Kushiel 03 - [Moirin 01] - Naamah's Kiss

by Jacqueline Carey

  “Oh, no one you would know.” I didn’t fancy being the subject of their gossip. “Since you and your sister were kind enough to invite me, will you permit me to purchase your supper?”

  She hesitated. “Well…”

  “Of course we will,” Lydia said loudly.

  They were also kind enough to order several jugs of the inn’s best red wine at my expense and lingered long over their cups after extracting the most recent gossip out of the City from the serving girl. It seemed Queen Jehanne remained estranged from her most favorite courtier, Raphael de Mereliot, with whom she had quarrelled some weeks ago. He’d sent her a letter begging forgiveness and sweetened his apology with a bracelet—a pave of canary diamonds, according to rumor. The next day, one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting was sporting it on her wrist.

  “Imagine the gall!” Florette marveled.

  “Eh?” I blinked. “I thought you disapproved of her affairs.”

  “Well, yes, but…” She laid a hand on my arm. “You’re very young, dear. And, how shall I say it?” She patted my arm. “Unsophisticated. There are discreet and tasteful ways to conduct such matters.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Elua and his Companions didn’t seem to concern themselves thusly.”

  Lydia hiccupped. “Blessed Elua cared naught for crowns or thrones,” she intoned.

  Florette gave her a sharp look. “Are you intoxicated?” she hissed. “Oh, Elua have mercy, you are!”

  “I’m not,” her sister replied with dignity, listing a little in her seat.

  I helped Florette d’Aubert maneuver Lydia up the stairs to the chamber they shared, then bade them good night and beat a hasty retreat to my bedchamber. I waited until I heard the sound of snoring through the thin walls before I summoned the twilight and stole out of the inn.

  Lamplight spilled through the chinks in the wall of the stable. Inside, I found Theo reading. There was a small jug of wine and two cups beside him.

  He lifted his head and smiled at me. “Seeking refuge, are you?”

  I smiled back at him. “I am.”

  “I hoped you might.” He rose and lifted the lantern, hanging it carefully on a hook. “Come, then.”

  I went to him.

  EIGHTEEN

  They’re not so bad,” Theo said drowsily the next morning when I complained about the prospect of another day in Florette and Lydia’s company.

  “They’re insufferable,” I informed him.

  “Ah, now.” He cupped my face and kissed me. “They’re ladies of a certain age with naught else to concern themselves in life. In their minds, they’re doing you a kindness by correcting your manners and preparing you for life in the City.”

  “That doesn’t make it any more pleasant to bear, and I’m perishing sick of hearing about the Queen.” I had a thought. “May I ride with you?”

  Theo shook his head. “It’s not done, Moirin.”

  “No?” I brushed the straw from my dress and donned it. “Well then, if it’s not done, I’ll just wait for the next coach. There should be one along in a few days, aye?”

  “Oh, fine.” He sighed. “Just don’t be surprised when the gossip turns to you.” He gave me a wry look. “Though I imagine that’s bound to happen anyway. You didn’t, ah, mention your heritage to them, did you?”

  “No. I thought they might take it amiss.”

  “Doubtless,” he agreed.

  To be sure, the good sisters took my decision to ride atop the carriage beside Theo amiss. I did it anyway and I was glad. The terrain began to change from cultivated land to a pleasant mountainous wilderness. The valleys were lush and filled with oak and chestnut trees, while the heights had plains covered with fragrant heather and tough, scrubby broom. I breathed deeply, happier than I’d been in days. Theo smiled at my pleasure. In turn, I admired his skill with the coach and the way the muscles of his forearms shifted as he handled the reins.

  “Is it hard to do?” I asked.

  “It takes some practice,” he said. “There’s a knack to it. You’ve got to have a good feel for the horses’ mouths.”

  Much to my delight, he showed me and let me try. Once I’d mastered the complicated technique of holding the reins in my left hand, I thought I could almost manage. I could feel the horses respond to my guidance and I knew instinctively to give them their heads on an upslope and keep them in check going downhill.

  “Well done,” Theo said approvingly. “Once you learned to use the whip, I daresay you’d make a passing fair driver.”

  My arm was beginning to ache with the strain. “’Tis hard work.” I handed the reins back to him. “Is the whip truly necessary?”

  “Only to direct them.” He arranged the reins in his hand. “It’s not used to punish—”

  “Hold!”

