Naamah's Blessing

“Hear, hear!” Balthasar hoisted the bottle of brandy and drank from it, wiping the bottle’s mouth on his sleeve and passing it to Denis.



He drank, and passed it onward.



We all drank.



The ship sailed onward.



THIRTY-FOUR



We were at sea for two more months.



It was an uneasy time, to say the least. Edouard Durel’s attempt at sabotaging our mission had everyone on edge. Sailors and fighting men eyed one another uneasily, wondering if another traitor lurked in our ranks.



Captain Rousse called in every member of his crew for a private interrogation.



Balthasar Shahrizai spent countless hours in the crowded main berth, casually talking with and covertly eavesdropping on the force he’d assembled.



In the end, it seemed that no one else had been approached. Claudine de Barthelme had had a limited amount of time in which to operate in the City of Elua, in which to find and exploit vulnerable members of our expedition.



I dwelled on memories of her false smile, hating her. For my father’s sake, I was glad it was her, and not Duc Rogier, behind the attempt.



I worried about Desirée.



New protocols were established to protect the captain’s logbook. Edouard Durel was kept under restraint. Our ship, Naamah’s Dove, rose and fell on the trackless grey ocean; bobbing like a cork in foul weather, riding out the crests and troughs of the storms that assailed us, sailing calmly over placid seas, her sheets filled with wind. Westward, ever westward.



When the cry of “Land ahead!” came from the lookout atop the central mast, I was profoundly grateful.



Everyone who could fit rushed abovedeck to catch our first glimpse of Terra Nova, at first little more than a green smudge on the horizon. Bit by bit, we drew nearer and the green smudge resolved itself into a vast, sprawling landscape dominated by a tall mountain in the distance, tall enough that the sun glinted on snow atop its peak. For the first time, I felt a sense of awe at venturing into a new land, a land that had remained undiscovered by the rest of the world for countless centuries. A plume of smoke trailed from the mountain’s apex, white against the blue sky.



“The Nahuatl call it Iztactepetl,” Denis de Toluard informed me.



“White Mountain?” I was pleased with myself for being able to translate the name; and pleased, too, at the omen, reminded of the dragon’s beloved White Jade Mountain in faraway Ch’in.



Denis nodded. “Well done.” He pointed at the smoke plume. “It’s a volcano. The first of many things that can kill you in Terra Nova.”



“Oh.” Mayhap it wasn’t such a happy omen after all.



Once we entered the wide harbor, I had to own I was a bit disappointed with my first look at the Nahuatl Empire. Thanks to Denis, I’d known that we would make landfall at the Aragonian port of Orgullo del Sol, but my head had been filled with the fanciful tales Cillian had told me years ago, when Terra Nova was first discovered. I’d had visions of marble temples rising from the jungle, folk going around adorned in shimmering feathers, gold and jade jewelry.



Instead, it was a rough and ready port still undergoing major phases of construction, and it was filled with Aragonians, none of whom were any too glad to see us. But while Captain Rousse was contending with the harbor-master, I saw my first Nahuatl folk as a number of men gathered to peer at the ship, looking expectant. They certainly weren’t clad in feathers and jewels, but rather rough-spun garments, and they carried wooden frames on their backs, held in place with a braided thong around their foreheads.



“Porters,” Denis said, following my gaze. “Members of the peasant class. The Aragonians hire them for menial work. Almost everything’s carted on foot here. They’ve no pack-animals, and the Aragonians are careful not to trade in horse-flesh. It’s one of the advantages they hold.”



The lack of finery notwithstanding, I thought they were a good-looking folk with ruddy bronze skin, black hair and eyes, and strong, prominent features.



One of them caught my gaze and pointed, nudging the fellow next to him. All of them stared.



“I think they like you, Moirin,” Bao remarked, leaning on his staff beside me.



“Name of Elua!” Denis drew a sharp breath. “I hadn’t thought of that.”



I was confused. “That the Nahuatl might like me?”



“No, Moirin.” He shot me an impatient look. “They’ve never seen a European woman before.”



“Not that our half-breed bear-witch exactly resembles the majority of them,” Balthasar observed.



