Angelica Read Online Free PDF Page B

job. The farmers like her—all the mortals like her.”
    Esther snorted. “The mortal boys, maybe.”
    Gaaron smiled again. “Well, that’s not such a bad thing.”
    â€œAnd your sister, Miriam,” Esther pursued, as if he had agreed with her, “she’s another one. She’s even worse than Zibiah.”
    â€œI don’t think Miriam’s very happy these days,” Gaaron said.
    â€œShe would be if she would just do as she’s told!”
    Gaaron tried another smile, but he could feel that on his face it looked sad. “I think she feels that if she does what I want her to do, she will be even less happy than she is now.”
    â€œBut you know what’s right for her!” Esther exclaimed. “You know what’s right for everybody! You’re to be Archangel!”
    And that, Gaaron thought, was the root of the problem.
    â€œI certainly don’t know what’s right for everybody,” he said, still in that mild tone of voice. “And I’m often wrong in Miriam’s case.”
    â€œSince your mother died—” Esther began, but Gaaron cut her off.
    â€œSince longer ago than that,” he said. “Don’t trouble yourself about Miriam. I will deal with her.”
    It was a relief, after this, to enter the wide, well-lit tunnels and separate. Esther headed down to the kitchens to meddle in someone else’s life. Gaaron turned to the hallway that led to his chambers, hoping to escape to a few moments of privacy.
    It was a faint hope, and it died when he came to his room and found the door standing open. Nicholas was waiting inside, staring out the triple window, and toying with the laces of his shirt. He was dressed for flying, in leather trousers and vest, and his long, narrow wings fell to thin, elegant points on Gaaron’s blue rug.
    â€œNicholas,” Gaaron said civilly, coming inside and letting the door stay open behind him. Nicholas was a tall, lean, restless young man who always made Gaaron feel evenbigger and more solid than he was. For the older angel topped the younger one by almost a head, and his shoulders were twice as broad. And his wingspan—of which he tried not to be vain—was glorious, a lush snowy expanse of feathers and muscle that could unfurl to practically fill the room. Nicholas had said once that Gaaron was a mountain while he, Nicholas, was a spire, and Gaaron had never been able to forget the comparison. Though Nicholas had probably forgotten it as soon as the words left his mouth.
    â€œGaaron! Lovely harmonics this morning. That was Esther with you, I take it?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œImpossible to mistake her voice,” the younger angel said irrepressibly. “Or her selection of music.”
    Gaaron crossed the room to pour himself a glass of water. The singing had made him thirsty. “I assume there’s some reason you’ve sought me out so early in the day?” he asked. “And made yourself welcome in my room?”
    Nicholas waved off the last remark. “I knew you wouldn’t mind.”
    â€œI thought you were down south,” Gaaron said.
    â€œI was. Yesterday. Flew back all night.”
    Gaaron glanced over at him appraisingly. Ah, so then the flying leathers were a holdover from a night journey, and not a preparation for the activities of the day. He should have known; Nicholas was not habitually an early riser. “And did you solve the weather crisis by the Corinnis?” Gaaron asked.
    â€œYes, but that was simple. A few prayers,” Nicholas said impatiently. “But Gaaron, I heard a strange thing while I was there.”
    â€œIn southern Bethel?” Gaaron asked with faint humor. “They are all farmers and miners there. They don’t trade in strange things.”
    â€œYes, that’s what I thought, that’s what made it stranger,” Nicholas said. “And I heard it from more than one man—and