Naamah's Blessing

“Oh, but it is.” There was sorrow in Lianne’s gaze. “If Jehanne had lived, mayhap it would have been otherwise. Mayhap you would have returned to find yourselves both too changed to resume the liaison. But Jehanne died, and it will ever be what it was, exactly as she said. Fixed in time, like a portrait of a delicate blossom cut too soon immortalized in paint.” Steepling her fingers, she touched her lips in thought. “That’s not a bad image.”



“Mayhap you can work it into your next poem,” I murmured.



Lianne grimaced. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to make light of your grief. But I do know what I’m doing, Moirin. No one will accuse you of comparing yourself to Anafiel Delaunay. They will blame me. That is the risk poets take when we exaggerate for the sake of effect, which is what we do. And believe me, there are many who agree with the sentiment.”



“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to question your knowledge of your craft. I’m grateful for your aid.”



She lifted her chin. “And you owe me for it. Tell me the tale of your ordeal in Vralia. No… wait. That’s not where it begins, does it?”



I shook my head. “No.”



“Begin at the beginning,” she demanded. “Begin with the Ch’in expedition that came in search of that physician. What was it they were after? What was so urgent that the Emperor of Ch’in would send well nigh an entire army to fetch one lone man?”



I told her.



Not all of it; there were a few parts I left out. I did not tell her what had passed between the Emperor’s dragon-possessed daughter and me at our first encounter, when the dragon had chosen me for her mate; and I did not tell her what had passed between us at the end, when Snow Tiger had asked me to invoke Naamah’s blessing on her behalf. That, no one knew; nor was it anyone’s business but Naamah’s.



I did not tell her about the aftermath of the battle that had nearly torn Ch’in apart, when I had served as Emperor Zhu’s swallower-of-memories, using the gift of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself to take into myself the memories of every soldier, engineer, and alchemist with knowledge of the workings of the Divine Thunder. D’Angelines already had enough cause to fear the folk of the Maghuin Dhonn, and I did not need to give them one more reason.



But I did tell Lianne Tremaine one thing I’d told no one else. “There is a part of the tale I left out. Do you remember the spirit Marbas?”



“Of course.” There was an edge to her tone. We had not spoken of the summonings yet. “He took the form of a lion.”



I nodded. “And you could not compel him to speak, because you could not compel him to take human form.”



“I remember.” Her fox-like gaze was sharp.



“He spoke to me in the twilight,” I said slowly. “All of the fallen spirits did. But Marbas offered me a gift. He offered to teach me the art of shape-shifting, the art my mother’s folk lost.”



Lianne’s breath hissed between her teeth. “Name of Elua!”



“I refused it,” I hastened to add. “I will own, I was tempted, but the Maghuin Dhonn Herself took that gift away from us, and it is Hers, and Hers alone, to restore. But Marbas… Marbas said that for that, he would give me a gift unasked. And he did.” I took a deep breath. “The charm to reveal hidden things. He roared, and placed it in my thoughts like a jewel. He said the words would be there if I needed them.”



Her expression was unreadable. “Have you?”



“Aye,” I said. “In the reflecting lake on White Jade Mountain. When the princess and I jumped into its depths, nothing happened except that she began to drown, and take me down with her. It came to me that the dragon’s spirit was surely a hidden thing—and then the words of the charm were there, and I spoke them. That is when the dragon’s spirit emerged from the princess.”



“You never told any of us that the spirit Marbas had given you a gift,” Lianne said in a flat tone.



“No,” I said. “I didn’t.”



Lianne Tremaine rose from her chair and paced her tower chamber restlessly. “Elua have mercy! All that time we were haggling for gifts, and the spirits were showering you with them unasked.”



“Just the one,” I murmured. “And I suspect it was because it was unasked. I do not think bargains with them ever end well, my lady. How do you like the one gift you bargained for?”



She gave me a strange look, her nostrils flaring. “The language of ants? Let us say there is a reason I begged a chamber high above-ground, and that I am grateful for winter’s dormancy.”