“But the Aragonians…” I gestured at the port city. “They’ve been here for years! Is there not a single woman among them?”



Denis shook his head. “Only men. If they want a woman, they’ll take a native mistress. I keep trying to tell you, Terra Nova is dangerous. Too dangerous for women.”



“You really don’t know Moirin very well,” Bao commented. “Did you know she can outshoot a Tatar?”



“I was lucky,” I murmured.



Now the Aragonian harbor-master took notice of the staring Nahuatl porters and spotted me aboard the ship. He blinked and startled, and began questioning Septimus Rousse anew. Whatever the captain told him, it resulted in a deep, florid bow from the Aragonian official, and an invitation to disembark.



After months at sea, the solid quay felt unsteady beneath my feet. I did my best not to sway as the harbor-master proffered a second bow, his long mustaches tickling my hand as he took and kissed it.



“So lovely and so brave!” he said in heavily accented D’Angeline. “Doña Moirin, although I must advise against it, I admire your desire to discover the fate of your royal kinsman. Please, permit me to escort you and a few of your companions to the mayor’s quarters. He would be furious if I allowed you to take coarse lodgings elsewhere.”



I spared a glance at Septimus Rousse.



Our captain gave me a brusque nod. “Go, my lady. Don’t worry, I’ll see to what’s needful here.”



Along with Bao, Balthasar, Denis, a large cask of perry brandy for the mayor, and several Nahuatl porters carrying our personal baggage, I accompanied the harbor-master through the streets of Orgullo del Sol, drawing stares and startled looks along the way. I daresay no one had expected to see D’Angelines returning in the first place, and with my gender and Bao’s distinctive Ch’in features, we made an unusual sight indeed.



The mayor’s residence was one of the most ambitious buildings in the city, an elegant stone affair that stood in contrast to the wooden construction elsewhere. After a brief moment of shock and an exchange in Aragonian with the harbor-master, the steward hastened to fetch the mayor.



In short order, we were introduced to Porfirio Reyes, mayor of Orgullo del Sol. He was a short, thickset fellow with a bit of a paunch and drooping eyelids, but he had the same courtly manners as the harbor-master and a commendable ability to conceal surprise. Fortunately for me, he also spoke fluent D’Angeline with barely a trace of an accent.



“Such a sad tale, the loss of the young Dauphin!” He shook his head. “But it would be folly to compound the tragedy with your own needless death. Please, my lady, will you and your companions accept my hospitality, and allow me the chance to dissuade you from this madness?” He patted his substantial belly. “If nothing else, I assure you, you’ll be well fed! After so long at sea, you must be yearning for fresh fare.”



“And a bath,” Balthasar murmured. “And the services of a laundress.”



The mayor chuckled. “Ah, D’Angelines! Of course. I will gladly provide both, Lord Shahrizai.”



I smiled at him. “It would be our pleasure.”



Our baths were drawn by unsmiling Nahuatl women serving as maids, whom I tried without success to engage in conversation—whether due to my limited skills in the language, or their innate reticence, I couldn’t say.



From what Denis de Toluard had told me, the Aragonians and the Nahuatl had an uneasy coexistence in Terra Nova. If the Aragonians could have seized the country outright, they would have done it, but the Nahuatl and their allies were too numerous. By the same token, the Aragonians’ superior weapons, armor, and ability to fight on horseback made them hard to assail, and the Nahuatl tolerated their presence and engaged in ongoing trade because the Emperor hoped to acquire valuable steel and breeding stock.



Somehow, I doubted it was an arrangement that benefited the commonfolk of Terra Nova.



After bathing and changing into my least filthy gown, and entrusting the rest of my attire to the mayor’s servants, I felt more myself.



Bao, himself cleaned and scrubbed, eyed me appreciatively. “A whole room to ourselves in the mayor’s palace, huh? Not a tiny cabin in the wardroom where everyone knows everyone’s business.”



I kissed him. “Dinner first.”



He grinned, wrapping his arms around my waist. “And later?”



“Later, we put our privacy to good use,” I assured him.



