Naamah's Blessing

The drums grew louder.



In the background, a pair of women mounted a scaffold, climbing ever higher and higher.



When they reached the apex, they jumped, silken robes billowing around them.



The drumming reached a crescendo, and halted. All the tumblers onstage fell down, exiting the stage with backward somersaults.



Somewhere, bronze sheets rattled, evoking thunder and lightning.



And then the dragon appeared, eliciting a shriek of pure joy from Desirée and gasps of awe from the crowd.



It was immense, long silvery coils shimmering in the lamplight as it flowed sinuously over the stage, winding like a river. The long-jowled whiskered features were so familiar, my heart ached at the memory.



“How in the world…?” my father whispered in bemusement.



“Look.” The King leaned forward. “The tumblers are underneath it, holding it up on poles.”



Desirée gazed raptly at it.



I stole a glance at Bao. “Well done, my magpie.”



He gave me a quiet smile. “It looks a lot like him, doesn’t it?”



I nodded. “Very like.”



Onstage, the dragon continued its graceful, flowing dance, accompanied by the sound of flutes. And somehow it truly did manage to convey the beautiful and terrible majesty of the dragon in flight as he rose from the peaks of White Jade Mountain and descended onto the battlefield.



All too soon, the performance ended. The tumblers hoisted their poles, revealing themselves beneath the silvery segments of the dragon’s carapace.



The applause was thunderous.



Antoine nó Eglantine strode onstage and bowed in all directions, beginning and ending with a deep bow in the direction of the royal box.



“May I throw the flowers, Moirin?” Desirée looked at me with shining eyes. “May I?”



I handed her a bouquet of white roses grown out of season beneath the warmth of the glass pavilion. “Indeed, you may, young highness.”



“ ’Tis a long way to the stage.” Daniel de la Courcel took his daughter’s hand as she leaned over the balustrade, his voice gentle. “May I help?”



She nodded, wordless.



All around us, peers of the realm in their boxes watched. Below us, fifty faces were raised in wonderment as the King helped his daughter toss a bouquet onto the stage of the royal theater.



It landed at Antoine nó Eglantine’s feet.



He accepted it with a bow and a flourish. “Long life and good health to her highness, the princess Desirée!” he called. “Elua’s blessing on her and her oath-sworn protector!”



More cheers.



More applause.



I was glad. Glad for Bao and the tumblers of Eglantine House, who had worked so hard to make this occasion a worthy spectacle. Glad for myself that it had exceeded the considerable expectations it had raised. Most of all, I was glad to see his majesty allowing himself to love his tempestuous young daughter, at least in this moment.



My father laid one hand on my shoulder. “You’ve done a good thing here, Moirin.”



I smiled at him. “I have, haven’t I?”



There was no doubt in his voice. “Indeed.”



TWENTY-ONE



Winter in Terre d’Ange.



It was long, and it was cold. Even so, it was a good time. Thanks to good counsel, a considerable measure of hard work, and the support of the priestly orders, Bao and I had won the battle in the court of public opinion. We were well liked by many, and with the deed done and my oath sworn, those who had spoken against it ceased their grumbling.



Desirée continued to flourish under the firm, tender care of Sister Gemma and the tutelage of Aimée Girard. Bao continued to study with her on a daily basis. King Daniel paid more attention to his daughter, making a point of visiting her at least twice a week.



Thanks to the largesse of House Shahrizai, we settled into a comfortable routine in our borrowed home, and began to entertain visitors like Balthasar Shahrizai, whose company Bao enjoyed, and Lianne Tremaine, for whom I had come to feel a certain prickly fondness.



It was a good time.



The Longest Night drew nigh. Benoit Vallon devised costumes for Bao and me, deciding that we should attend the Midwinter Masque in the guise of Hades, the Hellene god of the dead, and his bride Persephone.



“I’m not usually so literal, but it seems apt,” he said, framing Bao with his hands. “I’m not sure why.”