  A pair of men with scarves wrapped around their lower faces stepped out from behind a rocky outcropping ahead of us. One held a loaded crossbow aimed at Theo, who swore softly and drew rein. “I’ve naught of value, only passengers!” he shouted. Inside the coach, I heard shrill cries of alarm.

  “The girl’s got a goodly purse. I heard her say so myself.” He glanced at his companion and jerked his chin. “Go relieve the biddies of whatever trinkets they carry.”

  For one brief instant, no one’s gaze was on me. I summoned the twilight in a terrified rush of breath. In the gloaming, I saw the first bandit’s face turn back toward me, filled with bewilderment at my seeming disappearance.

  “What the sodding hell?”

  I dropped from the carriage, unslinging my bow. I’d kept it with me out of habit, accustomed to shooting for the pot as I travelled. Now I circled around behind him, nocking an arrow.

  “I’ve an arrow aimed between your shoulder blades!” I said fiercely. “Drop your bedamned bow and go!”

  The bandit whirled and pulled the trigger on his crossbow, loosing his bolt blindly in the general direction of my voice. It passed so close to me I felt its wind against my cheek. I swore and shot him in the thigh. He cried out involuntarily, dropping his crossbow to clutch at the shaft. I fitted another arrow to my string.

  “Next time, I aim higher!” I called.

  It was enough. The bandits fled into the hills, the one I’d shot hobbling as fast as he could and leaning on his companion. I waited until they were well out of range, then sighed and lowered my bow, releasing the twilight.

  Theo was staring at me. “What…” He licked lips gone dry and swallowed hard. “How did you do that? Disappear?”

  “It’s only a small gift,” I said softly. “Meant to conceal us at need from those who mean us harm.”

  He didn’t answer.

  I sighed again and went to check on Florette and Lydia. They were pale and fearful, clutching one another. For a mercy, the curtains were drawn and they’d seen nothing of what had transpired.

  “What is it?” Lydia asked in a loud, trembling whisper. “Bandits? Are they gone?”

  “Aye, my lady,” I said. “Gone as gone can be.” I showed her my bow. “They thought to rob us with knives. I scared them away.”

  Florette peered at me. “You?”

  “Me,” I agreed. “You were quite right to reprimand me for being foolish and boastful last night, my lady. They were after my purse.”

  She pursed her lips. “I daresay that’s a lesson learned the hard way. Be grateful it wasn’t worse, dear.”

  I thought about the breath of wind against my cheek as the bolt passed by me. “Believe me, I am.”

  When I thought to rejoin Theo in the driver’s seat, he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I think it’s best you take your place inside.”

  “Why?” I asked. “You were glad enough of my company before.”

  He gave me a reluctant sidelong glance. There was still desire in his gaze, but there was fear, too—and the fear was stronger than the desire. “There’s a limit to the amount of strangeness a man can be expected to endure, Moirin. You’ve just surpassed mine.”

  I flushed at the un
expected rejection, hurt and embarrassed. “As you will.”

  The remainder of our journey passed without incident. I suffocated in the coach and endured the cloistered company of Florette and Lydia, who insisted I tell them about the bandit attack in exacting detail. I obliged them by fabricating an account that grew more florid with each telling. They alternated between shivering with horrified relish and chiding me for such risky behavior.

  “Those men could have been bent on heresy,” Lydia said darkly.

  “Heresy?” I echoed. I thought I knew the word—thanks to the reading Cillian and I had done, my vocabulary far exceeded my pronunciation—but I was confused.

  “Rape and ravishment,” Florette clarified. “There are bad men in this world, child. Even here.”

  “Oh, aye.” I nodded. “It’s a lucky thing I had my bow, isn’t it?”

  She gave me a stern look. “Don’t say aye.”

  I smiled. “Yes, my lady.”

  We passed one last night in a small wayfarers’ inn, where they served a hearty rabbit stew that reminded me of home. Florette and Lydia pressed me to reveal my plans in the City of Elua and I did my best to deflect their questions with vague generalities.

  “At the least, tell us you mean to visit a proper couturiere!” Florette said with asperity. “You’re a stunning creature to be sure, but if that dress represents the best of your finery, it looks like you slept in a stable.”

  I cleared my throat. “Oh, yes. I have a letter of recommendation in my bag.”

  “For whom?” Lydia demanded.

