Naamah's Blessing

“I… how? The two of you, alone?”



I spread my hands. “Yes and no, my lord. Aleksei and I were alone at the time. The Patriarch gave the order to take us, and I… well, I had my bow drawn and an arrow trained on him. I warned him,” I added. “It was a fair warning. I did not shoot until he gave the order.”



He stared at me. “But you didn’t kill him.”



“No.” I shook my head. “Aleksei threw himself at me, knocked me from my horse and spoiled my aim. As a result, I only wounded his uncle. But make no mistake, I meant to kill him. And then that is when Vachir’s tribe rode into the city center and intervened.”



A soundless breath escaped the Royal Minister. “Vachir’s tribe?”



“Tatars,” I said. “They were in Udinsk to trade. They felt strongly that the Great Khan had violated the laws of hospitality in betraying me, so they came to my aid to set matters right.”



Rogier Courcel was silent for a time. “My thanks, Moirin,” he said at length. “I think mayhap… mayhap I’ll let discretion prevail, and not inquire into the specifics of the matter. It’s over and done with, and there’s no need to provoke a diplomatic crisis. But this business of a schism and anti-D’Angeline fanaticism concerns me.”



I noted that he expressed no concern for the Maghuin Dhonn, but I held my tongue on the thought. “So it should, my lord.”



His pen tapped. “How was it called again? The church of faith your Patriarch espoused?”



“The Church of Yeshua Ascendant.” I watched him write down the words, his pen scratching over the paper, adding further notes to those he had already taken. “My lord?”



“Hmm?” He glanced up as though surprised to see me there. “Oh, my pardon. You may go.”



“Thank you, my lord,” I said politely. “But I had another purpose in requesting an audience. Begging your kindness, I would accept your offer of a suite of rooms at the Palace.”



“Ah.” A look of dismay settled over his features. “Elua, forgive me, Moirin! The Comte de Rochambeau decided at the last minute to winter in the City instead of the country. He is an old friend, and I offered him lodging at the Palace.” The Duc de Barthelme gave a helpless shrug. “Messire Lambert has advised me it was the last unoccupied suite in the Palace.”



I eyed him without speaking.



“I did not think you would have a change of heart so soon,” Rogier Courcel apologized—but I detected a note of smoothness beneath the seeming sincerity of his tone. He had practiced this exchange in his thoughts. “Of course, I can order the Comte and his family evicted.”



“I do not think that gesture would be well received,” I said slowly. “Do you?”



He frowned with regret. “Likely not.”



My skin prickled, and I thought to myself, I have made an enemy of this man all unwitting. The Royal Minister, his majesty’s chosen appointee; my father’s lover, the companion of his youth. Unlike the former King’s Poet, he harbors ambitions he is only just beginning to realize.



I met his dark blue gaze.



He held mine steadily, blinking only a little bit. “I am so very sorry, Lady Moirin.”



I rose. “Think nothing of it, my lord.”



It wasn’t until evening that I had a chance to discuss the day’s events with Bao, who had spent the afternoon at Eglantine House, coaching their tumblers on Ch’in techniques and meeting with the mistress of wardrobe and the master of props to advise them. He was in good spirits, filled with excitement over planning for the coming spectacle.



“Tomorrow I will meet with the master of percussion,” he informed me. “Antoine does not think he has such drums as I described, but he agrees that it would be a very fine effect.”



I smiled, glad to see Bao in such a cheerful mood. “Oh, he does, does he?”



“Oh, yes. It is only a question of getting them made in time.” He folded his arms behind his head. “Also, there have been a dozen applicants for the post of Desirée’s nurse. It will take time to speak with all of them and find the right one. We have a lot to do, huh?”



“That we do, my magpie.” I leaned over to kiss him. “Lianne Tremaine has advised me that we had best find ourselves a more permanent residence within the City, so that we do not appear a pair of romantic vagabonds.”



Bao yawned. “Well, that minister fellow offered us rooms at the Palace.”



