"My father--where is my father?" Deborah knew that the her increasingly alarmed cries would make people look her way; she didn't care. Lucifer cared, though, from the look on his face. "Be quiet, you silly girl," he growled, taking her roughly by her wrist and pulling her into his tent. "I want to talk to you alone--in private." His handsome, ruddy face was dark with fury; Deborah wrenched her hand from his grasp; she knew from Jonathan how unpredictable he was, and positioned herself to flee if necessary. Lucifer stood with his winged back to her for a moment, then turned around, once again composed, cool and utterly sure of himself. "Is that any way to speak to your husband-to-be?" he asked with chilling amusement.
"What do you mean?" Deborah snapped, rubbing her wrist where his fingers had left small bruises. This was no time, she knew, to goad him with the false bravery of insults. He took her hand again, this time more gently, but with no less malice. "Look at your arm, my girl," he said, over-sweetly. He slowly rolled up her sleeve, like a lover, to reveal the Kiss planted there. The amber jewel seemed to stir faintly; Deborah could see faint, uneasy light coming from its milky depths; one Lucifer's bare arm, she could see his Kiss shining more forcefully, like an ember in the hearth; her stomach roiled. The angel traced the outline of it with his finger. "That light marks you as mine--my angelica--do you see?" Deborah felt her mouth working, but could not form words to deny what he had said. Lucifer smiled at her with cruel sweetness. "I can see that my words have shocked you--perhaps you had better go and lie down." He gave her a careless, affectionate push toward the tent flap. "You should know, however," he said, "that I mean to leave for Windy Point in two days' time--be ready to go when I come for you."
Deborah turned to flee, sick to her soul, but stopped as someone cast a winged shadow across the floor. She turned to see another angel enter, body tense and face furrowed with disapproval.
"Lucifer--what in Jovah's name are you about?" the second angel asked, genuinely shocked.
"I've just given my angelica-to-be the good news," the red-haired angel said, furling his wings about his shoulders. "I went to Bathsheba in Gaza earlier, and got her name from Jovah himself," he added pointedly.
Some of the alarm went out of the other angel's small body, but he still seemed angry. "I knew you flouted the customs set forth by Uriel, but I didn't think you would disregard even the most basic civility...!" His mouth taut with fury, the second angel pulled one of Lucifer's chair out from a table and offered it to Deborah; she sank into it, shaking and numbed.
"Oh, come off it, Absalom!" Lucifer snapped, beginning to respond in kind. "You know as well as I that she has no choice in the matter...no angelica does, courtesy of our great god Jovah!" His voice was tinged with sarcasm. He took a step back, and eyed both Deborah and his friend. "I imagine you know what I mean--both of you." Deborah shrank into her seat as Lucifer's fiery form loomed over her. "And your father, my dear, should know better than anyone."
The mention of her father hit Deborah like a faceful of cold water. "What about my father?" she growled, raising her face to meet his mocking gaze. Lucifer mused for a moment. "He's never told you has he? He's loyal to them, even now, even after they worked their art upon him."
"Speak plainly," she demanded; a fierce tugging in her heart hinting at a truth she had guessed but never been able to ask Jonathan about.
"Your father," drawled Lucifer, "is honored for being one of the oldest angels in the world, one of the First Angels, created when Jovah first brought us here. You've seen children born with wings--your sister and brother among them. But I can tell you that the angel Jonathan was born a mortal boy." He waited for Deborah's angry denial.
She shivered again. In moments of brooding, her father had only dropped hints at the dark origins of Samaria's angels--a truth that threatened to upset the entire order of the world. "Speak plainly," she repeated.
He graced her with a thoughtful look. "He was the child of meddling doctors and priests and oracles--people I shall take care of when I am Archangel."
She felt her jaw tightening with anger. "If he is the misborn child of meddlers, then so are you."
Lucifer tipped his head back slightly. "Indeed I am. And I shall see to it that the whole world knows it--that they learn their true nature of their god, Jovah; that they learn that they are kept in their place by abominations like your father and myself."
Deborah clamped her hands around the seat of the chair; Absalom was still behind her—why did he say nothing? Perhaps he has heard all of this before, she thought. It does not shock him. "If you do, you will no longer be Archangel," she said, a challenge.
He quirked a graceful eyebrow. "No? You don't think the people of Samaria will embrace the one who gives them the truth, misborn angel though he may be?"
"They'll tear you to bits in their frenzy." Deborah and Lucifer looked, astonished, at the glowering countenance of Absalom. The brown-haired angel nodded solemnly. "You'll work your own destruction, Lucifer—and you're welcome to it. Henceforth I shall no longer call you 'friend.'" Deborah could see the Archangel-elect's brow furling; there was one thing, evidently, that he still valued. But Absalom had turned his back away, attending now to Jonathan's daughter. He offered Deborah his hand, silently, and led her out of the tent.
