Naamah's Blessing

She nodded, taking his hand.



Swallowing my ire, I knelt before her. “Do you remember how I’ve spoken of your mother, dear heart?”



Desirée nodded again, her blue-grey eyes wide as she listened.



I took a deep breath. “Well, your mother came to me in my dreams, and she told me something very, very important. She told me that your elder brother Prince Thierry is alive, and that Bao and I must go to Terra Nova to find him.”



Her cheeks turned pink. “He’s alive? My brother is alive?”



“I believe so,” I said carefully. “I believe it was a true dream. But it means we will be gone a long time finding him.”



She searched my face. “I don’t want you to go! Why can’t someone else go?”



Ah, gods! I couldn’t explain the Circle of Shalomon and my foolish behavior to a child; and I couldn’t tell her about her mother Jehanne’s warning, not in front of the smirking young Tristan de Barthelme. Not at all according to my father’s wise counsel, with which I agreed. It left me not knowing what to say.



Bao rescued me. “Because heroes and heroines always get the hard jobs, young highness,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s what we do. That’s why the gods choose us for the task.”



Desirée pitched a tantrum anyway.



It was a full-blown tantrum of epic proportions, filled with wailing and flailing, fists and heels pounding on the nursery floor. And gods help me, I was almost glad of it, for it meant the spark of quicksilver joy and temper in her that had guttered so low after her father’s death was yet alive and well. Also, it drove Tristan de Barthelme from the nursery in a sullen adolescent retreat, for which I was grateful.



Sister Gemma hummed a soothing song, doing her considerable best to comfort the child.



In time, the storm passed.



“I don’t want you to go,” Desirée repeated, weary and fretful.



I stroked her hair. “I know, dear heart.”



She ground her rosy knuckles into her eyes. “You’ll come back, won’t you? Promise it!”



I hesitated. “Dear heart, I know you’re still a little girl, but you’re a very clever one, so I’m going to tell you a very grown-up thing. Will you hear it?”



Her tear-stained face was grave. “Yes, Moirin.”



“I will not make you a promise I cannot be sure of keeping,” I said gently. “And I will not lie to you. Terra Nova is a dangerous place. But I promise that Bao and I will do our very, very best to find your brother and bring everyone home safe. You can help us by trying to be brave. Do you understand?”



Desirée bowed her head, loose ringlets of silvery-blonde hair curtaining her face. “Yes, Moirin,” she murmured. “I will try.”



“Good girl.” I kissed the top of her head. “I have a present for you.”



At that, she looked up. “What is it?”



Reaching into the purse at my waist, I withdrew a small, stoppered bottle of cut crystal with an inch or so of liquid in it. Sunlight slanting through the windows caught its facets, decorating the nursery with rainbow prisms. “Your mother gave this to me,” I said to Jehanne’s daughter, handing her the bottle. “So that I might never forget her. But I think she would want you to have it now.”



“It’s pretty.” Desirée tilted the bottle, then gave me a perplexed look. “Thank you, Moirin. What is it?”



“Perfume.” I pulled out the stopper for her, and a heady, intoxicating scent filled the air. “It’s a very special blend. Your father had it made for your mother when he was courting her. No one else was allowed to wear it and the Head of the Perfumers’ Guild swore he would never, ever tell anyone the formula.”



She sniffed the bottle. “It’s beautiful.”



I smiled, hiding a pang of sorrow. “Aye, it is. Like your mother, and like you. And it’s a gift given twice in love now.” Carefully, I guided her hands in replacing the stopper. “So any time you’re feeling frightened or lonely, I want you to smell this, and remember that your mother loved you. That I love you.”



“Me, too,” Bao added. “Although I do not smell as nice as your mother or Moirin.”



Desirée turned the bottle in her hands, regarding its sparkling facets. “Moirin… why doesn’t my mother visit me in my dreams?” She gave me a plaintive look. “Did she love you better?”



“Oh, dear heart, no!” I hadn’t thought of that. “No, no, no. You know that my own mother’s folk are not D’Angeline?”