“Even so.”



“You tried to tell us.” Lianne raked both hands through her hair. “From the first time when we summoned the spirit Valac; it was a trick, it was always going to be a trick. And none of us listened. Gods! We were fools.”



I watched her pace. “And yet if you had not done it, my Ch’in princess would have died in that lake,” I said. “And the dragon with her. The Emperor would have been overthrown, Ch’in conquered from within, and the weapons of the Divine Thunder loosed upon the world. So mayhap there was some greater purpose in it after all.”



The poetess laughed, but it was a harsh, bitter sound. “Ah, gods! There is a part of me that hopes it is true, Moirin mac Fainche, for it redeems our folly in some measure.”



“And there is a part of you that resents the notion,” I observed.



She shrugged. “That all of us in the Circle of Shalomon were but unwitting bit players in a drama meant to be played out on a stage far, far away? Yes, of course. I cannot help it.”



“I know.”



Lianne gave me a wry smile. “And we have not even gotten to Vralia yet.”



“No,” I said. “Nor to Raphael de Mereliot, of whom I would speak.”



Her brows rose. “You care for him yet?”



I frowned. “I have a sense that there are matters yet unsettled between us,” I said, choosing not to elaborate. “But it can wait longer. There are more pressing matters at hand.”



“Yes, there are.” Lianne resumed her seat, regarding me with a critical eye. “And I’ve a few thoughts on them, starting with your attire.”



I ran a fold of my gold-embroidered orange sari through my fingers. “Too exotic?”



“Too foreign,” she said bluntly. “To be sure, I suspect we’ll see the influence emerge in the next season’s fashions, but in the meanwhile, you ought to pay a visit to the couturiere.”



I nodded in understanding. “I’ve not had time, that’s all.”



“Make time, you and your husband both. And this business of your living at the Temple of Naamah…” Lianne shook her head. “It’s not good. It suggests you’re merely seeking sanctuary along the way. Folk in the City need to have the sense that your presence here is more permanent. I understand that your… your diadh-anam may send you elsewhere, but you can’t afford to maintain the appearance of some pair of romantic vagabonds.”



“The Royal Minister offered us a suite at the Palace,” I noted.



“I suggest you accept the offer.”



“All right.” It would evoke painful memories, but it was a small sacrifice to make if it rendered this process more acceptable, and kept any hint of the politics involved far, far from Desirée’s notice. “What else?”



Her topaz eyes glinted. “Antoine nó Eglantine promises that the performance will be a great spectacle. The royal theater holds only so many seats, and every peer in the City will be clamoring for one whether they support you or not. I’d advise his majesty to reserve a block of seats to be allotted to the commonfolk, awarded by lottery. They’ll adore the gesture.”



“That’s a good thought,” I said.



“I’ve a cunning mind,” Lianne said unapologetically. “Be grateful I’m putting it at your service.”



“I am.” I glanced at the window. “I should leave; the morning’s passing. Thank you for your counsel.”



“Thank you for your candor.” She paused. “The tale you told me, your adventure in Ch’in, the princess and the dragon, the Divine Thunder… Moirin, tell me. How much of it was true?”



I rose. “All of it.”



Her mouth twisted. “I feared as much.”



“Feared?” I echoed curiously.



“I’m envious.” She gave another shrug. “ ’Tis a poet’s curse to live in placid times.”



“Do you think so?” I asked. “The Ch’in have a saying that speaks to it. That it is better to be a dog during peacetime than a man during a time of chaos.” I gazed at her clever, sharp-featured face, feeling a memory not my own surface in my thoughts: a young Lianne Tremaine, no more than a child of nine or ten years, huddled over a rough-hewn plank by the light of a single guttering candle, scrawling urgently on it with a hunk of charcoal while an unseen woman’s voice harangued her. I felt the yearning in the child—a yearning for greatness, for an opportunity for glory beyond what her meager life afforded her.



Lianne turned away. “Don’t do that!”



“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Truly, my lady! I cannot help it. It comes upon me unbidden.”



