Naamah's Blessing

Two of them lunged at him at once. Bao’s staff whipped left and right, and both sailors fell back, clutching their heads and groaning. He jabbed a third in the belly, and the fellow doubled over with a grunt of pain.

“Bao, wait.” I tugged on his black-and-white magpie coat. “My lord Denis, listen. We need to talk to you. I have reason to believe Thierry is alive.”

Denis de Toluard stared at me with bleary eyes.

“Raphael, too,” I added.

He held up one hand to forestall the sailors, who were all too glad to comply, then leaned over and vomited a copious quantity of ale onto the tavern floor.

“Oh, gods!” Balthasar Shahrizai exclaimed in disgust. Bao leaned on his staff without comment.

“Do you mean to torture me, Moirin?” Denis lurched upright in his chair, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. At least he sounded marginally less incoherent after having spewed the contents of his belly. “Is that it? Is this repayment for the way the Circle of Shalomon used you?” His mouth twisted bitterly. “A trick, like the tricks the spirits we summoned taught you to play? That would be a fine jest.”

“No.” I stooped beside his chair, taking care to keep my skirts out of the puddle of vomit, and looked him in the eyes. “I swear to you by stone and sea and sky, and all that they encompass, by the sacred troth that binds me to my diadh-anam, it is no trick.”

All the sailors were silent.

Denis de Toluard held my gaze for a moment, reading the truth of my words written there; and then buried his face in his hands. “Elua!” he gasped in a muffled tone. “Take me home, please.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Much like finding him, the task of escorting Denis de Toluard home was easier said than done.

He was still very, very drunk.

We got him upright, although he was unsteady on his feet. Balthasar Shahrizai settled his tab with the innkeeper, who shrugged stoically, pocketed the coin, and poured sawdust from a bucket over the puddle of vomited ale.

“Dark days,” was the innkeeper’s only comment.

Bao and Balthasar slung Denis’ arms over their shoulders and set about the chore of helping him out of the tavern.

One of the sailors staggered after us. “Lady!” he called. “Hey, lady! Did you mean it?”

I inclined my head. “I did.”

There were tears in his eyes. “If there’s a chance Prince Thierry’s alive, if you’re bent on getting his highness back, I’ll sail with you, lady. We all will, every last one of us, even if it means going back to that godforsaken place.”

“Was it truly that terrible?” I asked with sympathy and genuine curiosity. “Terra Nova?”

He nodded. “It’s bad.”

“We’ll see,” I promised him.

Among the three of us, we maneuvered Denis de Toluard back to his townhouse, Balthasar alternating between grumbling that we should have taken a carriage and making insinuating comments in praise of Bao’s prowess with his staff. I rather thought Bao enjoyed the latter. Slung between them, Denis kept his head down and concentrated on putting one wavering foot in front of the other, the toes of his boots catching on the cobbled streets from time to time as the two men half assisted, half dragged him homeward.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, over and over. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Don’t worry.” Bao patted his back encouragingly. “You’re doing well. Under the circumstances, who could blame you?”

“Sorry to be a problem, not sorry I’m drunk.” Denis swung his head from side to side. “Can’t help it, don’t regret it. Only thing kept me sane. But you, Moirin. I owe you an apology, don’t I, my lady? A big, big apology.”

“Mayhap,” I murmured. “But now’s not the time to speak of it.”

Ignoring my words, he coughed and hiccupped, releasing a waft of stale ale and bile on the night air. “You tried to tell us, but we were so damn sure. Raphael most of all. He thought you were sent by the gods to aid us. Him.”

“So did I for a time,” I admitted. “But not that way.”

Denis hiccupped again. “It all went wrong, Moirin. So very, very wrong. All of it. That’s where it all began. We should never have attempted to summon Focalor.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

“You always did,” he said. “But we were too goddamned proud to listen to you. Well, I’m listening now.”

By the time we got Denis de Toluard home, he was nearly able to walk on his own. His steward thanked us profusely, taking custody of his drunken lord.

