Naamah's Blessing
Page 18I still wondered what it meant.
In Bhaktipur, I had coaxed a field of marigolds to bloom out of season, spending my strength to breathe summer into winter, creating a miracle that lent the appearance of divine approval to the sweeping change the Rani Amrita was implementing. Ordinary folk had celebrated that day, too, weeping and laughing and rejoicing; most especially the folk of the lowest caste, those reckoned unclean and untouchable.
Mayhap it was enough. It ought to be, but I wasn’t sure.
Elua’s Oak held no answers, only memories and the sleepy thoughts of impending winter. I took my hands away to find the guards waiting patiently, and Bao regarding me with fond bemusement.
“If you are done talking to the tree, Moirin, I think the priestess’ suggestion is a good one,” he said. “I have not visited any of the temples of the gods of Terre d’Ange but Naamah’s.”
“And I have not visited them since Jehanne was trying to get with child and had little time for me,” I said softly, remembering. “It would be good to visit them again, to thank the gods for their gifts and offer prayers on Desirée’s behalf.”
Bao nodded. “It seems fitting.”
In the days leading up to the ceremony, we made a pilgrimage of the City’s temples, beginning with the Temple of Eisheth where the feisty Sister Marianne Prichard presided.
She gave me a firm hug in welcome, unexpectedly strong for her age. “Have you come to light a candle to Eisheth, Lady Moirin?”
“No.” I smiled. “Not yet.”
Sister Marianne cast a dubious eye on me. “Don’t wait too long, child! How old are you now?”
I hazarded a guess. “Twenty… one?”
“We’ve come to give thanks and make an offering on the young princess’ behalf,” Bao interjected. “Later, perhaps, I can persuade Moirin to beseech Eisheth to open the gate of her womb.”
The elderly priestess chuckled. “You do that, lad! Spring’s a good time, when all the world is fertile.”
“Fat babies,” Bao reminded me. “Round as dumplings.”
My diadh-anam flickered, telling me it was not time yet; and I knew Bao felt it, too. “We will see, my magpie.”
There was a garden in the inner sanctum of Eisheth’s temple where a spring burbled through the rocks to feed a natural pool. An effigy of the goddess knelt beside it, her cupped hands extended over the healing waters. Having paid our tithes, Bao and I made our offerings, pouring incense of hyssop and cedar gum into Eisheth’s hands and kindling the incense with wax tapers.
Fragrant smoke rose.
The marble effigy knelt, streaked with traces of green moss, her head bowed in modesty.
We knelt, too.
I breathed through a cycle of the Five Styles, clearing my mind. I gave thanks to Eisheth for her gifts of healing and music, and for the kindness she had shown us in sending one of her priestesses to tend to my lady Jehanne’s daughter. I prayed that Eisheth would ever grant good health to Desirée. When we had finished, both Bao and I dipped our hands in the sacred pool and drank the healing waters with their acrid tang of minerals.
It felt good and right.
At the temple of martial Camael, I meditated on the battles I had seen, gave thanks for having survived them, and prayed that Desirée would ever be spared the horrors of war.
I felt myself humble at the Temple of Shemhazai, the greatest scholar among Elua’s Companions. I thanked him for his gifts, and prayed that he would grace Desirée with wisdom.
“What are you thinking?” I asked Bao.
“I am thinking that pride is a dangerous gift,” he murmured. “But betimes a necessary one.”
I prayed that Desirée would find pride in good measure.
At Anael’s temple, I gave thanks for the gift that the Good Steward had given me. I prayed that I might be worthy of it, whatever its ultimate purpose, and that the young princess might grow up to understand the worth of tending to the world with loving care.
We visited the great Temple of Naamah in the City, releasing doves beneath the dome of the temple and laughing, confident in the bright lady’s love. I thanked her for the gifts, so many gifts, that she had given me; and for allowing me to serve as the vessel for her blessing.
I prayed that Desirée would know it, too.
And I understood Kushiel’s worship far better than I had the first time when we visited his temple.
Expiation.
