Naamah's Blessing

I remembered the Nahuatl Emperor saying much the same words to me, and kept my mouth shut on the thought. It seemed a bad omen.



“But that time is not yet upon us, is it?” Raphael smiled at the handmaiden. “I chose her especially for you, Moirin. She’s a pretty girl, isn’t she?” His voice took on a taunting edge. “Make her your own little royal companion, if you wish. I’ve ordered her to please you in any way you might desire. Customs being what they are, I’m not sure she understood what I meant, but…” He shrugged. “You will find the Quechua wholly unsophisticated, but not unteachable.”



A surge of bile rose in my throat, and I fought to swallow it. “You’re very generous, my lord.”



“I need you,” Raphael said simply. “And I need you healthy and hale, Moirin. We have a great undertaking before us.”



I rubbed my face with both hands. “How did you know I would come?”



“I dreamed it,” he said. “Over and over. I dreamed of you, and blood, and a doorway filled with darkness.”



“Did you dream of Jehanne?” I could not help asking.



His face hardened. “No,” he said in a curt tone. “Do not speak her name to me, Moirin. I cannot bear the sound of it on your lips, and it will be better for all of us if I do not despise you more than I already do.”



Silently, I nodded my understanding.



Raphael patted my shoulder. “Good. There is just one more small thing. Sooner or later, it will occur to you that if you’re willing to bloody your hands, you might simply summon your twilight and dispatch me at your leisure.” He smiled. “Know that if any harm befalls me, my Quechua warriors have orders to put every D’Angeline in Tawantinsuyo to death, so I suggest you pray for my health and well-being. Do you understand?” I nodded again. “Very well. The day grows late. You should bathe and eat and rest. You’ve had a long, hard journey, and another awaits you. We’ll speak further in the days to come.”



With that, he left me.



True to his word, a colony of ants remained. When Raphael had gone, taking the bulk of his insectile entourage with him, they swarmed up a sisal rope hanging from the ceiling of my bedchamber, climbing over one another in layers until they formed a large, glistening black ball that regarded me with a thousand faceted eyes.



I sank onto the feather-stuffed pallet atop my bed, buried my face in my hands, and wept.



The distraught handmaiden Cusi knelt beside me and sought to offer comfort, her hands fluttering impotently over my hair and skin, a stream of soothing Quechua words I barely understood pouring from her lips.



With an effort, I wrestled myself under control, catching her fluttering hands in mine and stilling them. “Sulpayki, Cusi,” I said to her. “Thank you. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to trouble you. Pampachayuway. I am sorry.”



She gave me a timid look beneath long lashes. “Mana?”



“No,” I agreed. “No trouble.”



Freeing her hands from mine, Cusi laid one soft, warm palm against my cheek. “I speak little D’Angeline,” she said slowly, her eyes gazing intently into mine. “You eat and sleep. Lord Pachacuti said to. He is a god, yes?”



I did not answer.



Her dark eyes widened. “Arí? Yes?”



I shook my head. “No.”



Clearly disturbed by my heresy, Cusi sucked in a long, deep breath, glancing around the bedchamber. “Eat,” she said firmly, reverting to Quechua and miming actions to suit her words. “Drink. Sleep. Grow strong.”



Too weary to argue, I obeyed. With the sun fading in the west, I bathed in the man-made waterfall, then donned clean attire and ate the food that Cusi brought: roasted fowl, maize flatbread, and an array of fresh fruits. My body accepted the gift of food with gratitude, and despite the menacing presence of the writhing ball of ants hanging in my bedchamber, I succumbed to exhaustion and slept.



Slept—and dreamed.



This time, I caught the heady fragrance of Jehanne’s perfume before I saw her; and this time, the dream did not take place in the enchanted bower she’d had made for me, but in another room I’d once known well: Raphael de Mereliot’s bedchamber. Glancing around, I found Jehanne standing on the balcony, gazing out at the garden.



Jehanne turned around, and there were tears streaking her exquisite face. “I wanted to remember him the way he was.”



“You didn’t know?” I asked softly.



She shook her head. “Not until now.”



