Naamah's Kiss (Moirin's Trilogy #1)

She tilted her head, lamplight making her topaz eyes flare. "There are always further thresholds to cross. I seek words of such surpassing beauty that they might melt the hardest heart of stone."

"Oh."

I met the other three. Balric Maitland, a silversmith with broad shoulders and strong, sinewy hands. A quiet, unassuming archivist and language scholar named Claire Fourcay, who cast longing glances in Raphael's direction when she thought no one was watching. The last was another linguist, Orien de Legasse, a pretty, fragile-looking lad whose pale blond hair put me in mind of Jehanne. He wore glass spectacles with gold rims that made his eyes look owlish.

The Circle of Shalomon.

There were no servants present in the parlor. Denis de Toluard poured us cups of a strong, fiery cordial himself.

"To success," he said, raising his cup in toast. "To knowledge!"

I echoed the toast dutifully and drank.

Raphael's eyes glinted. "The hour's nearly upon us." He laid one hand on my shoulder. "Shall we?"

Claire Fourcay sniffed. "What exactly do you expect her to do, my lord de Mereliot?"

"Oh, I don't know." He smiled at me. "But wondrous things seem to occur when Moirin summons her magic. Give her a chance, won't you? We've tried everything else."

She sniffed again. "She makes our numbers wrong."

Raphael ran his hand down my arm and took my hand in his, entwining our fingers. "Consider us one flesh."

"Let's just get on with it," Balric Maitland said curtly.

Denis de Toluard beckoned. "Come."

We followed him to a hidden doorway and traipsed down a set of stone stairs to a lower level. I felt man-made stone closing all around and above me and shivered. Raphael's fingers tightened on mine.

"Breathe," he whispered in my ear.

I breathed.

There was an antechamber that might have been a cellar once. I smelled the faint, lingering odor of root vegetables. Now it was lit by a handful of clear-burning lamps, shadows flickering in the corners. There were shelves with garments of white linen laid ready and waiting, and a standing washbasin in the center of the room. The water smelled of an herb I didn't know.

"Hyssop," Raphael said in response to my inquiring glance.

One by one, the members of the Circle stripped and donned the white linen robes, then washed their hands and faces in the basin. I followed suit. The flagstones were cool and moist beneath my bare feet. The water felt good. And then the silversmith Balric went around, handing out engraved medallions on silver chains.

I examined the design. "What is this?"

"One side bears the Seal of Shalomon; the other, the sigil of Valac." He hung it around my neck, gazing at me with hooded eyes. "One of the lesser spirits. That is who we seek to summon tonight."

"Oh."

Raphael's hand slid beneath my hair. "A modest beginning," he said. "Valac's gift is to reveal things hidden." He smiled at me. "Particularly serpents. I thought it fitting in light of your exploits the other day."

"I see," I offered.

He laughed and kissed me. "Pray that we all do."

We filed into the chamber proper.

It was a vaster space than I would have reckoned from the antechamber. Groin vaults arched, the ceiling soaring. More lamps flickered. I gazed up at the gathering shadows, then down at the floor.

There.

An insignia similar to the Seal of Shalomon engraved into one side of my medallion was engraved on the floor itself. This one contained a circle with a six-pointed star within it. There was a brazier at its center. Words in a language I couldn't read were inscribed along its circumference. Members of the Circle drifted around its perimeter and took up established positions at each point of the star.

"Come." Raphael beckoned, holding out his hand.

I took it.

"Claire?" Denis lifted his head. "Will you speak the first conjuration?"

She did.

Whatever she said, it was in a language wholly unfamiliar to me. The longer she spoke, the more her voice grew in strength. I let it wash over me. The air seemed to pulse and tighten, but nothing happened.

"The second conjuration," Denis prompted her.

She spoke again at length in the strange language; and then again, the third conjuration. The air grew tighter and tighter. In the center of the star, it shimmered. An image formed in my mind of a closed doorway with light streaming around the frame. At one point, Balric Maitland drew a sword and extended it over the brazier, something dangling from its tip. The brazier flared briefly. The light around the doorway in my mind grew stronger.

