Sacred Cups (Seven Archangels Book 2) Read online

  Oh, no, not the year again. Raphael distanced himself in his mind so Gabriel wasn’t sharing all his thoughts any longer.

  But Gabriel pressed to get closer into his mind, and Raphael realized Gabriel had set up this outing to say whatever was coming next. Even more, Gabriel was reluctant to say it anyhow.

  Don’t stop him, said the Sprit in Raphael’s heart.

  This was so different from the Gabriel of only a while ago, when he would have said whatever it was without concerning himself with how his listeners reacted. Certainly without setting it up, since as far as he’d been concerned truth was truth, and you dealt with it because it was something that was, and what choice did that leave you? Gabriel dealt that way with himself. It was only in the last seven centuries—only since Gabriel had returned from being punished for a year—that he’d acknowledged the legitimacy of the heart-factor in the way you delivered news. He was clumsy, but he was trying to take it into account.

  The tension in the Cherub had heightened, and Raphael felt his own soul burning in response.

  Gabriel said, “Are some things unforgivable?”

  Raphael looked at him curiously. “God forgives anything.”

  “I meant between friends.” Gabriel had a thoughtful frown. “Consider a situation where one lets someone down. Someone important.”

  Raphael said, “Ask God.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  Raphael shifted so he sat cross-legged. “You mean like if I failed Jesus?”

  Gabriel focused a long distance away, still frowning, then cocked his head. “Hypothetically speaking.”

  “It would be a disgrace, I think, not a sin. So technically, it couldn’t be forgiven.”

  Gabriel’s eyes widened. “Disgraceful.” He drew out the word like Mary spinning the finest of threads.

  Raphael raised his eyes to find Gabriel tracing on the ground. Mathematical symbols. Gabriel was running away in his own head.

  Gabriel looked only at his calculation. “Nothing could make it right?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Raphael shrugged. “You’d probably be able to patch things up, but depending on the amount of damage, you’d always carry some kind of reminder. Remiel certainly does.”

  “And would I be right to assume,” said Gabriel as he diagrammed the problem on the snowtop, “that it would be normal not to fully trust the other person again afterward?”

  Raphael nodded. “I think that would be normal after a really big falling-out.”

  Gabriel frowned again as he started doing whatever it was Cherubim did with numbers. Raphael could feel the equation half-formed in his own head as Gabriel worked it: he was calculating the gravitational influence of two planetary bodies on one another to determine the distance at which the gravitational pull was no longer enough to keep them from drifting apart but not strong enough to draw them together.

  What could possibly make Gabriel this tentative? Gabriel was legendary for looking horrible things in the face and saying, “Now we deal with that the way it is.”

  Who had recently let someone down? Who was not trusting whom?

  “Be straightforward with me. What are we talking about specifically?”

  Gabriel said, “I’m thinking about that year.”

  Raphael’s heart stopped.

  Gabriel used a voice soft as snowfall. “I know how ashamed you feel.”

  Raphael stared. He couldn’t even pray.

  That whole year…

  His memories of the first hour were blurred: frustration at God, at Gabriel, at himself for how he’d overreacted and in the end been helpless. He was glad he couldn’t remember. The worst moment had been watching the two he loved most at odds all at once, knowing his loyalty lay with God but not knowing how to mend the fracture, and next being forbidden even to know what had happened to Gabriel.

  But worse than that was the next two weeks consumed by fear that Gabriel had been thrown into Hell, two weeks of wishing he’d seen this coming and headed it off. Suspecting he’d seen hints over centuries but had kept pushing it to the back of his mind as Gabriel turned more toward the minutiae of the law and away from compassion. Then guilt. Shame over his part. He should have done better.

  God had pity on him at that point and let him know Gabriel would be returning. But then he endured a year of everyone falling silent whenever he approached, everyone keeping secrets, but him learning to read their eyes and their different caliber silences like a barometer.

  And then when Gabriel had returned, he was scarily silent for three months, desperate in prayer, starving to look into God’s eyes all the time. Raphael had dealt with that all right.