As with everything the couturier did, the costumes were lovely. Bao made a grave Hellene deity in robes adorned with sparkling jet, a wreath of iron laurels on his head. My gown was green and gilt for spring, and my hair was crowned with a wreath of gold.



We attended the royal masque with her young highness, who was dressed as a winter sprite in a frothy white gown with a pair of charming gauze wings.



I had to own, the taste of joie and the sight of the great hall filled with massive pine trees shimmering with glass icicles evoked memories that made my heart ache. “Did you know it was your mother who first thought to decorate the hall with trees on the Longest Night?” I asked Desirée.



She shook her head, gazing up at a towering specimen. “Truly?”



“Oh, yes.” I brushed the fragrant green needles with one finger. “She did it just to please me.”



“What did she wear?” she inquired.



I smiled. “White, just like you. She was dressed as the Snow Queen, with a white cloak trimmed with ermine. And after the pageant when the lights were rekindled, tumblers from Eglantine House came and begged her to come to the Night Court. Every year, they would come, and every year, your mother refused. But that year your father told her she should go, and take me with her, since I’d never seen the Night Court’s masque.



There was a yearning to hear more in her gaze. “Did you go?”



“We did,” I said. “And when the night was over, we went up to the rooftop terrace to watch dawn break, your mother and I and all the beautiful adepts of the Night Court, none of whom were as beautiful as she was. It was cold, very cold, and your mother wrapped her ermine cloak around me to keep me warm.”



“I bet that’s not all she did,” Bao commented in the Ch’in scholar’s tongue. I chose to ignore him.



“I wish I could have known her,” Desirée said in a wistful tone.



“I know, dear heart.” I stroked her fair hair. “She wished it, too. Do you know what we did the very next day?”



“What?”



“We rode in a carriage to a Temple of Eisheth called the Sanctuary of the Womb,” I told her. “There’s a hot-spring pool with water as warm as a bath, and as white as milk. And there, your mother waded into the pool and lit a candle to Eisheth, praying that the goddess would send her a child. You.”



Desirée slid her hand into mine. “I’m glad you were there, Moirin.”



I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “So am I.”



She searched the bright hall. “My father isn’t here tonight, is he?”



“No.” I shook my head. “His grace the Duc de Barthelme, the Royal Minister, is here in his stead.”



“Because it makes my father sad to remember?” she asked.



“Aye.” I swallowed against a sudden lump in my throat. “I’m afraid so. But there is joy in remembering, too. That’s why I shared my memories with you tonight, so that you might share my gladness.”



Together, we watched the peers of the realm in their gorgeous, glittering costumes mingle and dance. Sister Gemma hovered in the background, ready to intervene if Desirée grew tired and fretful.



The Duc de Barthelme came to pay his respects to the princess. “Joy to you on the Longest Night, young highness,” the Royal Minister said, offering her a formal bow. “Is the ranking member of the royal family here in attendance enjoying herself?”



Somewhat about his choice of words made my skin prickle, and I caught Bao frowning.



“Oh, yes!” Desirée said politely. “Thank you.”



He inclined his head to me. “I see you take your duties seriously, Lady Moirin.”



“I do,” I said, laying a hand on Desirée’s shoulder. “But it is also a pleasure to see the Longest Night through fresh, unspoiled eyes.” I held his gaze. “I recall Prince Thierry saying much the same thing to me.”



The Royal Minister’s eyelids flickered briefly, and I thought to myself that Duc Rogier did not care to be reminded that I had the favor of more than one member of the royal family; and one who would be returning to a position of influence come spring. Still, his expression remained pleasant. “No doubt.” He turned back to Desirée. “Do you plan to stay all the way until the pageant, young highness? It will be quite late, you know.”



She nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes! I had a very long nap.”



He smiled. “Well, then, I will be sure you have a chance to meet the Sun Prince himself. Would you enjoy that?”



She nodded again, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Yes, thank you!”



“The pleasure is mine.” Duc Rogier gave her another bow and a wink. “I think you will like him. I certainly do.”