More words.

"Moirin," Raphael muttered. "Now!"

I took a deep breath, summoned the twilight, and pushed.

The doorway in my mind opened and vanished. Crimson light streamed upward from the floor. When it faded, the figure of a beautiful young boy in a white tunic stood in the center of the star.

"Elua!" someone breathed.

The room swam in my vision and only Raphael's hand sliding beneath my elbow kept me on my feet. I'd lost my grip on the twilight. Claire Fourcay, her voice trembling, spoke in a rush of words. The boy's image flickered, then steadied. He made a reply to her in a high, sweet voice.

"It's him," she whispered. "Valac."

"Ask him!" Orien de Legasse's voice was feverish. "Ask him to tell us the charm for revealing hidden things!"

"You speak Habiru as well as I." She was pale. "You ask."

Lamplight flashed off his spectacles as Orien made his inquiry. The boy smiled and replied sweetly, then raised one finger and began to write on the air. Fiery letters in a strange alphabet formed and faded in the wake of his finger.

"Damn it!" Raphael swore. "Lianne, can you commit it to memory?"

"I'm trying!"

I felt dizzy and very much as though I might faint. I breathed the Pulse of the Earth, willing myself to remain upright. Everyone was watching the boy, rapt. With the last of my strength, I summoned the twilight and took refuge in it, hoping to draw strength there. The room turned dim and muted, the fiery golden-orange letters turned to soft silver flame.

The boy turned toward me.

You.

He looked different in the twilight. His eyes were yellow with vertical pupils like a goat's. He wore only a clout of cloth around his loins and his slender chest was bare. Wings as black as raven feathers sprang from his shoulders.

I swallowed hard.

Those inhuman eyes regarded me with curiosity. What are you?

"Moirin," I whispered.

His lips stretched in a smile. What is a Moirin ?

"A child of the Maghuin Dhonn."

Ah. The boy looked past me. I do not know of this Maghuin Dhonn. But there is a vast presence attendant on you.

It made my heart hurt. "You see Her? Can you reveal Her to me?"

He shook his head. She is not mine to command.

"Oh." I was disappointed. "Well, thank you for telling me nonetheless. It's a comfort."

The boy smiled again, wider this time. His teeth were very white and pointed. You are welcome. For your courtesy, I will do you a kindness. Be careful, Moirin of the Maghuin Dhonn. We are not all so benevolent.

"Thank you," I repeated.

Indeed. His goat's eyes were oddly compassionate. Now go back to your companions.

He made a sudden violent gesture.

I found myself thrust out of the twilight, stumbling over my own feet. The lamps flared with golden light. The dizziness came crashing back in full force, my knees turning to water. Raphael caught me and steadied me. In the center of the six-pointed star, the boy was an ordinary boy in a white tunic again, except for the fact that he was etching flaming letters on the air. He lowered his hand and said something unintelligible in his sweet, fluting voice. I squinted at his wavering figure.

"What did he say?" Denis de Toluard demanded.

"That the doorway's closing and—"

The world went black.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Conversation swirled around me as I surfaced to awareness. "—then what's the use of that highly trained memory?" someone grumbled.

"I'm a poet, not a linguist!" Lianne said in sharp frustration. "Who knew he would write the spell in Habiru?"

Another voice, soothing. "We'll have pen and paper next time to capture it."

"If there is a next time." A tart voice. "Will the witch live?"

"Shut up, Claire." There was the sound of skin rasping against skin, palm against palm. One of Raphael's hands rested gently on my brow, the other over my heart. That blessed sunlit warmth sank into my skin and suffused my body. "Moirin? Can you hear me?"

I managed a tiny nod.

"Elua and Eisheth be praised!" he breathed. "I knew it. I knew you could do it!"

With an effort, I opened my eyes. I was lying on a couch in Denis de Toluard's parlor, Raphael kneeling beside it. His face was hovering inches above mine, filled with a mixture of concern and relief.

