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Samaria had been destroyed that day—as well as dozens of merchants, Jansai, landholders, and power mongers of the three provinces—and help was needed everywhere. Obadiah had always been the first one to volunteer to join the task force in Semorrah, the angel council at Monteverde, the merchants’ convocation in Luminaux. He had made himself useful. He had kept himself occupied.
    It still had been hard to overlook how deeply Rachel had fallen in love with her husband, after all those months of seeming to despise him. And Obadiah was glad of that, truly he was. He admired the Archangel Gabriel more than he admired any man living or dead. Gabriel deserved a strong and passionate wife. It was just that Obadiah had this tendre for the angelica, a tenderness and anaffection that couldn’t be subdued and wouldn’t go away. It was hard for Obadiah not to hate Gabriel just a little when he felt such longing for Rachel.
    And Rachel, damn her, knew it.
    Gabriel, Obadiah supposed, did not.
    The Archangel had called Obadiah to his room a week ago to talk over the troubles in Breven. Even sitting relaxed in a specially fashioned chair, Gabriel appeared to be standing bolt upright on some high mountaintop, watching the landscape below him with an unwavering attention. The events of the past two years showed on Gabriel’s austere face. His black hair had silvered at the temples; his fierce blue eyes were accented with lines at the far corners. But there was no weariness in Gabriel. There was no abatement of intensity. He still had the force and conviction of a righteous man who had become the personal confidante of the god.
    â€œYou sent for me?” Obadiah asked, stepping inside the room.
    Gabriel nodded. “Please. Sit down. I’m facing a problem.”
    He had faced nothing but problems since becoming Archangel, Obadiah reflected, but none of them had proved stronger than his will. “Well, if it’s something you can’t handle without my help, it must be dreadful indeed,” Obadiah joked, settling himself in an opposite chair.
    Gabriel smiled only faintly at that. “It’s Breven,” he said without preamble. “Or, actually, all the Jansai, but Breven is where the discontent is the greatest.”
    Obadiah nodded, waiting for more information. The Jansai were a nomadic, opportunistic people who traveled the length and breadth of Samaria, selling goods and services. They were the lifeblood of Samarian commerce, but they were not entirely trustworthy, and Gabriel had always had an uneasy relationship with them. Raphael had made friends with the Jansai, had turned his back on their misdeeds, and encouraged them as they began a systematic enslavement of the Edori people.
    Several Jansai leaders had perished with Raphael when Jovah leveled Mount Galo, but that wasn’t the only hardship to occur among the Jansai since Gabriel had taken over as Archangel. By freeing all the Edori, Gabriel had completely destroyed the Jansai’s most lucrativesource of income. Breven, the haphazard and ramshackle city in eastern Jordana that all the wandering Jansai occasionally called home, was in deep financial distress. The Jansai caravans that had always crisscrossed Samaria, selling every staple and luxury produced in the three provinces, had grown tattered and unreliable. It was no wonder, thought Obadiah, that the Jansai were exhibiting discontent.
    â€œDo you know Uriah? He stepped forward to take Malachi’s place when Malachi was lost at Galo,” Gabriel said.
    â€œMiddle-aged, heavyset, small eyes, snarling manner,” Obadiah said lightly. “I know him.”
    Gabriel snorted. “You have just described the whole Jansai race,” the Archangel said caustically. “But that’s him. He has sent me a letter full of threats.”
    Obadiah’s brows rose. “Threatening you? With what? What does he think he could do to harm you?”
    Gabriel shook