It was an odd exchange. We did not speak of it in Desirée’s presence, but it weighed on my thoughts as we plundered the banquet table heaped high with delicacies. I didn’t know what this business with the Sun Prince was about, and it seemed strange that Duc Rogier had made such a deliberate point of noting Desirée’s rank. I had assumed that his resentment of my appointment as her oath-sworn protector had to do with the fact that it was an honor of which he felt me unworthy, and one he had desired for himself, but mayhap there was more to it.



Desirée de la Courcel was a Princess of the Blood, and in Thierry’s absence, her father’s heir. Whoever wielded influence over the choices she made in life might one day affect the course of the realm.



That, I’d never considered. Stone and sea, I just wanted the poor child to have a measure of happiness.



Although her eyelids were growing heavy, the young princess did indeed manage to stay awake and alert through the pageant. We all cried out when the horologist called the hour, the Winter Queen in her crone guise hobbled into the center of the room, and almost every lamp and candle in the great hall was extinguished, plunging the hall into darkness.



Then came the pounding on the doors, and the Sun Prince in his chariot drawn by a pair of matched white horses rode into the hall, gleaming in his gilded armor and sunburst mask. Servants with lit tapers waited poised next to intricate series of braided wicks.



The Sun Prince leapt from his chariot with a lithe twist, pointing his gilded spear at the crone.



Everyone cheered as she threw off her ragged robes and crone mask to reveal herself as a young, beautiful maiden. The servants lit the wicks, and light was restored to the world. The royal pair mounted the chariot, wherein it was evident that she overtopped him by a head.



“He’s kind of puny for a Sun Prince,” Bao whispered to me. I hushed him, although I was thinking the same thing.



The chariot made a circuit of the hall, stopping before us. The Sun Prince leapt down once more, going to one knee before Desirée.



“Joy to her highness on the Longest Night!” he cried, taking her small hand and pressing his lips to it.



Overwhelmed, she tried in vain to stifle a giggle.



“And here we are,” Duc Rogier announced with pride, coming alongside them. The Sun Prince raised his gilded mask, revealing a handsome, youthful face. He couldn’t have been much more than thirteen or fourteen years old. “Your highness, may I present my eldest son, Tristan.”



The lad rose and bowed, smiling at her. “Well met, my lady. I hope we will see more of each other, but for now, I fear duty beckons.”



With that, the shining Sun Prince returned to his chariot and his rather irritated-looking Winter Queen. They exited the hall to cheers, with an underlying murmur of speculation. Desirée gazed after them in awe.



I looked at the Royal Minister. “I thought your family preferred to remain in Barthelme, my lord.”



He gave a graceful shrug. “I changed my mind. I thought it was time Tristan began learning the ways of the Court, so I sent for him to winter here. Besides, it will be good for her highness to have some younger folk here at the Palace, don’t you think? I hear she’s quite precocious, and her tutor is very skilled. Mayhap they can take lessons together.”



“Your son is at least ten years older than her,” Bao said in a flat tone.



“And you considerably more, Messire Bao,” the Duc observed. “Yet you appear to benefit from it. Young highness, would you like Tristan to study with you?”



Her cheeks were pink with pleasure. “Yes, my lord!”



“Well, then.” Rogier Courcel smiled at all of us. “It seems the matter is settled.”



I smiled back at him. “So it does.”



TWENTY-TWO



I don’t like it,” Bao fretted.



Neither did I, but there was nothing I could do about the situation. On the face of the matter, it was a perfectly logical thing for the Royal Minister to do; and a thoughtful gesture in the balance. And so young Tristan began spending time with Desirée during her studies.



He was a pretty lad with golden hair and vivid blue eyes, and he was unfailingly charming to the princess. In the manner of young children being flattered by older children everywhere, she delighted in the attention.



My father assured me there was nothing untoward in the matter.



Lianne Tremaine was less sanguine. “He’s courting her.”



“She’s a child!” I protested.



The former King’s Poet shrugged. “It’s common practice in Aragonia to arrange betrothals between children in royal families. And it’s been known to happen here, too.”