  No, it was the aftermath that was really the worst, when Gabriel came back to himself. First he wrote a letter to the family where he’d stayed, and then he started to process. Cherubim processed endlessly. He spent more years questioning everything in light of what he’d learned, re-defining his entire understanding of God and Creation and his place in it all based on a year where Raphael hadn’t been.

  In the middle of an assigned task, Raphael would turn to Gabriel to share something exciting, only to find him staring a thousand miles away, always thinking about the same thing.

  Every time Gabriel mentioned how strong everyone had been, and how everyone had looked out for him, and how thankful he was for everyone’s help, Raphael had heard an accusation: everyone meant everyone else.

  No other Seraph had so completely failed to help his bonded Cherub, not since the winnowing.

  And six hundred years later, here was Gabriel saying he couldn’t trust him anymore.

  Gabriel continued tracing symbols in the snow. He was doing it left-handed now, having run out of room on his right. “I didn’t realize it bothered you that much. I shouldn’t have wanted to talk about it.”

  “None of that should matter.” Raphael’s hands trembled. “We’re together.”

  Gabriel said, “But it’s not good enough if you—”

  “No!” Raphael sat up. “You keep doing this! You’ve got to let off the constant criticism of the way I do things. Let me make my own mistakes for once!”

  Of course, when Gabriel was ripped away from him, he’d made his own colossal mistake, and they’d both paid. Flames leaped around Raphael: in the eyes of a Cherub who never forgot anything, he was still paying.

  Why was this coming up now? Was Gabriel jealous that Jesus was getting his full attention when Gabriel himself hadn’t gotten any in approximately the same position?

  Listen to him, urged the Spirit. I don’t want you two at odds.

  He ambushed me!

  Gabriel said, “Don’t get upset. If you wake him up—”

  “Will you listen to yourself?” Raphael got to his feet even as Gabriel sat straighter. “Why should you know how to guard Jesus better than I do? You’ve always tagged along on my assignments and told me how I’m doing them wrong. Don’t wake up the kid. Don’t use a different name. Don’t fly with the baby. Don’t leave just yet. When is it time for you to trust my judgment?”

  Gabriel inclined his head. Typical Gabriel, backing off to watch the curious phenomenon of a Seraph with emotions. Then a wordless apology.

  Raphael unfolded his arms, but his wings were still tight to his back. “It’s humiliating enough that you have to be running interference with the enemy. Do you have to come right out and tell me I’m not good enough to do the job God gave me?”

  Gabriel raised his hands. “I have absolute faith in you.”

  “Show it for once!” Raphael kicked a shower of snow into the air. The ice particles glimmered as they settled back onto the surface.

  Gabriel bit his lip. “It’s a tremendous guardianship, but I can’t think of a better angel for it, and God couldn’t either, because he gave it to you.”

  Raphael looked sidelong at him. “I’m going to be right here for him the whole time. I’m not going to let him down.”

  Gabriel pushed back with his question: if Raphael was d
one diverting the question, did he still feel the same about the year of Gabriel’s punishment?

  Fire surged in his heart. “My feelings haven’t changed.”

  The light left Gabriel’s eyes. “You still feel ashamed. That it was a disgrace.”

  “Yes.” Sparks showered through the air around Raphael. “Are you happy I said it?”

  “Not really, but it’s good you were honest.” Gabriel looked right through him. “How can I change that?”

  “You can’t!” Raphael turned so he didn’t have to see the thousand-mile stare. “Don’t you think if it was possible I would have asked for it by now? You’re right—a betrayal of that magnitude can’t be undone, and I’m always going to carry that with me, and I can’t see anything good that came of one horrible mistake.”

  “That’s a harsh assessment.” Gabriel’s voice had gone hollow.

  “Who better to make it than me?” Raphael folded his arms and squared his shoulders. “I hate that it happened at all, but more than that, I hate that it just keeps coming back as a reminder.”

  Gabriel had returned to frowning. “Am I to understand you would find it easier if I left?”

