Naamah's Blessing

Bao slid one arm around my waist, cupped the back of my head, and kissed me. “I do not think your ancestress will mind, nor will Naamah,” he said. “After all, she did bless our wedding.”

I smiled at the memory of Naamah’s blessing unfolding like a burst of golden warmth over the Rani’s garden, the looks of wonder on the faces of all assembled. “So she did,” I agreed, returning his kiss.

There was the sound of soft laughter.

Extricating myself from Bao’s arms, I rose to see my father standing in the doorway, his green eyes sparkling with affection and mirth. Sunlight from the oculus above us gleamed on his long hair the color of oak-leaves and illuminated his crimson priest’s robes until they glowed. His smile widened as a joyful cry escaped my lips, and I flung myself on him. “You’re here!”

“I’ve been here all along, Moirin.” My father held me close. “You’re the one who’s been gone, and I give thanks to Blessed Elua for your safe return.” Like Noémie, he drew back to look at me. “Your mother will be so very, very glad.”

My heart leapt into my throat. “You’ve had word from her? She’s well?”

He nodded gravely. “Oh, yes. I sent word of your departure to Clunderry Castle as you asked. Since then, once or twice a year, we’ve exchanged letters.”

I rubbed my eyes. “I wonder who writes them for her. Or reads them, for that matter.”

“Aislinn mac Tiernan, I believe,” my father said.

“Oh.”

“Who is Aislinn mac Tiernan?” Bao inquired. “Another of your royal ladies?”

“Royal, but not mine.” I gathered my scattered thoughts, smiling through my tears. “Father, this is Bao, my husband.”

“Indeed, so I heard. Naamah’s blessing on your union.” My father executed a graceful Ch’in bow. “Master Lo Feng’s apprentice, I believe?”

Bao blinked at him. “You remember?”

My father’s eyes crinkled. “A day of breathing lessons, yes. And then you and your mentor spirited my daughter to the far side of the world. It is not the sort of thing one forgets.”

Bao looked guilt-stricken. “Ah… we did not mean to take her from you.” Without thinking, he touched his chest where the spark of our shared diadh-anam flickered deep inside. “Moirin was following her destiny.”

My father laid one hand on Bao’s shoulder. “I know,” he said somberly. “And I am grateful to you for bringing her safely home.” His gaze settled on me. “Did you find it?”

“I did.” I took a deep breath. “Although… I do not think it is finished.”

For a moment, I saw the weight of worry and years age my father’s face; then he squared his shoulders, and it passed. “Will you be leaving again, then?”

Bao and I exchanged a glance. Since arriving in Terre d’Ange, neither of us had felt the imperative drive of destiny; only a sense that it was lying in wait.

“No,” I said. “Not right away, I don’t think. I don’t know. I’ve unfinished business here, too.” I rubbed my eyes again. “I’d like to see my mother, but ’tis late in the season to set out for Alba, isn’t it?”

“It is,” my father said in a gentle tone. “Already the Straits grow dangerous. You might send word through a swift courier, but I’d advise against travel.”

“Spring,” Bao said firmly. “After the expedition to Terra Nova returns, and that idiot Lord Lion Mane with it. You will finish your business with him, Moirin, and we will go to Alba.”

“Aye?”

He gave a decisive nod. “I dream of a cave in the hollow hills, and a stone doorway. I dream of a bear unlike any mortal bear. We will go there.”

My father glanced from one of us to the other. “You’ve stories to tell, haven’t you?”

I thought of the long history that unfurled behind the shining wake of the ship that had brought us to these shores; of the bronze cannons of the Divine Thunder booming on the battlefield, our princess Snow Tiger dancing on the precipice of a cliff with an arrow in each hand, brave Tortoise blown into a smoking crater.

Of the dragon in flight, summoning the thunderstorms; of the vast blue sky unfolding above the Tatar steppe.

Of Vralia and chains, scrubbing the endless tiles of the floor of a Yeshuite temple. The Patriarch of Riva’s creamy smile, and my sweet boy Aleksei’s reluctant heroism, until he became a hero in truth.