When she glanced back at me, unshed tears glittered in her eyes, and I understood that despite her penitence, Lianne Tremaine would always hunger, always yearn. And that she would always hate me a little bit for having lived through events she longed to have witnessed.



If she had, I thought, she would feel differently.



It was one thing to hear tell of the weapons of Divine Thunder. It was another thing to have ridden across that battlefield, to see our brave, good-hearted comrade Tortoise jouncing in the saddle, one hand clinging to the pommel, the other clutching his reins, his face terrified but determined as he rode to the aid of the dragon-maddened princess.



To hear the weapons cough and boom, to feel the acrid wind pass overhead…



To see the smoking crater where Tortoise had been…



What Lianne saw in my face, I could not say. “I don’t—” She broke off her thought, clearing her throat. “You should go, Moirin. We’ve work to do, you and I. Best we get to it. I’ve poems to write—better poems, gods willing. And you’ve much to do in a month’s time.”



I bowed in the Ch’in manner, hand over fist. “Aye, my lady. I’m sorry.”



She scowled at me. “For what?”



I didn’t answer.



“Oh, go!” Lianne’s scowl deepened. “Go! Don’t stand there being all polite and obsequious and… and gods-sodding understanding. I can’t bear it. Go!” She flapped one hand at me. “Go, go! Take my counsel and put it to use. We’ll meet again later as matters progress.”



I bowed again, and made to take my leave.



“Moirin?” Her voice called me back. I paused and turned, seeing a rare vulnerability in her expression. “Thank you.”



I inclined my head. “And you.”



FOURTEEN



That afternoon, I met alone with Rogier Courcel, the Duc de Barthelme and Royal Minister of the realm.



I had requested an audience thinking it might be some days before he had time to grant it; but to my surprise, the royal steward ushered me into his presence in his study straightaway.



My father was not there. I wished he was.



“Moirin.” The Duc tapped his pen on his desk. “I’m pleased you’ve come. As I said, I wanted to speak to you regarding the Vralian matter. Please, sit.”



I sat, sinking into one of the padded leather chairs opposite his desk, tracing the rivets in the armrests with my fingertips.



“So?” He arched his strongly etched Courcel brows. “Do I understand that you contend that Vralia has committed an act of aggression against Terre d’Ange?”



I shook my head. “Not exactly, my lord.”



He looked curious. “What, then? I am unclear on the details.”



I told the tale in brief. How I had been betrayed by the Great Khan Naram, whose daughter Bao had wed, and been delivered in chains to Pyotr Rostov, the Patriarch of Riva. How the Patriarch represented an extreme faction of a schism within the Church of Yeshua in Vralia, and how he fervently believed that a holy war against the licentious D’Angelines and all they represented, as well as rooting out the blasphemous bear-witches of the Maghuin Dhonn, would lead to the return of Yeshua ben Yosef. How I had escaped with the aid of Rostov’s sister and nephew.



The Royal Minister listened, sketching occasional notes. It reminded me uncomfortably of being forced to confess my sins to the Patriarch, and I tried not to squirm in my seat. “You’re right,” he said when I had finished. “We cannot exactly hold Vralia to account for one man’s actions. Still, it is troubling.”



I nodded. “Pyotr Rostov was acting in his capacity as the spiritual leader of Riva. But he had the support of the Duke of Vralsturm, who was acting in a political capacity. When the Patriarch ordered me stoned to death, I begged him to aid me as a descendant of House Courcel. He refused.”



He tapped his pen again. “I will inquire into the matter.”



“Oh… well, you should probably know that I tried to kill the Patriarch,” I said reluctantly.



“What?” Rogier Courcel’s face froze in shock.



“He and the Duke of Vralsturm and his men caught up with Aleksei and me in the city of Udinsk, my lord,” I said. “If I hadn’t resisted, they would have stoned us to death.” Remembering the future of endless war and bloodshed that would have ensued, I shuddered. “And believe me, it would have stoked the fires of their cause.”