody I could think of, which happened to be a Manadavvi ballad. I didn’t even realize what it was until I was through the first verse, and then I was disgusted with myself. It was sure to elicit even more questions from him than the tavern song, if he recognized it. But maybe he wouldn’t. I made myself finish all three verses, just to prove I would, and then picked something as different as I could think of. An Edori love song. Let him comment on my eclectic tastes. That was better than having him ask why I was familiar with Manadavvi customs.

  Before the evening ended, I was thinking it was lucky I did know such a wide range of songs, because he stayed out more than an hour. I never entirely lost sight of him against the overcast sky, but more than once I was certain he had gone too high or ranged too far to be able to hear me. I guessed that the distance was deliberate. He wanted to prove to himself that he could slip the tether of my voice but still make it back to safety. I hoped he was right. I couldn’t imagine what I would do if he disappeared in the night and I had no idea where he had come to ground.

  But no such disaster occurred. Just as I was beginning to think my voice would give out completely, I saw his silhouette pass directly over the imperfect circle of the moon and then drop rapidly toward the ground. Too rapidly, it seemed to me—when he was within hailing distance, I abruptly stopped singing and started shouting.

  “Corban, slow down! You’re too close! You’ll crash!” I heard him laugh right before he did something that caused his descent to slow dramatically. Now he was hovering a yard or two above the roof, and the night air was windy with the sweep and drag of his wings.

  I took a deep breath. “All right. You’re about five feet up. Come down slowly. I’m putting up my hands—reach out for me—just a little nearer—”

  And there. His fingers closed around mine; his body was still so inclined toward flight that he lifted me to my toes, like a boat tugging against its mooring and almost pulling it loose from the pier. Then all at once his feet were solidly on the roof and the sudden cessation of motion caused us to stagger, almost into each other’s arms. There was a hectic moment of feathers and body heat and dizziness, and then we both straightened and I stepped away. He let go of my hands.

  “That was even better than last night!” he exclaimed. “I remembered things—how to bank into a turn, how to slip into a downdraft. It all seems so—so effortless. I can’t believe I was afraid before. ”

  I couldn’t help laughing. He hardly seemed like the same person I had met a few nights earlier. Maybe it was the moonlight, so enchanted by the sculpture of his wings that it could not resist gilding them with radiance, but he seemed to glow with energy or excitement or hope. Even his skin seemed to hold a faint light. By contrast, I seemed to be hidden in shadows. Even if Corban hadn’t lost his sight, I doubted he would have been able to see me.

  “Excellent,” I said. “The more you practice, the more familiar it will become. ”

  But some of his buoyancy faded as his face showed dissatisfaction. “Well, I can’t learn much by flying in circles over the school,” he said. “I have t
o go farther. I have to fly for longer periods. ”

  “Maybe you need to establish routes that you can take from the house to specific destinations,” I said. “Routes that have markers that let you know where you are. ”

  He was listening closely. “Yes. For instance, when I fly about ten minutes in that direction”—he pointed straight north—“there’s a distinct noise that I catch whenever the wind blows. It sounds like—clattering. ”

  Oddly, I knew exactly the spot he was talking about. I had passed it on my journey to the Gabriel School, and I had convinced the driver to pull over so I could investigate. “It’s an abandoned mine,” I said. “There are four or five collapsed buildings, and an old windmill that once must have pumped water to the surface. Half of the blades are missing, but when the wind blows, they spin enough to hit one of the old buildings. ”

  “So I know where I am when I’m over that,” he said. “Then if I can find a landmark that’s nearby, I can go out another few miles—”