"Was it worth it?" I asked faintly.

A cacophony of squabbling broke out.

"Yes." Raphael pressed his lips to my brow. "It is a far, far greater beginning than any we've known." His strong arms slid beneath my body. "And I am putting you to bed. Denis, have you given us my usual chamber?" I have.

I let Raphael cradle me in his arms, glad of his strength. My head lolled against his shoulder as he carried me up the stairs. In the guest-chamber, he laid me on the bed and undressed me. His storm-grey eyes gleamed.

"Moirin….."

I closed mine. "Now?"

"I love you."

It wasn't true. I knew it wasn't true. But I was very tired, very young, and very far from home. And I didn't know what the Maghuin Dhonn Herself wanted of me, only that Her diadh-anam beat so strongly in Raphael's presence. So I gave myself to him, let him take me. As he breathed hard and labored above and inside me, charged with unwonted urgency, I saw flashes beneath my eyelids.

Jehanne.

The spirit Valac, his yellow goat's eyes glinting.

Bao.

It was the last that startled me into coming. Raphael groaned, his chin grinding into the hollow between my throat and shoulder. And that was the last thing I remembered before I slid back into the embracing darkness.

I woke to midday sun. Raphael was dozing in a stuffed chair facing . the bed. He startled awake when I pushed myself upright against the pillows. His eyes were bleary and there were shadows under them.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Tired." I tried to swallow and found my mouth was horribly dry. "Thirsty." He came over to pour me a cup of water, and I drank gratefully, putting it down at last with a sigh. "You didn't sleep?"

He shook his head. "I went back downstairs. We were up all night discussing the incident. And I didn't want to disturb you."

"Oh." I rested my head against the pillows.

"Moirin….." Raphael sat on the edge of the bed, not quite meeting my eyes. "What I did, pressuring you….. I'm sorry for it."

"Why did you, then?" I asked.

"I don't know." He sounded miserable. "It's like a fever comes over me and I can't help myself. I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

I rubbed my eyes. "You didn't hurt me. It's just….." I didn't know what I wanted to say. I pulled my knees up beneath the bedsheets and wrapped my arms around them. "Raphael, he spoke to me."

He looked blank. "Who did?"

I shivered. "Valac."

"Well, he spoke to all of us. But you couldn't have understood. I speak only a bit of Habiru myself. That's why we rely on Claire for the invocations; she's the best—"

"No," I interrupted him. "Not like that. When none of you were looking, I called the twilight again. Only Valac saw me. And he didn't need words. He spoke into my thoughts. And he looked different." I took another sip of water. "Very different."

"Different how?" Raphael asked.

I told him.

"Elua!" He looked appalled and intrigued. "What did he say to you?"

"He wondered what I was," I said. "He'd never seen one of the Maghuin Dhonn before. And then he told me to be careful. He said not all of the spirits are as benevolent as he is. Then he did something that thrust me out of the twilight."

Raphael rubbed his chin. "Are you quite sure? You were beyond the point of exhaustion. The mind does play tricks."

I scowled. "Aye, I'm sure!"

"All right, all right!" He put up his hands. "It's only that Valac was there before us the entire time."

I was too tired to summon much of an argument. "Mayhap your there and my there are two different things."

"Mayhap," Raphael agreed. He took my hand in his, tracing circles on my palm. Despite everything, it felt good. His fingertips drifted to the inside of my wrist, testing my pulse. Now he looked directly at me, his grey eyes grave and worried. The concern in them made my heart beat faster. "You do accept my apology?"

I sighed. "I do."

"Good." He raised my hand to his lips, kissed my palm. "The Circle would very much like to make another attempt in a few days' time. No one expected the spirit to write the spell for revealing hidden things in such a fleeting manner. We were ill prepared." Hope replaced the worry in his gaze. "Is it too much to ask?"

"You'd summon Valac again?" I asked. "Not another?"