I joined her on the balcony. With a soft sigh, Jehanne rested her head on my shoulder. I put my arms around her, holding her close, breathing in her scent. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.



“I just didn’t expect it to be so awful,” Jehanne said at length.



“Nor did I,” I murmured.



She turned in my arms, searching my face with her starry gaze. “What will you do?”



“I wish I knew,” I admitted. “Break my oath if I must. Do you have no counsel for me, my lady? You said I would have need of you before the end.”



Jehanne frowned in thought. “The end isn’t upon us yet. But I do think Raphael made one mistake. He shouldn’t have given you the girl.”



“I don’t want the girl,” I said. “And I suspect she’s meant to keep watch over me and report to him.”



“Yes, of course,” Jehanne agreed. “But you’ve a way with women that Raphael underestimates.” She laughed at my expression. “I don’t mean for you to seduce the poor child, Moirin!” She kissed my lips, tender and lingering. “Win her trust. It’s what you do best.”



“Aye?”



She nodded. “You won mine, and that was no easy feat. In many ways, it is very much a man’s world. Too many women regard one another as competitors, and too many men regard women as nothing more than useful tools.”



My skin prickled. “The fallen spirit Focalor called me as much,” I said. “He said I was nothing more than a useful tool for other hands to wield.”



Jehanne’s face was enigmatic. “I know.”



Letting go of Jehanne, I paced the narrow balcony, thinking aloud. “Raphael spoke of blood sacrifice. He was talking about these women, the Maidens of the Sun. They’re the key, aren’t they? Somehow, I need to turn them against him. Is that what you’re telling me?”



Jehanne was silent.



“Have you said as much as the gods allow?” I asked ruefully.



“Not entirely.” She gave me a deep look. “I may say that I do not blame you for my death, my beautiful girl, and nor should you. Both of us know that a far greater fate hung in the balance. And I will tell you not to hold yourself wholly to blame for what Raphael became. I knew there was tremendous passion and ambition in him. It is a part of what drew me to him; but I was selfish, too. I fed his hunger without ever truly slaking it.”



“You loved well and truly, my lady,” I said. “It is all Blessed Elua asks of us.”



She gave a graceful shrug. “And yet if I had given Raphael de Mereliot the whole of my heart, he might have been content.”



“Or not,” I said.



“Or not,” Jehanne agreed. “If I had given my husband, Daniel, the whole of my heart, he might not have succumbed to despair. Such things are never given us to know.” She smiled at me with profound and abiding affection tempered by a hard-won understanding I could not yet fathom. “And mayhap the gods in their infinite wisdom are right, for I would not like to regret the piece of my heart I gave to you, Moirin.”



I smiled back at her. “Nor would I.” Placing my palms together, I bowed to her in the Bhodistani manner. “Thank you. You have given me hope.”



Jehanne de la Courcel cupped my face and planted a kiss on my brow. “Hold fast to it,” she whispered. “For my daughter’s sake—for all our sakes.”



I awoke with a start.



Sunlight filled the bedchamber. A few yards away, the bulging knot of ants clinging to the sisal rope regarded me with their multifaceted eyes. Ignoring them, I dragged myself upright.



Cusi pattered into the room from the adjoining antechamber. “Sleep good?” she asked in hopeful D’Angeline. “More food?”



Yawning, I rubbed my eyes. “Arí,” I said. “Yes, please. Sulpayki, thank you.” Reaching out, I caught her hand and squeezed it in thanks. “You speak Lord Pachacuti’s tongue very well. Did he teach it to you himself?”



Cusi smiled with modest pride, all dimples. “No. Lord Pachacuti teach to Ocllo. She is old and wise. She teach to me.”



“I see.” I contemplated the girl, wondering how I was to win her trust and turn her against a man she reckoned a god. In truth, I could not blame her. The Aragonians had tried and failed to convince the Nahuatl that they were gods; but the Aragonians had not been attended by a mile-long entourage of ants that did their bidding. There were no hints of lightning flickering in Diego Ortiz y Ramos’ eyes as there were in Raphael’s.



Truly, Lord Pachacuti the Earth-Shaker had overturned the order of the world.