The sun was setting over Orgullo del Sol when all of us joined Mayor Porfirio Reyes for dinner in a torch-lit courtyard patio. The air of Terra Nova was thick and moist, smelling of green, growing things.



Stoic Nahuatl servants brought course after course of food, including many unfamiliar fruits and vegetables, which were indeed a welcome sight, and flatbread made from a strange grain. The meal culminated in a delicious dish of fresh-caught fish simmered and slathered in a spicy red sauce comprised of yet another unfamiliar fruit, this one savory rather than sweet.



I reveled in its tang on my tongue. “What is this?”



“Do you like it?” Porfirio beamed. “The fish is called huachinango. It’s quite good, I think. The sauce is made with a fruit the natives call tomati, and a blend of Aragonian spices.” He took a judicious bite. “Yes, quite good. Unfortunately, we’ve not had much success in exporting tomati plants.”



“Too delicate to survive the journey?” Balthasar inquired. “Or too difficult to cultivate?”



Bao gave me a speculative glance. “I bet Moirin could do it.”



“Neither.” The mayor dabbed his lips with a linen napkin. “Due to an unfortunate resemblance to the leaves of deadly nightshade, there’s a persistent rumor that the fruits are poisonous.”



Balthasar dropped his fork in alarm.



Porfirio Reyes laughed. “I assure you, it’s utterly baseless. I’ve eaten my weight in tomati without a single ill effect.”



I was hoping the mayor would serve chocolatl after the meal, remembering the exquisite taste of the frothy beverage, but instead he insisted on tapping the cask of perry brandy we’d brought him. He swirled the contents of his glass and inhaled deeply before allowing himself a sip.



“Delicious.” Porfirio smacked his lips. “I can taste the sunlight on the pears as they ripen in the orchard.” Setting down his glass, he regarded the four of us. Beneath his drooping lids, his eyes had a shrewd gleam. “Now, let us discuss this matter. First, I would like to know if your tale of romantic folly, this search for the lost Dauphin, is merely an excuse for a second attempt to undermine our trade with the Nahuatl.”



“No, my lord,” I said. “It’s not.”



“Although House Shahrizai does hope to recoup its investment,” Balthasar said. “At least on this journey. But we plan no others.”



The mayor’s fingers drummed on the table. “You claim to be a seer, Lady Moirin?”



“Of a sort,” I said honestly. “All I can tell you is that I’m very, very certain Prince Thierry is alive.”



His expression softened. “It is highly unlikely, my lady.”



“Nonetheless.”



“You haven’t the faintest ideas of the dangers you face.” He waved one hand. “What little you’ve seen here is nothing compared to the jungle. Even the Nahuatl avoid it, and they’re some of the most fearless folk I’ve ever met.” He leaned forward. “Do you know what they seek to achieve as the measure of an ideal man? They have a saying for it. A stone face and a stone heart.”



I shrugged helplessly. “My lord mayor, I know it’s dangerous, but I have to go. Do you mean to prevent us?”



“I am considering it,” Porfirio Reyes said frankly. “My conscience counsels against allowing a woman to undertake such a risk.”



My diadh-anam flared in alarm. “Close your eyes.”



He blinked at me. “I beg your pardon?”



“All of you, please,” I added. “Or just glance away for a moment.”



“I beg you grant the lady’s request, my lord mayor.” Denis de Toluard averted his gaze. “She means to summon her magic.”



“Her what?”



“It will take only a few seconds, my lord,” I said. “Please?”



The mayor shrugged his stocky shoulders and closed his eyes. “Never let it be said I refused a beautiful woman’s earnest request.”



As soon as the others followed suit, I breathed in deeply and summoned the twilight, blowing it around us. To be sure, it would have been more effective were the courtyard not already in dusk, but the twilight at once deepened and brightened everything, turning blue shadows to violet, making the torch-flames burn silvery-white.



When I bade him open his eyes, Porfirio gave me a startled look. “What trick is this?”



“Moirin’s magic,” Bao said with satisfaction.



One of the Nahuatl servants entered the courtyard, halted, and stared around in blank confusion, calling out a question to someone inside.



“What ails the woman?” Porfirio demanded. “We’re right in front of her!”