  He whipped around, stunned. “No!”

  How Gabriel could bloodlessly talk about something this wrenching, Raphael would never comprehend.

  In the next moment Raphael felt Gabriel balancing out the fire, filling him with those rings of calm until he could think clearly. What would happen if Gabriel decided this would be the last time and simply left, opting not to trust this particular Seraph any longer?

  The future spun like a whirlpool, and even though Gabriel steadied him again, he trembled. “Please stay. Just, please, don’t keep dragging it up.”

  Gabriel said, “If that’s acceptable to you, then I will, and I won’t raise the matter again.”

  Raphael stared a hole in the snow. Once more came the steel from Gabriel, cool as glass, gentle and focusing. He absorbed it all until that security anchored him and Gabriel felt fully present once more.

  “If that’s settled,” Gabriel said, “there’s something else.”

  Raphael glared at him only to realize “something” was a snowball, followed immediately by a tackle, and in the next moment they were entangled, snow flying, Raphael laughing, Gabriel’s eyes glimmering, the pair together mingling fire and steel in their hearts. Raphael forced the whole conversation aside. It was okay. They were okay.

  Half an hour of snow-fighting later, Remiel appeared. “Raphael, I’m sorry, but he woke up, and he’s asking for you.”

  Raphael left. The pair always agreed where his top priority was.

  Remiel dropped into the snow beside Gabriel. “Did you have a fun war? I thought I heard you laughing all the way from the Holy Land.”

  Gabriel nodded.

  She leaned closer. “And did you talk with him?”

  Gabriel said, “He made it clear how he feels.”

  She rested her head on Gabriel’s shoulder. “I’m glad you straightened it out.”

  Gabriel tucked in his knees and brought up his wings, staring a thousand miles away. “It’s helpful to know where we stand.”

  #

  Halfway through distributing Mary’s bread to the prisoners, Gabriel stopped in place, staring blindly.

  He summoned an Angel, handed off the basket, then fled to the rooftop where he stood with his hands on his knees and his head down, chest heaving.

  One of the prisoners’ guardians appeared by his side, radiating concern.

  Gabriel pulled himself up, then held his head aslant. His eyes sparkled.

  The guardian rested a hand on his arm.

  Gabriel forced a smile, hugged the guardian, then flashed into Heaven.

  On the balcony of his library, Gabriel sat on the stone railing, heels knocking the post with a rhythm slower than a man’s heartbeat. His fingers traced a stone pomegranate set in the post while he craned his neck to peer at the crowns of his three trees.

  Raphael wouldn’t want to see him here, doing this. But Raphael wasn’t around to watch.

  Gabriel’s cedars flirted with the wind. Beyond that was a grove of pomegranate trees. In one of the cedars a falcon had built a nest. On the lower levels, smaller birds had nested; the tree harbored a bee hive as well. He would bring Mary some honey. He wouldn’t tell Raphael it came from here.

  Prisoners.

  Bread.

  Cedars.

  Himself.

  He shivered in the breeze.

  Just after he’d returned from the year, Gabriel and Raphael had lounged in a field with three musicians. Gabriel sang to accompany, his head on Raphael’s shoulder and the Vision live in his heart.

  Between songs, Gabriel commented on how good it felt to hear angelic music again, which led to a discussion of the human approximation of music. Gabriel mentioned he’d sung with the shepherds as he worked.

  That was when he felt it the first time: a prickle, a peculiar tension, but nothing he could identify quickly. By the time they sang again, the feeling had vanished, but Gabriel listened for it. While the musicians picked their next song, one of them asked whether Gabriel had taught the humans any songs, and as Gabriel told a story about teaching Tobias’s grandchildren to sing, the feeling flared.

  That came from Raphael, definitely. Gabriel reached for his heart, but Raphael recoiled.

  Although familiar, the feeling resisted identification, but while Gabriel continued the conversation, he analyzed it. Wanting to disappear. Discomfort with the subject matter.

  Gabriel glanced over his shoulder, and although Raphael looked impassive, the sensation intensified.