"You look like you're in as much shock as I am," he said at length, when they were far from the Windy Point pavilion. A crooked and uneasy smile crossed his lips. "I think we could both do with a drop of water?"
"What do you mean?" Deborah snapped, rubbing her wrist where his fingers had left small bruises. This was no time, she knew, to goad him with the false bravery of insults. He took her hand again, this time more gently, but with no less malice. "Look at your arm, my girl," he said, over-sweetly. He slowly rolled up her sleeve, like a lover, to reveal the Kiss planted there. The amber jewel seemed to stir faintly; Deborah could see faint, uneasy light coming from its milky depths; one Lucifer's bare arm, she could see his Kiss shining more forcefully, like an ember in the hearth; her stomach roiled. The angel traced the outline of it with his finger. "That light marks you as mine--my angelica--do you see?" Deborah felt her mouth working, but could not form words to deny what he had said. Lucifer smiled at her with cruel sweetness. "I can see that my words have shocked you--perhaps you had better go and lie down." He gave her a careless, affectionate push toward the tent flap. "You should know, however," he said, "that I mean to leave for Windy Point in two days' time--be ready to go when I come for you."
Deborah turned to flee, sick to her soul, but stopped as someone cast a winged shadow across the floor. She turned to see another angel enter, body tense and face furrowed with disapproval.
"Lucifer--what in Jovah's name are you about?" the second angel asked, genuinely shocked.
"I've just given my angelica-to-be the good news," the red-haired angel said, furling his wings about his shoulders. "I went to Bathsheba in Gaza earlier, and got her name from Jovah himself," he added pointedly.
Some of the alarm went out of the other angel's small body, but he still seemed angry. "I knew you flouted the customs set forth by Uriel, but I didn't think you would disregard even the most basic civility...!" His mouth taut with fury, the second angel pulled one of Lucifer's chair out from a table and offered it to Deborah; she sank into it, shaking and numbed.
"Oh, come off it, Absalom!" Lucifer snapped, beginning to respond in kind. "You know as well as I that she has no choice in the matter...no angelica does, courtesy of our great god Jovah!" His voice was tinged with sarcasm. He took a step back, and eyed both Deborah and his friend. "I imagine you know what I mean--both of you." Deborah shrank into her seat as Lucifer's fiery form loomed over her. "And your father, my dear, should know better than anyone."
The mention of her father hit Deborah like a faceful of cold water. "What about my father?" she growled, raising her face to meet his mocking gaze. Lucifer mused for a moment. "He's never told you has he? He's loyal to them, even now, even after they worked their art upon him."
"Speak plainly," she demanded; a fierce tugging in her heart hinting at a truth she had guessed but never been able to ask Jonathan about.
"Your father," drawled Lucifer, "is honored for being one of the oldest angels in the world, one of the First Angels, created when Jovah first brought us here. You've seen children born with wings--your sister and brother among them. But I can tell you that the angel Jonathan was born a mortal boy." He waited for Deborah's angry denial.
She shivered again. In moments of brooding, her father had only dropped hints at the dark origins of Samaria's angels--a truth that threatened to upset the entire order of the world. "Speak plainly," she repeated.
He graced her with a thoughtful look. "He was the child of meddling doctors and priests and oracles--people I shall take care of when I am Archangel."
She felt her jaw tightening with anger. "If he is the misborn child of meddlers, then so are you."
Lucifer tipped his head back slightly. "Indeed I am. And I shall see to it that the whole world knows it--that they learn their true nature of their god, Jovah; that they learn that they are kept in their place by abominations like your father and myself."
Deborah clamped her hands around the seat of the chair; Absalom was still behind her—why did he say nothing? Perhaps he has heard all of this before, she thought. It does not shock him. "If you do, you will no longer be Archangel," she said, a challenge.
He quirked a graceful eyebrow. "No? You don't think the people of Samaria will embrace the one who gives them the truth, misborn angel though he may be?"
"They'll tear you to bits in their frenzy." Deborah and Lucifer looked, astonished, at the glowering countenance of Absalom. The brown-haired angel nodded solemnly. "You'll work your own destruction, Lucifer—and you're welcome to it. Henceforth I shall no longer call you 'friend.'" Deborah could see the Archangel-elect's brow furling; there was one thing, evidently, that he still valued. But Absalom had turned his back away, attending now to Jonathan's daughter. He offered Deborah his hand, silently, and led her out of the tent.
"You look like you're in as much shock as I am," he said at length, when they were far from the Windy Point pavilion. A crooked and uneasy smile crossed his lips. "I think we could both do with a drop of water?"