“Get a good night’s sleep and sober up,” Balthasar advised Denis, adding a pointed sniff. “And have a good, long bath. We’ll call on you on the morrow.”

That was our plan, at any rate; but we had not reckoned on the very public nature of our retrieval of Denis de Toluard, and the inevitable gossip it spawned. D’Angeline sailors are a garrulous lot, especially drunken ones. By morning, my claim that Prince Thierry was alive was all over the City of Elua, and Bao and I found ourselves summoned to appear before the newly appointed Regent.

Duc Rogier was in a state of white-hot fury. His anger in the Hall of Parliament was mostly theatrics. This, this was genuine rage.

“What”—he gritted out the word, and had to pause to collect himself with a violent shudder before continuing—“what in the name of all that’s holy do you mean by spreading such a rumor? Moirin, I understand you’re unhappy at being thwarted. But this…” He shook his head in disbelief. “This is beyond the pale. It’s irresponsible, childish, and downright cruel.”

“It’s not a ploy, my lord,” I murmured. I couldn’t blame him for thinking otherwise. “I had… a vision.”

The Duc picked up a paperweight of colorful Serenissiman glass, squeezing it so hard his knuckles whitened. Bao eased his staff surreptitiously out of its harness, but the Duc was merely trying to contain his fury. “You had a vision,” he repeated in a flat voice. “A vision.”

“Moirin’s folk are known for such gifts,” Bao offered.

“I know what Moirin’s folk are known for!” Duc Rogier shouted at him. “Do you think to tell a descendant of House Courcel what comes of the Maghuin Dhonn meddling with visions?”

“It wasn’t that kind of vision.” While the Duc and Bao were glaring at one another, I took a deep breath and summoned the twilight, wrapping it around all three of us and plunging the study into dimness.

In the soft blue gloaming, Duc Rogier startled, the whites of his eyes showing. “What threat is this?” he demanded. “Guards!”

“They can’t hear you,” I informed him. “And this is no threat, my lord.” I let the twilight fade away. “It is a way of taking half a step into the spirit world. I wanted you to see, so that you might understand better. It is a gift that has allowed me, from time to time, to do things others cannot. I believe it is why this… vision… was given to me.” I met his gaze without flinching. Balthasar had told me to stay well away from discussing an expedition with the Duc, but I reckoned it was a moot point now. “As Denis de Toluard can attest, I have already sworn on the sacred oath of the Maghuin Dhonn that this is no trick. I believe Prince Thierry is alive. So let us lay our cards on the table, my lord. I mean to gather an expedition to Terra Nova and attempt to bring him back. Do you mean to oppose me?”

He looked at me, his rage slowly ebbing and turning to wonder. “You really do believe this, don’t you?”

I had a feeling I’d be answering a version of that question many times before this was over. “Aye,” I said. “I do.”

Duc Rogier’s death-grip on the glass paperweight eased. He tossed it in the air and caught it as he contemplated his response. “Do I mean to oppose you?” he mused. “I’d like to, Moirin. Even assuming you are telling the truth, it’s a foolhardy notion with little chance of success, and I suspect more men will die for your precious vision.”

“I fear it, too,” I said honestly.

He gave me a sharp glance. “But you’ve done a fair job of setting a third of my Parliament against me. What will they say if I oppose you?”

“They will say that you were afraid that Moirin would succeed in restoring the rightful heir to the throne,” Bao said in a calm tone. “And they will meet again, and vote to strip you of your appointment and replace you. And then the new Regent will grant us a letter of decree, and we will sail anyway.”

Duc Rogier was silent, his lips pressed tight. At length, he dismissed us with a curt gesture. “Go. Get out of my sight.”

Outside the door to his study, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“That went reasonably well,” Bao observed. “He can’t afford to oppose us. See, Moirin? I told you there was a reason for you to address the Parliament.”

I took his arm. “So you did, my magpie.”

“Lady Moirin?” one of a pair of royal guardsmen stationed outside the Regent’s study addressed me in a deferential manner. “We heard your witchcraft tells you his highness Prince Thierry and his company yet live. Is it true?”