She nodded. “You’re a bear-witch. That’s what Tristan says.”



“Aye,” I said softly. “And because of it, I have a small gift for magic. That, and that alone, is the reason your mother, Jehanne, can speak to me in my dreams.” I touched her cheek. “If she could choose between us, she would choose you.”



“Truly?”



“Truly.” I folded her fingers over the bottle. “Never, ever forget it.”



So it was done. Desirée hugged us both fiercely in parting, her arms clinging around our necks, making us promise we would see her before we left for Terra Nova. That, at least, was a promise I could make gladly.



Sister Gemma escorted us to the door of the nursery. “That was well done, my lady,” she murmured in a low tone. “I fear for the child in your absence. Duc Rogier’s son—”



“I know.”



Her pretty face hardened. “I’ll do my best to protect her highness. But the Duc has made it clear to me that my position here is tenuous. My status as a member of Eisheth’s Order is the only thing that keeps me here, and he’s hinted that it may not suffice. I dare not speak against the lad lest I lose it.”



I drew a sharp breath. “He’d dare?”



Gemma nodded. “Oh, yes. His grace would see the young princess isolated from those who care for her. I suspect he’ll seek to replace me with a peer of the realm chosen from amongst his allies, one whose stature he can claim will serve to better honor the princess than a mere priestess.”



Bao muttered an unintelligible curse.



I glanced over the priestess’ shoulder to see Desirée sitting on the floor of the nursery, absorbed in counting the facets of the crystal bottle. “You are no mere priestess, my lady. I thank Eisheth and Sister Marianne for sending you. And I know you will do your best. It’s all any of us can do.”



Unexpectedly, Gemma took my hand and kissed it. “Eisheth’s blessing on you, Lady Moirin; and you, too, Messire Bao,” she said, tears in her eyes. “I will pray for your success and safe return.”



This time, I managed not to cry. “Thank you,” I said to her. “We are grateful for it.”



In the days that followed, our expedition began to take shape. The majority of the planning was handled by House Shahrizai, for which I was grateful since I had no experience in such matters.



The captain and nearly two-thirds of the crew of Prince Thierry’s flagship volunteered for the return voyage. The ship itself was named Naamah’s Dove, which I thought was a hopeful omen. Balthasar Shahrizai set about recruiting trained warriors for the search party. Scores of young noblemen, especially from the Lesser Houses, applied for positions, along with dozens of members of the Royal Guard and a handful of mercenaries. After testing their skills on the practice field, where he did indeed prove surprisingly handy with a sword, Balthasar settled on a hand-picked group of forty men.



On the advice of Denis de Toluard, a shipment of trade goods was assembled. It seemed that while Terra Nova was rich in numerous resources, iron was not one of them, and much coveted by the Nahuatl.



“They’d love to get their hands on weapons and armor,” he said grimly. “But they’ll settle for tools.”



Accordingly, our manifest included a variety of useful implements: hoes and plows and awls and the like. It also included many strings of translucent, colorful glass beads and bright, shimmering mirrors, other items unknown in Terra Nova.



While our plans proceeded apace, the Duc de Barthelme’s plans marched alongside them.



To considerable fanfare, the Regent of Terre d’Ange moved his entire household from the duchy of Barthelme to the City of Elua, including his wife, Claudine, and his younger son, Aristide. As Duc Rogier had indicated to me long ago—or what felt like long ago—his wife maintained an extensive household. The train of heavily laden wagons approaching the City seemed half a mile long. Claudine de Barthelme presided over the entry like a Queen, riding a white palfrey, her chin held high. Her younger son, Aristide, rode beside her on a coal-black gelding.



They were met at the gates of the City by Duc Rogier with his elder son, Tristan, and young Desirée in attendance. The Duchese Claudine made a show of dismounting and curtsying gracefully to Desirée, who handed her a posy of spring flowers. Smiling, Claudine stooped and kissed her cheek.