“So he did,” I agreed. “But it seems that within a day’s time, he’s given them to someone else, and there are no other quarters available.”



“That seems… sudden,” Bao said slowly.



“I thought so, too.” Sitting cross-legged on the bed, I ran a boar-bristle brush through my hair. “I fear we may have made ourselves an enemy.”



Frowning in thought, Bao sat up and took the brush from me. “Here, I’ll do it.” He knelt behind me and I let him take over, luxuriating in the sensation. “Maybe you are reading too much import into it.”



I shook my head without thinking. “I could be, but I don’t think so.”



Bao untangled the brush without comment, resuming his long, steady strokes. “How dangerous an enemy?”



“I don’t know,” I admitted.



“It’s a petty gesture,” he said. “Maybe he will be satisfied with it.”



“I hope so,” I said. “But at any rate, we’ll need to find suitable quarters to rent. Oh, and to visit a couturiere. It seems our clothing is too foreign.”



His hands slid beneath the silk folds of my sari to find the bare skin of my waist, the brush forgotten. “I like your Bhodistani clothing,” he whispered in my ear. “I do not want you wearing D’Angeline gowns that prick your skin.”



I leaned against Bao’s chest, feeling the strange yet familiar intimacy of our diadh-anams entwining at the contact. “Well, then, we will have to commission clothing that does not prick.”



Bao’s hands slid higher, over the fine linen undershirt I wore beneath the sari, callused palms gliding over my breasts. The combination of gentleness and coarseness was tantalizing and exquisite, my nipples growing tight and aching under his touch. “I like you best in no clothing at all.”



I laughed breathlessly. “I do not think that would go over well at Court!”



“Why ever not?” One hand dipped beneath the silk folds pinned around my waist, stroking my thigh. He kissed the side of my throat, and I let my head fall back on his shoulder. “You are very, very beautiful, Moirin.” His hand slid between my thighs, one finger parting my nether-lips and slipping inside me, the heel of his palm rubbing against Naamah’s Pearl. “And very, very wet.”



Holding me effortlessly in place with one arm, Bao kissed my throat, teased and fingered me to a gasping climax.



Afterward, he unpinned my sari, unwinding the complicated folds with care. “I will miss these, after all.”



“So it seems.” I regarded him languorously, hooking my fingers in the drawstring waist of his loose Bhodistani breeches. I could feel his taut phallus straining beneath the fabric and blew softly on it, then looked up beneath my lashes at him, and licked my lips. “Shall I bid farewell to your attire?”



He grinned. “You need to ask?”



FIFTEEN



Gods, there was so much to be done!



In the days that followed, Bao and I had a series of unsatisfying interviews with applicants for the post of royal nursemaid. All of them came with excellent credentials, having served in similar posts in one or more of the Great Houses of Terre d’Ange. Most of them struck me as competent; none of them struck me as possessing the combination of steady patience, discipline, and compassion necessary for coping with a willful, neglected child. Far too many of them seemed to possess a sense of entitlement based on the patronage of the families they had served in the past.



With reluctance, I declined them all and continued the search, praying that the harried junior nursemaid Paulette wouldn’t reach her wits’ end.



Bao continued his studies with Desirée and her tutor in the mornings, spending his afternoons at Eglantine House.



I paid a visit to Bryony Associates, the banking-house where I had deposited a letter of credit over four years ago. I was pleased to find that Caroline nó Bryony, who had issued the original letter at their establishment in Bryn Gorrydum in Alba, had been transferred to the City of Elua, and was happy to serve as my personal factor.



Unfortunately, she informed me that while a substantial balance remained, it was insufficient to purchase a suitable house in the City.



“You’ve plenty of funds to see you through the winter,” Caroline assured me. “You can rent quarters at one of the finest inns in the City. Come spring, if you’re still looking to establish a household, we’ll send to Bryn Gorrydum to issue a new letter of credit.”