The penitents who sought out Kushiel’s untender mercies had cause. I gazed at the bronze-faced effigy with his rod and flail crossed on his breast, remembering the penance that the Patriarch of Riva had laid upon me. I had not found expiation in it, but nor had I believed myself guilty of sin. Valentina, who had freed me, told me she had found comfort in performing penance for her own sins; and I understood that it was a gift for those in need.
By the expression on his face, Bao was thinking similar thoughts. “I punished myself in Kurugiri,” he said somberly. “This way is better.”
“It is,” I agreed.
There, I prayed that Desirée would never be in need of such penance; but that if she did, she would find comfort in Kushiel’s mercy.
Lastly, on the eve of the ceremony, we paid a visit to the great Temple of Elua.
It was the oldest temple in the City. In the antechamber, a priest and priestess welcomed us with the kiss of greeting and accepted our tithes. A graceful acolyte knelt and removed our shoes and stockings that we might walk unshod in the presence of Blessed Elua, and gave us garlands of dried anemone flowers for our offering.
The ground was cold and hard beneath our bare feet, the autumn grass damp and yellow. Blessed Elua’s marble effigy towered atop an altar beneath the open sky, flanked by four roofless pillars and oak trees almost as ancient as Elua’s Oak in the square of the City.
The statue of Elua smiled down upon us, one hand extended in offering, the other cupped to reveal the mark of the wound he had inflicted upon himself in reply to the One God’s messenger.
My grandfather’s Heaven is bloodless, and I am not.
Without thinking, I summoned the twilight for the first time in many weeks, drawing it deep into my lungs and breathing it out, spinning it around Bao and myself like a cloak.
Bao uttered a startled sound.
In the soft, muted hues of the twilight, Elua’s effigy glimmered, shadows in the creases of his smile. I laid my garland of dried flowers on the altar, and stooped to press my lips to Elua’s marble foot. In my heart, I thanked him for the many gifts of love that had graced my life.
And ah, gods! I had been blessed.
From the stalwart love of my mother in Alba to the discovery of my father in Terre d’Ange; from Cillian’s youthful ardor and friendship to the mercurial affections of my lady Jehanne, whose daughter I would vow to protect on the morrow. Noble Master Lo Feng. My proud, reserved princess, Snow Tiger; my treasured friend, the celestial dragon whose spirit she had harbored within her mortal flesh. My sweet boy Aleksei, and my golden, laughing Rani Amrita. All the myriad folk I’d met along the way who had shown me kindness and generosity.
Bao.
I nodded. “And I, you.”
Beneath the twilit shadow of Elua’s effigy, Bao kissed me, the shared spark of our diadh-anam entwining.
I wound my arms around his neck and returned his kiss; and I prayed with all my heart that Blessed Elua would be as kind and gracious to the young princess Desirée as he had been to me.
Elua smiled.
TWENTY
The oath-swearing ceremony was a solemn affair, as it should be.
It took place in the throne room of the Palace. There was not the large crowd that would be present later at the royal theater for the celebratory performance, but there were still some thirty or forty peers in attendance, including the royal minister, Rogier Courcel, Duc de Barthelme.
For a mercy, none dared show disapproval in the King’s presence, although I knew full well many of them felt it. Duc Rogier wore a look of studied neutrality that spoke volumes, and I could sense tension between him and my father, who couldn’t conceal his pride.
I breathed slowly and deeply to settle my nerves, holding Desirée’s hand in mine. Earlier, she had been high-strung and excited, but the solemnity of the occasion had made an impression on her, and she was behaving herself impeccably.
His majesty greeted his young daughter with quiet dignity, doing his best to mask the pain the sight of her caused him. Clad in a white satin gown, her fair hair caught in a gilded mesh net studded with pearls, Desirée looked more than ever like a miniature version of Jehanne.
I stood beside her as the senior priest from the Temple of Elua gave an invocation, citing the bonds of love and loyalty in which the tradition was rooted.
