Archangel by Sharon Shinn Page B

not in the best of moods that Gabriel arrived at the magnificent home of Lord Jethro of Semorrah, and his temper was not improved by the opulence of the wedding itself. It was only in the past forty years—during Raphael’s reign and the tenure of Michael before him—that the merchants had come to accumulate such wealth and prominence, so that the cities rivaled the holds of the angels as places of importance. Gabriel believed in a more literal translation of the Librera, which said, “Whereas each man differs from the other as the rose differs from the iris,yet is each one beautiful in his own way, and equal in Jovah’s sight.” Gabriel did not like to see one class of people gain dominance over another; he considered inequity a doubtful road to the harmony that Jovah required from his people. He had not troubled to hide his disapproval, which had made him unpopular with the merchants—and not a few of the angels.
    Still, he was to be Archangel. Knowing his views, Jovah had selected him from all the angels of Samaria. And now Lord Jethro and the Jansai, and even the angels, were stuck with him for the next twenty years. So he had been invited to the wedding, and he had come.
    He had even tried to be civil, although cordiality was beyond him. He found Jethro to be a shrewd, calculating, wholly untrustworthy sort of man, and the bride’s father cut from the same cloth. Young Daniel bid fair to follow in his father’s footsteps, and the lady Mary—sweet Jovah singing!—was small, shy, childlike and nervous, clearly a hapless sacrifice on the altar of intracity commerce.
    Raphael, of course, had fawned over her, with that practiced grace that pleased the merchants so well. He had sat beside her at the dinner and smilingly complimented her on her looks and her hair. She appeared to be grateful for the attention, chattering to him easily after the first few moments, during which she had seemed overcome by the honor. Watching Raphael charm her, Gabriel had grimaced slightly, then glanced over at Nathan. Nathan was grinning.
    So after dinner, Nathan had made his way to the lady’s side and paid her pretty attentions, and this had seemed to please her as much as Raphael’s conversation. Nathan was much more the diplomat and ladies’ man than his brother, and Gabriel was not above deploying him in this role, for it was one he was no good at himself.
    “Your brother seems to have won the lady Mary’s heart,” said a smooth voice behind him, and Gabriel turned to find himself face to face with the Archangel. As always, the first thing he noticed about Raphael was his sheer physical beauty. Hair, eyes, skin, even wings, had a tawny color to them; he was leonine, powerful and sleek. Yet aging for all that. Close up, Gabriel could see the fine lines around the eyes and down the cheeks. The beautiful hair was thinner than it had once been.
    “You did not fare so ill yourself” was Gabriel’s response.
    Raphael smiled seraphically. “She is a sweet child with a gentle manner,” he said. “It is a pleasure to converse with her.”
    “A pity to throw her into Jethro’s den,” Gabriel said, glancing around. The room was filled with landholders and bankers and petty burghers, most of them talking finance if Gabriel did not greatly miss his guess.
    “She comes from just such a den, though I’m sure neither our host nor our guest of honor would thank you for describing it so,” Raphael replied in a purring voice.
    Gabriel laughed. “No, indeed. I’m sure Jethro and all the others will miss your charming manner when they are forced to contend with me instead.”
    “And the day fast approaches,” Raphael responded. “Tell me. I was hoping to meet your angelica here. But I have heard no word about her at all. Is it possible you are keeping her a secret until the day of the Gloria itself?”
    Raphael spoke with his usual melodiousness, but Gabriel thought he detected the faintest hint of malice in the tone. “I