Naamah's Curse

I had a fleeting memory of my dream and smiled ruefully. “Not quite, I fear, but surely you have done your best, my lady.”



She fussed with the filigree pendant hanging on my brow. “You are perfectly yourself, dear one, and that is all that matters. And you look very, very lovely.”



I hugged her, holding her close. “Thank you, Amrita.”



She returned my embrace, then released me. “You’re very welcome. Now, do not muss your sari.”



For some reason, her fussing and mothering made me laugh aloud. Amrita gave me an inquiring glance, and I shook my head, unable to explain. All I could do was gaze at her with a heart filled with a complicated mixture of affection, remembering all the many kindnesses she had shown me.



“Bad girl.” She tapped my lips lovingly with one finger. “Do not look at me so. You are getting married today, remember?”



I smiled at her. “Oh, I do.”



Once the preparations were finished, we adjourned to one of the palace’s towers to watch the bridegroom’s procession approach. The sun was high overhead, the sky was a bright, cloudless blue, and the spring air was warm and balmy.



I was getting married today.



It was an exhilarating thought—and a frightening one, too. But my heart beat surely and steadily and my diadh-anam called to Bao’s, measuring his progress toward me. I felt him long before I saw him, resplendent in a crimson tunic and breeches, riding astride a white horse garlanded with flowers, his head held high, a crimson turban atop his unruly hair, gold hoops gleaming in his ears, his irrepressible grin in place. Hasan Dar and a handful of guards surrounded him, Sudhakar and Ravindra among them, cheering and singing love songs. The sight made my heart swell inside my chest.



My magpie, my peasant-boy, my Tatar prince.



Gods, I did love him very much.



How had that happened?



Bao glanced up at me as I leaned out of the turret, his grin widening, his almond-shaped eyes crinkling.



I had to tell him about Jehanne and my dream.



Later, I thought; later.



Amrita tugged at my arm. “Come, come, Moirin! You’re meant to be in the garden before the bridegroom.”



“Yes, my lady,” I said obediently, following her.



It was spring in the charmed valley of Bhaktipur and the garden was in full bloom, filled with towering rhododendrons sporting a wealth of enormous purple blossoms, snaking lianna vines, delicate frangipani perfuming the air with fragrance, and marigolds I had coaxed to bloom early. Beneath the trees, an immense, elaborate canopy of colorful sequined fabric had been erected, sparkling in the sunlight, held up by gilded poles. There was a brazier of sacred fire, tended to by a lean priest whose kind smile belied his ascetic figure.



All the women and children of the harem were there, faces glowing on this happy day; and then the groom’s party entered the garden on foot, laughing and singing, and my heart grew even fuller.



With much fanfare, Bao and I were seated opposite one another beneath the canopy, smiling at one another.



The priest beamed at all of us. “Today among friends and loved ones, in the presence of the sacred fire, upon the life-giving earth and beneath the radiant sun, we come together to seek the blessing of the gods on the marriage of Moirin and Bao,” he announced.



My lady Amrita came forward and handed me a garland of flowers. Bao inclined his head, and I laid it around his neck, laughing a little as it caught and snagged on his unfamiliar turban and pulled it askew. He grinned and settled it in place. And then Ravindra, his narrow face solemn, extended a garland to Bao, who leaned forward and placed it carefully over my shoulders.



The priest intoned a sing-song series of prayers and I listened, or at least I half-listened, with my heart so very full.



If it had been a traditional Bhodistani wedding, our parents would have spoken next. I felt a pang at the absence of my beloved mother and the gracious father I had found in the City of Elua—and, too, at the absence of Bao’s gentle seamstress mother and her lively daughter. I even wished the bitter non-father who had cast him out, and Tatar general who had fathered him and claimed him with pride, could be here and find gladness in this day.



But we were among loved ones; and it was enough.



“Now you shall exchange vows of devotion,” the priest declared. “Moirin, it falls to you to speak first.”



There were traditional words for this, too, but not vows that would make sense for such an unlikely couple as us.