Of Bao tossing and turning in sweat-soaked sheets in the Rani’s palace, purging the poppy-sickness from every pore and orifice.

Of Jagrati seated in the throne-room of Kurugiri, the black fire of Kamadeva’s diamond at her throat, glaring at me through the twilight while the Rani Amrita stood between us, her hands raised in a warding mudra.

“Oh yes, we’ve stories to tell,” I murmured to my father. “And I daresay you’ll not believe half of them.”

He inclined his head to me. “I will try.”

FIVE

To his everlasting credit, my father did try to believe and understand.

I could not blame him for struggling with it.

Even to me, who had lived through it, the tale Bao and I told seemed like a child’s fable.

“Enough,” I said at length. “There will be time aplenty to tell the whole of it. Tell me, Father, what passes here in Terre d’Ange? I was surprised to learn you’ve become involved in politics.”

He gave a graceful shrug and spread his hands. “Not involved, not really. Rogier asked me to provide a shoulder on which to lean, a willing ear to listen without judgment. As I think you came to know, it is one of the most important aspects of serving as a royal companion. You would have done the same for Jehanne if she’d asked it.”

I was silent.

“Ah, gods!” My father looked stricken. “Forgive me, Moirin. That was uncommonly thoughtless of me.”

“No, it’s all right.” I fidgeted with my bangles. “Do people… does everyone blame me for her death?”

“Of course not!” His reply was swift. “Why would you even think it?”

“Moirin blames herself,” Bao murmured.

I shook my head. “It’s not that simple. I couldn’t have chosen otherwise. But I cannot escape the knowledge that Raphael and I could have saved her if I had stayed. And… folk look askance at me. They must know it, too.”

My father steepled his fingers, touching them to his lips. “Moirin, I’ll not pretend there wasn’t a good deal of speculation surrounding your departure,” he said slowly. “And there’s bound to be the same surrounding your return. You’re a child of the Maghuin Dhonn. That alone is cause for suspicion. It always was. Given the history of our people, it cannot be helped.”

I looked away. “I know.”

My mother’s folk were wild and reclusive, and all that was known of them in Terre d’Ange was that the bear-witches of the Maghuin Dhonn possessed dire magic, even if it was no longer true.

“If you had stayed, it would be different,” my father said gently. “Those who came to know you came to love you. And they will again. Give them time to acquaint themselves with you once more, time to forget tales of summoning demons, and remember that you were the one who coaxed Jehanne de la Courcel into going forty days without making a chambermaid weep.” He smiled. “Do you suppose you could manage to avoid causing a scandal for a month or so?”

I gave a reluctant smile in reply. “I’ll try.” Taking a deep breath, I confronted another prospect I didn’t relish. “I should pay my respects to King Daniel on the morrow, shouldn’t I?”

He nodded. “It would be the proper thing to do.”

The three of us talked long into the evening, and then my father departed to return to the Palace, with a promise that we might seek him out there on the morrow.

That night, I lay restless in bed. The chamber that Noémie had given us was small, but pleasant. It had a window that overlooked an inner courtyard, so I would be less inclined to the stifling sensation that sometimes overcame me in man-made spaces, and the bed-linens were soft and scented with lavender. It should have been a peaceful place for repose, but my mind was too full for sleep.

“What is it?” Bao asked drowsily. “Are you fretting over meeting the King? I thought you liked him.”

“I do,” I said. “I don’t know if I can bear to face his grief.”

Bao propped himself on one elbow. “His or yours?”

“Both,” I admitted.

He stroked my cheek with his free hand. “Moirin, it is part of the price of being alive. Of loving.”

“I know,” I murmured. “It hurts, that’s all.”

“I know,” he echoed, tugging me into the curve of his body and breathing the Breath of Ocean’s Rolling Waves until I began to relax. “So tell me,” he whispered against the back of my neck. “Who is Aislinn mac Tiernan if not one of your many royal ladies?”