  I knew I was naked, so I hid myself.

  Shame?

  True, the anecdote was at Gabriel’s own expense—but it wasn’t that embarrassing, was it? At Tobias’s household, that was how friends shared. Or maybe he’d gotten that wrong? It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Sitting up and away from Raphael, Gabriel wrapped up the tale. One of the musicians shared a similar story about teaching Archangels to sing. Gabriel felt Raphael unkey.

  I hid myself.

  Gabriel ought to test the theory—maybe by mentioning the punishment again to measure the intensity of the feeling against that of the null state, then using that data positively correlate it with his speaking. He didn’t. He couldn’t fumble for Raphael’s fire right now. He couldn’t follow the musician’s story. He’d never be able to sing.

  He excused himself.

  Gabriel reappeared in Tobias’s tree from which he’d fallen. On the same branch, he sat with his arms around the trunk, and he tried to pray.

  Ashamed. Of him.

  Why he hadn’t anticipated this, Gabriel didn’t understand. Gabriel had never considered Raphael would be anything other than angry, but once he and Raphael had re-bonded and he could feel no anger, that fear dissolved like a nightmare.

  But this?

  He ought to ask. He needed to ask. In his heart, the Spirit urged him to ask.

  But to hear the yes… Why question what Raphael had expressed so eloquently in the tightness around his heart, in his urge to hide?

  Query: Could Gabriel live with this?

  Assertion: Probably.

  Gabriel would constrain himself, not think about the disgrace around Raphael. If other angels mentioned it, he could shut it down if Raphael were around; he could save it for himself and his Father. There had been eternal secrets before. This would be just one more. Over centuries, Raphael would forget. Seraphim could forget when they wanted to.

  Gabriel let his hungry eyes soak in the Vision, and he extended his heart to God’s love. Here he could be himself. Here there was no shame.

  After a time, God gentled him back to awareness.

  Raphael had joined him on the branch. Two hours had passed.

  “You left abruptly.”

  Angling away from Raphael, Gabriel stared at his knees. “Were they upset?”

  “We figured God called yo
u for an assignment.” When Gabriel didn’t answer, Raphael said, “Are you okay?”

  He had no answer for that. “I’m not injured.”

  With Gabriel’s back to him, Raphael ran his fingers through the grey feathers, interlocking the bases, straightening them and freeing any trapped matter.

  Gabriel closed his eyes as Raphael went over the outermost wings. “Making me presentable?”

  “You look fine. I wanted to do this when you first returned, but it was so hectic. Wow, you’re tense.” Raphael brought his hands to Gabriel’s shoulders and tried to rub out the knots. “Was it because you were talking about being here?”

  Gabriel pulled back his soul from the discomfort prickling over the Seraph.

  Raphael said, “Tell them you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Should I?”

  Gabriel’s voice sounded so thin.

  “Absolutely.” Raphael returned his attention to the feathers. “Why do that to yourself?”

  Aching in his fingers: Gabriel had clutched the branch hard enough to hurt.

  The only sound was the rustle of Raphael’s hands through his feathers. Logically, Raphael should blame him for their joint punishment; of course he’d feel the disgrace as keenly as the Gabriel himself. It had been selfish not to consider that.

  He’d dragged Raphael down. He’d put him through a year of concern and fear for no reason. No other angel ever had been stripped of the Vision, and as his Seraph, Raphael had to have shared his disgrace. It must have galled him.

  It was in both their best interests if Gabriel didn’t bring it up again.

  Behind him, he felt Raphael gathering himself to speak, and the previbrations of the statement startled him. No, not that. Please.

  Gabriel turned quickly. “Thanks. That’s better.”

  Raphael pulled back. “Oh?”

  Gabriel raised his wings. “Do you want to do rounds now? It’s been a while since I’ve accompanied you.”

  The Seraph had brightened, and they’d headed off.

  And now, gazing from his pomegranate-decorated balcony at three cedars, Gabriel closed his eyes. Centuries hadn’t erased anything. Raphael still felt ashamed.