I toyed with the signet ring my mother had given me, the ring bearing the twin crests of the Black Boar of the Cullach Gorrym and the swan of House Courcel. The ring marked me as a descendant of Alais the Wise, permitting me to draw on the trust my ancestress had created generations ago for her errant offspring who had fled civilization to live in the wilderness among the Maghuin Dhonn. “I had hoped it might be done sooner.”



“I can imagine.” Caroline nó Bryony gave me a look at once shrewd and sympathetic. “Moirin, if you were the only descendant, I would gladly advance you funds against the trust. But there are others. I dare not, without knowing for sure none of the others have made claims. And that I cannot determine until spring when the Straits are calm enough to pass.”



“It’s not likely.”



“No.” She sighed. “It’s highly unlikely. But there are rules governing such matters, and Bryony Associates are strict about such matters.”



“I understand,” I said.



Caroline wrote out a letter of introduction in her graceful hand. “Present this at the Sauvillon Inn if you wish. I promise, it’s a very elegant establishment.”



“I’m sure it is.” I didn’t doubt it; but I also didn’t doubt that taking lodgings at an inn, no matter how fine, failed to create an air of permanence that would reassure wary D’Angelines. “Thank you for your kindness.”



Rising to bid me farewell, she gave me a rueful smile. “I wish I could do more. You’re a long way from the half-wild young Maghuin Dhonn savage who appeared in my quarters all those years ago, ill at ease indoors, planning to live on taisgaidh land in the City of Elua.”



Hearing a word of my mother-tongue spoken made me catch my breath and brought unexpected tears to my eyes.



“Or mayhap not so far after all?” Caroline asked gently, touching my cheek.



“No.” I laid my hand over hers, smiling through my tears. “In some ways, aye. Not in others.”



“I’m glad.” She gave me a warm embrace. “I quite liked that half-wild young savage.”



Although the encounter brought me no closer to resolving the issue of lodging, it heartened me to remember that there were D’Angelines who had lived in Alba and knew its folk, D’Angelines for whom the term Maghuin Dhonn did not automatically evoke shades of oath-breaking, babe-slaughtering bear-witches.



I also paid a visit to Atelier Favrielle to request an appointment with the famed couturier Benoit Vallon, who had accepted a commission to design a wardrobe for me when I had first come to the City.



There, I was dismissed summarily by the attendant on duty, who was mortified to learn that I did not possess a calling card.



“Good day, my lady,” he said in a voice dripping with contempt, ushering me out the door. “If you must return, I pray you do so when you are prepared to observe the proper social protocol.”



When I complained about the incident to Bao, he merely laughed.



“That is the exact kind of insufferable fellow that made me dislike D’Angelines the first time,” he said cheerfully. “Luckily, I have found some I like better this time. Look, Moirin.” He showed me a calling card that had arrived for us at the temple, engraved with an insignia of three ornate, interlocking keys. “This is from that nice fellow who was so helpful, isn’t it? I was able to make out the name myself,” he added with pride.



I glanced at it. “Balthasar Shahrizai?”



Bao nodded. “There’s a note written on the back. I haven’t quite made out that part yet.”



“He’s inviting us to dine at a supper-club with a few friends two nights from now,” I said.



“That should be pleasant.” Bao caught my expression and sobered. “Moirin, I know we’ve a great deal to do. Don’t worry. We’ve been through far worse. All this is just… politics.” He lowered his voice. “Have you spoken to your father yet about the Royal Minister?”



I shook my head. “No. What if I’m wrong, Bao? I don’t want to drive a wedge between them.”



“Yes, better your father should serve as a bridge, maybe,” he said philosophically. “Today’s news was bad.”



“What news?”



“You hadn’t heard?” Bao winced. “I heard it at Eglantine House. They say gossip flows swiftly to the Night Court.”



“What?” I demanded.



“The Lady of Marsilikos has made a formal complaint protesting your appointment as Desirée’s oath-sworn protector.” He met my gaze. “I’m sorry, I thought you would have heard.”



“It seems you’re keeping company in more well-informed circles than I these days,” I said wryly. “On what grounds?”