It made me smile in the darkness, although there was sorrow in it. “Cillian’s sister.”

Bao went still. “He was your first love?”

Unseen, I nodded. “Aislinn was kind to me. She was the only one in her family who didn’t blame me for Cillian’s death.”

He released his breath. “I had forgotten. No wonder it grieves you so to think to be blamed for Jehanne’s.”

“That, and being accused of having seduced and ensorceled her,” I said. “Or you, or anyone. Stone and sea! The only time I tried to seduce someone, I failed miserably.”

Bao stifled a yawn. “Your spineless Yeshuite boy?”

I rolled over in his arms. “Aleksei wasn’t spineless.”

His eyes glinted. “Oh, he was! But he ended up in your bed anyway, didn’t he? So I suppose you succeeded after all.”

“That was Naamah’s blessing, and an altogether different matter,” I informed him.

“If you say so.”

“I do.” It was a familiar argument between us. I realized that Bao had succeeded in breaking the endless chain of thought I’d been chasing, which had likely been his intention all along. For that, I kissed him. “Good night and thank you, my Tatar prince.”

He gave me a sleepy smile. “You’re welcome.”

In the morning, aided by a night’s sleep, I was calmer than I would have reckoned. My apprehension had settled into a deep place inside of me. This was going to be painful, but it was necessary.

Bao and I rode to the Palace, where the royal steward greeted us both with a sincere bow.

“Lady Moirin mac Fainche,” he said in a respectful tone. “Messire… Bao, is it? Welcome. Brother Phanuel indicated that you would visit today.”

“Is his majesty King Daniel receiving?” I inquired.

The steward hesitated. “His majesty is enjoying a concerto.” He lowered his voice. “Music is one of the only things in which he yet takes pleasure. But I think, my lady, that he would wish to be interrupted by you.”

My stomach tightened. “You’re sure?”

He nodded. “I do believe so. Come, permit me to escort you and your… husband.”

It felt strange, so strange, to walk the marbled halls of the Palace with its gilded columns and ornate frescos. We passed the Hall of Games, where Prince Thierry had taught me to play games of chance. I remembered Jehanne carelessly wagering a love-token that Raphael had given her as an apology for some offense, a choker of pale blue topaz that matched her eyes. She’d demonstrated her annoyance with him by putting it around her silken-haired lap-dog’s neck as a collar, and then tossing it upon the gaming table as though it meant less than nothing to her.

She’d won her wager, though.

I remembered the cool touch of her fingertips on my face, her complicated expression, and her barbed warning. You oughtn’t play games you’re bound to lose.

I had; and I hadn’t.

I’d never stood the least chance of winning Raphael de Mereliot’s affections away from Jehanne. That, I’d come to understand at last. But never, ever had I imagined that I would win a portion of hers instead; that tempestuous Jehanne would take it upon herself to rescue me, that I would offer my loyalty to her, and she would come to love and trust me.

That I would find a place in her heart.

Tears blurred my eyes.

“Moirin?” Bao touched my arm.

I blinked away tears. “Memories.”

He nodded, understanding.

After a discreet pause, the royal steward led us onward. We passed the great, winding staircase that led to the upper stories of the Palace, where Jehanne had ordered a suite filled with green, growing things, an enchanted bower made just for me.

I’d awoken there to find Bao keeping watch over me. I saw him glance at the staircase, remembering. Gods, we hadn’t even liked one another then. It had been a long, long journey that had led me back to this place.

It was in that enchanted bower that Master Lo Feng had lectured me against letting my gift be used in unnatural ways—ways that had nonetheless saved lives, including my father’s.

Ways that could have saved Jehanne’s life.

I breathed the Breath of Earth’s Pulse, grounding myself. I remembered Jehanne naked and shameless in my bower, the green shadows of ferns decorating her alabaster skin.

Her blue-grey eyes sparkling at me the first time she had visited during my convalescence. Are you wondering if I mean to kiss you before I leave?

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