Page 55 of Seraph's Tears
“It’s time to come home.”
His words sent a bolt of panic through my body. My stomach clenched and bile rose in the back of my throat.
“Be a good girl and stay. I’ll keep you in my room tonight. Lord Erlik will not mind, as you are already promised to be mine.”
“No!” I blurted.
His eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“I, I, can’t leave without warning,” I scrambled to say, my whole body leaning away from my betrothed.
He sighed. “Eve, you shan’t be. You’ll be by my side for the rest of this journey. We’ll go to his house tomorrow, and I’ll invite him to come back with us.”
“It won’t work.” I struggled to come up with a reason for him to let me go. If he kept me now, all chances of escape were gone. “He’s closed off, suspicious of humans. He won’t want to leave his home.”
Zorababel snorted. “Eve. You do not know the ways of men.”
Perhaps, I wanted to shoot back. But I understand seraphim better than you. I fought to keep my expression pleasant. “I have spoken with him. If you want him to seriously consider your suggestion, you need to approach him correctly. He isn’t just a Herald of Death. In his world, he was considered a mighty warrior with connections to their king.”
Zor studied me.
The elder behind Zor looked conflicted—he didn’t trust a thing women said, but he had to acknowledge that I’d had contact and he hadn’t. Surely I knew something.
“What is the proper way to approach a demigod?” Zor asked. “In his view?”
I swallowed. “First you must purify yourselves with a bath. The seraphim fly everywhere they go, and are not used to dirt. It would be insulting if you showed up still weary from the road.”
Zorababel nodded. “Anything else?”
I thought quickly. “Yes. I can carry a message to him. Written, in formal script. He’s heard all the details from me,” I lied, “and now he’ll want a letter of introduction.”
Zor’s chest puffed at that. Letters of introduction were things wealthy, powerful men handed one another. That would stroke his ego. “It will take some time.”
“Write it now,” I suggested eagerly, waving at the barmaid. “Surely she has a pen and paper around here.”
She scowled at me, but rummaged somewhere under the counter and pulled out the instruments we needed.
“No need to go into too much detail,” I added, hoping he would keep the letter short. “And then…come around tea time.”
The public coach would be stopping in the village at noon, so that should get me several hours before Zorababel and his minions would knock at the door of the manor and find I’d fled.
I’d intended to shield Gabriel from my church, but he could handle this by himself if he had to. I hated the idea of him fending off nosy humans who didn’t have his best interests at heart, but I knew he was more than capable. He was a seraph. He could see in the dark, smell the faintest of scents, he could sense the weather changing before anyone else, and he could fly. And heal. It would likely take a blow straight to his heart or cutting off his head for him to be unable to heal. Even without his magic, he was nigh invincible. Ten men were no match against him, and Zorababel only had himself and two others.
I would never tell anyone saltwater burned seraphim. Even if they put me in the prayer closet for a month with fasting. Even if they flogged me repeatedly for my disobedience.
Zorababel sat down at the bar and scrawled out some sort of letter to Gabriel.
“Address it to the captain of the special flight sedge, son of a noble lord of Aerie,” I suggested, leaning on Gabriel’s titles to evoke awe in the men. They were used to shepherding a flock of undereducated, docile humans who’d not experienced life outside the church. They likely thought they could bend Gabriel to their will, even as they promised to venerate him as a minor god, the messenger of Erlik. My lips twitched. Zorababel will be surprised.
It was only Zorababel’s grandfather that had seen the Fall of the seraphim. I bet that one look at Gabriel with his wings spread, his broad chest on display and his sharp eyes drawn to the horizon, would make Zorababel realize exactly who he was dealing with. He’d be quaking in his boots by supper, I hoped.
“Are there any other details about how you would venerate him?” I asked.
“Do you have one of his feathers?” Absalom suddenly interrupted. He did not notice the glares both the elder and Zor sent his direction.
I shook my head, hiding my disgust. As if I would give anything from Gabriel’s body to them. No, he was precious to me.
“You had a feather hiding in your skirt last time,” he insisted.