I took a deep breath, gazing at Bao. “So much of what happened to thrust us together, neither of us chose. You wanted to find a way to be sure of me, my magpie? Well, today is it. We did not have to do this, you and I. You did not have to ask me to wed you, and I did not have to accept your offer.” I swallowed hard, my eyes stinging. “I am here beneath this canopy, saying these words because I love you and I choose to be with you for the rest of my life. Today, I am choosing this and giving my heart to you.”



Bao’s dark eyes were bright with tears, and one spilled onto his cheek. I tried to remember if I’d ever seen him cry before.



I didn’t think so.



The priest gestured at him. “Now you.”



Bao laughed self-consciously. “Moirin.” His hands clenched in his lap. “I am not good at this. Only know…..” His fisted hands unknitted, lying upward and folded, and his eyes were bright, so bright, looking earnestly at me. “You have a very, very large heart. And I will do my best to take good care of it.”



Shouts of laughter and approval surrounded us.



“Wait, wait!” The priest raised his hands in a good-humored protest. “We are not finished here, eh?”



So we finished.



First I cupped my hands in Bao’s and the priest poured rice into our joined hands. Together we poured it into the sacred fire, a rich toasty smell arising.



Then the priest tied our wrists together with a long cord and bade us circle the brazier seven times. This we did, while he intoned a seven-fold blessing upon us, begging the gods to bless us with happiness, prosperity, and children, and a good many other things.



And then it was done.



Bao glanced sidelong at the priest. “May I kiss her now?”



The priest nodded.



Bao kissed me, smelling of sandalwood and incense, of unfamiliar oils. But beneath it, he smelled of himself, the hot-forge scent that made me feel safe and loved and protected, and I twined my arms around his neck, returning his kiss, glad he did not share the Ch’in reluctance to show affection in public.



It felt good.



It felt so very good, and right.



Our shared diadh-anam sang between us, and I leaned my brow against his. “Do you love me?” I asked.



He laughed. “You have to ask? Today of all days? Yes, occasionally stupid girl. I love you very much.”



“Good.” I smiled at him, hoping he would remember it later. “I am glad.”



There was a feast that went on for many hours, servants carrying dozens of laden trays filled with spicy and savory dishes into the garden, where long tables had been erected and draped in more bright fabric. There was music and dancing, and there were games I didn’t fully understand, including one in which Bao and I were made to sit back to back and answer a series of questions about each other; and yet another in which the cord that had tied us together was knotted around our wrists in a complex pattern which we had to unravel one-handed.



We did well at those.



We knew each other very well, my magpie and I. We worked well together, even at a simple task such as untying knots.



And it didn’t matter that we didn’t really grasp the details of the traditions, that the traditions didn’t really apply to us. It didn’t matter that neither of us were familiar with Bhodistani dances, gladly making fools of ourselves in the effort.



All that mattered was that we were together, and surrounded by love. Celebrating beneath the open sky, garlanded with flowers, reveling in all the joy and abundance the world had to offer.



I waited until the sun was sinking low, casting long shadows over the garden, to tell Bao about my dream—or at least the important part of it. As much as I hated to do it, I couldn’t go to our bedchamber with it unspoken between us.



He listened without comment.



“Do you think it is real?” he asked gravely when I finished. “Or is it only your fear speaking to you?”



I swallowed. “I think it’s real, Bao. It felt very real.”



“Oh?” Bao raised his brows at me. “How real, Moirin?”



I flushed; I couldn’t help it. I felt the warm blood climb into my throat and scald my cheeks, revealing my guilty secret. It wasn’t always to my advantage that he knew me so well, and at such a time, Naamah’s gifts felt like a curse in truth. “I’m sorry! But it was Jehanne,” I said as though that excused me for betraying him in a dream, knowing it didn’t, knowing I would do it again anyway if she came to me. “And she was lonely, so very lonely. It broke my heart! I couldn’t help it. It would have broken yours, too.”



He looked away from me.



I clutched his arm. “Bao? I am sorry. I didn’t mean to do it, only…..”