Well and so. My own small gifts might be no match for Raphael’s ants; but they were mine by right of birth. At least I could show my handmaid that Lord Pachacuti was not the only one with the ability to reorder the world. It would not win her trust, but it might suggest to her that my words were worth heeding.



Rising from my bed, I made my way into the courtyard. Cusi trailed uncertainly behind me, the ball of ants unknotting themselves to trickle after us.



I breathed the Breath of Trees Growing, taking in the vast energy of the jungle surrounding us, and chose a small tree. It bore a fruit that was unfamiliar to me, small green fruits that were hard and unripe.



Laying one hand on its slender trunk, I felt its lively thoughts. My diadh-anam burned brightly within me. Beneath Cusi’s watchful gaze, I summoned a hint of the twilight and exhaled softly over the branches, pushing.



The unripe fruits swelled and grew, green skin taking on a crimson blush. I plucked one and split the tough skin with my thumbnail, prying it in half. The flesh inside was pink and smelled sweet. Stooping, I laid the fruit in the ants’ path. They swarmed over it, devouring it in seconds.



Cusi stared, her mouth agape.



I plucked another ripe fruit from the tree and handed it to her. She took it without thinking, her eyes wide and wondering.



“What are you?” she asked.



“Not a god,” I said. “And neither is Lord Pachacuti.”



FIFTY-SIX



After my display in the courtyard, Cusi was more reserved. I chose not to push the matter further for the time being. Gods knew, I’d learned during my time in Vralia that sowing doubt in the faithful was a delicate business.



And even then, I’d failed with Aleksei. He’d come to it in his own time, but if it hadn’t been for his mother, Valentina, it wouldn’t have been soon enough to save me. I would have been stoned to death on the Patriarch’s orders.



Were it not for Jehanne’s visit, the thought would have disheartened me; but when I thought further on it, I realized Jehanne was right. It was Valentina who had been the key all along, not Aleksei.



I prayed I could find the key that would unlock the trust of the Quechua women, and learn how it might aid us all.



But before I did aught else, I needed to assure myself that what Raphael had said was true. I could sense through Bao’s diadh-anam that he was unharmed, but I needed to know the others were safe, and that Thierry de la Courcel was alive and well.



When I announced my intention to Cusi, she gave a resigned shrug. “Lord Pachacuti say you ask this.”



“Did he forbid it?” I asked.



She shook her head. “No.”



I considered this as we descended several terraces and made our way around to the far side of the mountain, accompanied by a rivulet of ants. When I had been with Raphael in the City of Elua, he’d strung me along with expert finesse; playing on my belief in our shared destiny, playing on my infatuation with him, playing on my sense of guilt. He’d alternated between doling out affection and recrimination, keeping me compliant and desperately eager to please him for far too long.



In some ways, this was not so different.



Raphael de Mereliot needed me. And once again, he needed to keep me compliant. If he executed his threat, he ran the risk of pushing me to the point where I had nothing left to lose.



I supposed he could begin killing men horribly one by one, keeping in reserve those whose deaths would cause me the most agony. But the fact that he hadn’t yet done so, assuming he was telling the truth, suggested to me that mayhap there was a shred of decency left in him, and that he was more comfortable relying on familiar patterns, doling out rewards along with punishment, dangling the hope of survival, and mayhap freedom, before me.



At least the knowledge gave me a small measure of leverage; and I daresay I knew Raphael better than he knew me. I’d grown far from the love-struck backwoods maiden he had manipulated so easily.



Although it was also true that the Raphael I’d known had been sane.



For a mercy, it seemed he had told the truth. Cusi led me to a terraced field where dozens of men were bent over with digging-sticks, planting potatoes under the hot sun. When I caught sight of the familiar copper-red brightness of Septimus Rousse’s hair, I laughed aloud with relief.



Across the field, heads rose.



“Moirin!” Bao raced toward me, vaulting rows. I flung my arms around his neck, burying my face against his sweat-slick skin. He wrapped his arms around my waist and held me hard. “You’re all right?” he asked in a fierce voice. “He didn’t harm you?”