“The gods in their wisdom answer our prayers as they see fit, not as we ask.” The priest fixed me with a deep-set gaze. “Love and courage are often found in unlikely places, and there is no nation on earth that knows this better than Terre d’Ange, no nation better suited to honor this truth. Moirin mac Fainche, is it your will to accept this duty offered you today?”
“It is,” I said in a firm tone.
The priest inclined his head. “May Elua’s blessing be on your undertaking.”
King Daniel beckoned for Desirée and me to approach the throne, summoning his daughter to the dais beside him, while I stood before them. Together they made an achingly poignant picture: the dark, melancholy King with lines of sorrow etched on his face, his gossamer-pale daughter with hair like spun moonlight. A soft sigh went around the room. Whether they agreed with the King’s choice or not, no one could fail to be moved by the sight.
“Moirin mac Fainche,” the King said in his deep, resonant voice. “Do you pledge yourself this day to be her highness Desirée de la Courcel’s oath-sworn protector?”
“I do.”
“Will you regard her interests as your own, seek to defend her from every danger, and hold her happiness as a matter of sacred trust?”
“I will.”
His majesty extended his right hand, the signet ring of House Courcel on his forefinger. “Then in the presence of all assembled here, I bid you give your oath.”
There was a weight to the moment. I felt it pressing down on me, felt my diadh-anam flicker in response to it.
The folk of the Maghuin Dhonn did not swear oaths lightly. I had prayed to the gods of Terre d’Ange; now I prayed to the Great Bear Herself to give me the strength to carry out this duty.
“On the blood of Blessed Elua, I swear it.” Raising my voice, I added the ancient oath of the Maghuin Dhonn. “By stone and sea and sky, and all that they encompass, by the sacred troth that binds me to my diadh-anam, I swear it!”
My eyes stung. “I will do my best, your majesty.”
He smiled sadly. “I know.”
“Thank you, Moirin!” Desirée flung her arms around my neck, hugging me hard. “Can we see the tumblers now?”
I kissed her soft cheek. “I do believe we can, dear heart.”
She gave her royal father an unwontedly shy look. “Will you come, Father? To see the tumblers?”
The King hesitated.
“It is a day for joy,” I reminded him. “A day to be celebrated. And I have just sworn an oath to hold your daughter’s happiness as a sacred trust. Would you have me forsworn already?”
His mouth quirked. “Yes, child,” he said gently to Desirée. “I will come see the tumblers.”
Of all the gifts I could have given the young princess, I daresay that was the best one. She glowed in her father’s presence, basking in his rare affection.
Every seat in the Palace theater was filled to capacity, and there were ordinary D’Angeline citizens who had drawn gilded tiles in the lottery standing shoulder to shoulder on the floor, gazing up at the stage in eager anticipation. We sat in the royal box, directly overlooking the stage.
“Will there be dragons, Bao?” Desirée asked, her blue-grey eyes sparkling at him. “Truly?”
He nodded. “Oh, yes. Only one, but truly.”
She shivered with delight. “Did you hear, Father?”
“I heard.” King Daniel spared Bao a rueful glance. “I hope this spectacle of yours does not disappoint.”
“It won’t,” Bao said confidently.
It didn’t.
It was a gorgeous, glorious affair. Antoine nó Eglantine began by taking the stage and announcing that the day’s performance was a tribute to my adventures in the faraway, exotic empire of Ch’in.
That, I hadn’t known.
I looked sideways at Bao, who grinned. “Just watch, Moirin.”
There were tumblers performing slow, measured feats of strength, grace, and balance atop high poles; and somehow it reminded me of learning the Five Styles of Breathing from Master Lo.
There was a sequence with trapezes that somehow managed to evoke the feel of a long sea-voyage.
Then came war.
It began with drums—gods, so many drums! There must have been two dozen of them, deep-bellied and resonant. At first, the drummers beat softly on them, but the percussive chorus rose steadily. Tumblers on one side of the stage shot mock arrows from mock bows, trailing glittering strands of gilded fabric. On the other side, tumblers tossed round balls trailing broad crimson ribbons. Back and forth they went, filling the air between them. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">