His shoulders shook, and I realized belatedly that he was trying not to laugh. “So!” He turned his gaze on me, his dark eyes now bright with tears of barely suppressed laughter. “Within hours of our wedding, Moirin, you are telling me that it appears I am sharing you with the ghost of the White Queen; and that together somehow you must face that idiot demon-summoning Lord Lion Mane Raphael both of you loved for no good reason. Is that right?”



I nodded, chagrined. “Aye, more or less.”



Bao exhaled. “I knew I should have thumped that Raphael over the head,” he remarked. “Next time, I won’t hesitate.”



“Have I ruined our wedding?” I asked in a miserable tone.



“No.” Bao cupped my face in his hands “No,” he said a second time, his breath warm on my skin. “I told you before. I love you as you are, Moirin. I would not change anything about you, even the fact that you have the will and morals of an alley-cat, because that is as your gods made you, and it is part of the reason for your very large heart.” He smiled wryly. “Although I might have wished for a few days of wedded bliss before life with you got stranger.”



I laughed, relieved and glad once more.



Bao kissed me—once gently, a second time with the rising heat of desire. I felt our diadh-anam blaze brighter than ever with the approval of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself; and then a second burst of brightness, warm and golden, a soft thunderclap all around us like a thousand doves taking flight at once, turning the blood molten in our veins and filling our mouths with a sweetness like honey.



Naamah’s blessing settled over us, over the entire charmed garden and everyone in it, driving away now and forever any doubt that her gifts carried any taint of a curse. I heard soft cries of wonder as folk turned to one another and embraced spontaneously.



My magpie prince lifted his head, eyes wide with awe. “That was…..”



He had removed his turban hours ago, and now I ran one hand through his thick, unruly hair, tugging his head down to kiss me again. “That,” I whispered against his lips, “was Naamah’s blessing. And I do believe she approves of this marriage.”



Bao smiled and pulled me closer to him, one strong, lean arm snaking around my waist. “I do believe I’m ready for this party to end, Moirin.”



I nodded, the golden warmth of Naamah’s blessing still coursing through my veins, fanning the flames of desire. “Oh, yes!”



And so we said our thanks to our guests and our ever-gracious hostess Amrita, who regarded us with laughter in her eyes; and I couldn’t help but smile fondly at her, still a little in love with her, in love with the whole world tonight. And with the heady mantle of Naamah’s grace hovering over us all, it felt as though the whole love-struck, desire-smitten, intoxicated world returned the favor.



“Go, go!” Amrita said in her musical voice, making a shooing gesture at us, a rare gleam of devilry in her lustrous gaze. “I know your impatience very well, dear one.”



Bao stifled a cough.



“What do you mean, Mama-ji?” Ravindra inquired in a puzzled tone.



“It is more grown-up teasing, young highness,” Bao informed him. “Trust me when I tell you that you would rather not understand the jest.”



“Oh.” Ravindra gave him a dubious look. “All right.”



Laughing, we took our leave of the party.



Our bedchamber had been filled with flowers and candles, and Bao and I made love for long hours that night, surrounded by fragrance and flickering candlelight, and it was by turns tender and sweet, and fierce and urgent, and all of it was good, so good, sanctified by Naamah’s lingering blessing.



Somewhere in the small hours of the night, Bao surrendered to sleep as we lay together in a quiet moment.



I lay propped on one elbow and watched him sleep, his face as serene in repose as it never was when he was awake, as calm and beautiful as an effigy of the Enlightened One, a Dharma saint with a warrior’s body.



And I thought how his journey to this moment was as long and strange as mine: a Ch’in peasant-boy sold into slavery, stubborn enough to take his destiny into his own hands no matter what the cost. A stick-fighting prince of thugs who had walked away from the entire life he’d built to become Master Lo’s magpie. A leader of men, a rescuer of princesses and dragons. One called twice-born, one who had died and been restored to life.



A Tatar prince, struggling against an unwanted destiny.



Jagrati’s favorite.



My husband.



Even in my thoughts, the word sounded strange to me; strange, but right. Like as not, I would be a dreadful wife. But Bao knew it and was not afraid.