“I believe it to be true,” I said. “Although I fear I can offer no proof.”

“And you mean to try to rescue them?” the second guard inquired.

“We do,” Bao confirmed.

The guards exchanged a glance. “I’ve heard tales of Terra Nova,” the one who’d spoken first said. “ ’Tis a dangerous place. You’ll need good steel by your side—sharp swords, and strong arms to wield them.” He lowered his voice. “You’ll find no shortage of volunteers amidst the Royal Guard, my lady. Prince Thierry was a great favorite in the Palace, always quick with a kind word and a jest.”

“My thanks,” I said to him, my eyes stinging. “I will remember it.”

He nodded. “You do that.”

Ah, gods! Last night, the sailor; today, the guards. It was almost too much to bear, for I knew in my heart that Rogier de Barthelme was right. If we undertook this quest, whether we succeeded or failed, men would die.

It was as simple as that.

And their blood would be on my hands.

“It’s not your fault, Moirin,” Bao said quietly to me on the carriage-ride to Denis de Toluard’s home. “You didn’t choose your destiny, burdensome as it is.”

“No.” I wiped my eyes. “But this time I am the one setting this thing in motion, Bao. That means I am responsible for it. And I cannot help but think…” I paused, and he waited patiently. “I cannot help but think Denis de Toluard is right,” I said at last. “Somehow, everything goes back to the Circle of Shalomon. That’s where it all began to go wrong. My lady Jehanne even said I’m meant to finish my business with Raphael in Terra Nova. I don’t know how, but it’s all tied together, and Thierry is caught up in it through no fault of his own.” I shook my head. “I should never, ever have aided them. And that, too, is my responsibility.”

Bao shrugged. “And you are facing it.”

“Aye,” I said. “But so are you. And others! Stone and sea, so many!”

“I chose this,” he reminded me. “I chose you, Moirin. And I found a way to do it on my own terms.” Bao put his hands on my shoulders and gave me a hard kiss, firm and anchoring. “Everyone makes their own choices. Let them, eh?”

I laughed ruefully. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” As the carriage-driver drew rein outside the de Toluard townhouse, Bao kissed me again, hard and long and deep, his tongue delving into my mouth, his diadh-anam intertwining with mine until I felt myself melting against him.

Naamah, the bright lady, smiled. Her enduring grace showered down upon us like a hail of golden sparks.

I made an inarticulate sound of protest when he pulled away. “Bao!”

He gave me a serene smile. “Let us finish Naamah’s business later, Moirin. Now let us go see if Denis de Toluard is sufficiently sober to tell us what might have befallen your Prince Thierry, and why Terra Nova is such a terrible place.” He adjusted the sleeves of his black-and-white magpie coat, affording me a glimpse of the stark zig-zag tattoos on his corded forearms and reminding me of all we had endured together. “After all, it can’t be worse than Kurugiri, can it?”

“Surely not,” I agreed.

As it transpired, it could.

TWENTY-EIGHT

It’s a bloody place,” Denis de Toluard said bluntly.

“How so?” I inquired.

He sighed and scrubbed at his face with both hands. He looked better, much better, but still ages older than he ought. “They’re a bloody folk, the Nahuatl. And I mean it quite literally. It’s not just that they built an empire by conquering damn nigh everything in sight. They practice human sacrifice.”

“Oh.” I felt a bit sick. “Gods! Why?”

“They believe it’s their duty,” Denis said. “They believe it’s necessary for the world to continue. That the gods sacrificed parts of themselves to create the world, and that ongoing sacrifice is necessary to sustain it. They believe that without it, the sun will not rise and the rain will not fall.” He gave us a grim smile. “According to Diego Ortiz y Ramos, the commander of the Aragonian garrison, it’s a great deal better than it used to be. When they first arrived in Tenochtitlan, the Nahuatl would sacrifice hundreds, even thousands, of victims at a single festival. The steps of the temples would run red with blood.” 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">