It made a pretty picture, the orphaned princess embraced by her new family, and I daresay many of the cheers that greeted it were genuine. Desirée was all smiles, her eyes sparkling.



Despite the insistent warning of my diadh-anam, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was wrong. After all, I’d misread it before; and a part of me wished I was mistaken. I wouldn’t mind if it meant Desirée’s happiness.



But then Duc Rogier introduced me to his wife in my capacity as Desirée’s oath-sworn protector.



Claudine de Barthelme was an attractive woman, with the golden hair and blue eyes her eldest son had inherited; but there was a calculating coolness behind those eyes and a falseness to her smile.



“Ah yes, Lady Moirin.” She pressed my hand between hers. “I’ve heard so much about you.” Her brows rose. “But I understand you mean to leave us soon? Undertaking a dangerous quest to Terra Nova?”



“I fear it’s true,” I said.



Her lips pursed. “It seems a strange way of honoring your oath.”



“Does it?” I asked. “I can think of no better way than restoring her young highness’ brother and the rightful heir to the throne.”



Something flickered in her calculating gaze. “Of course,” she said smoothly, reaching down to lay one manicured hand on Desirée’s head. “I hope you will rest assured knowing that her highness will receive the best of care in your absence.” She glanced down with another benevolent smile. “The poor lass has been motherless for too long.”



I inclined my head. “I can only hope that you come to love her as I do, my lady.”



Claudine’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m sure I shall.”



Bao and I watched the procession make its way toward the Palace, the handsome royal family followed by a long line of wagons snaking its way through the City, cheers following in their wake. “That woman is the goad that drives the Duc’s ambitions,” he remarked. “Count on it.”



“I think so, too.” I sighed. “Would that we could be in two places at once! I don’t like leaving Desirée at their mercy.”



Bao gave me a worried look. “Do you think she’s in danger?”



I gazed after them. “I don’t think they’d dare harm her. It would raise too much suspicion.”



“There are a lot of ways of harming a child,” Bao said darkly.



“I know.” Sister Gemma’s words haunted me. “Believe me, I do.” I could see Desirée’s future unfolding step by step. At first, the Duc de Barthelme and his wife, Claudine, would embrace her, giving her the semblance of family she had never known. And then they would begin to isolate her, replacing her unconventional nurse with an ambitious peer looking to curry favor, replacing the clever tutor who sought to feed her eager young mind with someone more placid and malleable.



And at every turn, they would assure her it was for her own good.



They would chide her for her temper. They would play on her child’s sense of guilt, subtly blaming her for the tragedies that had befallen her.



In the end, they would crush her spirit.



I had a vision of Desirée at sixteen, anxious, overly thin, and as hollow-eyed as a doll, holding the loathsome Tristan’s hand in the Temple of Elua, reciting her wedding vows while the young man smirked, his father watched with pride, his brother with envy, and his mother smiled a beatific smile.



I gritted my teeth. “That will not happen.”



“Moirin?” Bao inquired.



I shook my head, dispelling the vision. “Come, my hero. We’ve a good deal of work yet to do.”



THIRTY



Two weeks later, all was in readiness.



The ship Naamah’s Dove was laden, the captain and crew assembled. Balthasar Shahrizai’s hand-picked party of fighting men were ready to board at a moment’s notice. I’d written yet another letter of explanation and apology to my mother, entrusting it to my father’s care.



I had one last meeting with Lianne Tremaine, the former King’s Poet.



“What can I tell you, Moirin?” she said with a shrug. “I’ve done my best to shape opinion and foster the notion that this is a noble quest. But after the losses Terre d’Ange has suffered, a lot of folk long for stability, not more pointless tragedy. Seeing House Barthelme embrace the young princess has soothed their nerves. Almost half the realm fears you’re mad to undertake this.”



“Do you?” I asked her.



“No.” Her mouth twisted. “But I was there when the Circle of Shalomon had its ill-advised successes. I saw what you’re capable of doing and what your damnable gift can achieve.”