  I tried to recall. “Atelier… Fabienne?” I pictured Caroline nó Bryony’s smile. “Fabrielle. No, Favrielle.”

  They blinked in unison, and then Florette patted my hand. “It’s good to dream, dear. At least you’re setting your sights high. To be sure, you’re very striking in a most… ah… unusual manner. But don’t be disappointed if they refuse you. They take on precious few clients.”

  Lydia eyed me. “They might.”

  “Not likely.” Florette gave a delicate snort. “They turned away her imperious majesty herself for being too demanding.”

  “Well, as peculiar as she is, our young Moirin’s certainly not the demanding type,” her sister argued. “And they say Atelier Favrielle does love a challenge.”

  A less delicate snort. “Our Moirin’s that, all right!”

  The topic showed all the signs of being one the good ladies could debate for hours. “Well, if they refuse me, I’ll simply have to go elsewhere, won’t I?” I rose from the table. “If you’ll forgive me, it’s been a long day.”

  “I should say so!” Florette exclaimed. “Facing down highwaymen. Who ever heard of such a thing?”

  I smiled and kissed her cheek. “Pleasant dreams, my lady.”

  She flapped her hand at me. “Oh, go on with you, child.”

  On the following day, we descended from the low mountains and reached the City of Elua a few hours later. Florette and Lydia were sufficiently excited that they consented to have the curtains open once we came within sight of the City’s famous white walls.

  I had to own, it was splendid. Even at a distance, the Royal Palace loomed, vaster and more elaborate than aught I could have imagined. It could have swallowed up the hall of Innisclan a hundred times. As we drew nearer, the ladies began pointing out all the places of interest.

  “That’s the Academy of Occult Philosophy founded by Queen Sidonie and Crown Prince Imriel.” Lydia indicated an impressive building on the near side of the river.

  “Occult philosophy?” I inquired.

  She dropped her voice to a loud whisper. “They study magic.”

  “They most certainly do not,” Florette reproved her. “They study the philosophy of magic, which is a different matter altogether.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Do D’Angelines disapprove of magic? Is it vulgar?”

  Lydia laughed. “Vulgar! Imagine. No, no, child. As the tale would have it, their royal majesties determined that wisdom enlightens, while power corrupts. Thus, they founded an Academy dedicated to the pursuit of pure knowledge. There are some—”

  “Raphael de Mereliot,” her sister interjected.

  “—there are some who hold that they were fearful and overcautious and lobby to have the Academy’s mission revised.” Lydia gave a wistful smile. “Myself, I fear that if magic exists in the world, D’Angelines have no gift for it.”

  I wondered if she was jesting. “What of the old tales? Did Prince Imriel not free a demon from a stone?”

  “So they say.” She lifted one finger. “And yet you’ll note, there’s no account of a hero or heroine of Terre d’Ange doing magic. Only undoing it.”

  “Undoing whatever harm it wrought,” Florette said tartly. “Which is precisely why their majesties in their wisdom chose the course they did; and King Daniel and his grandmother and father before him have sworn to honor their edict.”

  I nodded. “I see.”

  “I should hope so!” She gave me a sharp look. “Alban-born as you are, your people should understand it.”

  Lydia shivered. “Have you ever seen one?”

  I wasn’t sure what she meant. “One what?”

  The loud whisper. “The magicians.”

  “The Maghuin Dhonn?” I asked.

  She hushed me. “It’s bad luck to say their name aloud! But yes, the bear-folk.”

  “I have,” I said. “At Midsummer, many of them gather at Clunderry beside the burial mound where Dorelei mab Breidaia lies, with the magician Berlik’s head beneath her feet. They gather to pay tribute to their memories and to remember themselves that the like of such folly should never come to pass.”

  The good ladies stared at me with open mouths. After a moment, Florette closed hers with an audible click. “Your folk are from Clunderry, then?”

  “I have kin there,” I acknowledged. It wasn’t even a lie.

  For a mercy, there was enough to see outside the coach that the ladies were soon distracted. We crossed the river on a massive bridge built by Tiberian engineers over a thousand years ago and entered the city proper. My throat tightened as we passed the gatehouse and the white walls closed around us, but I made myself breathe slowly and listen to the litany of Florette and Lydia’s description, and the feeling eased.

  It was beautiful, very beautiful. I marveled at the buildings and temples—and aye, the folk. It didn’t seem as noisy or bustling here as it had in Bourdes. The denizens of the City of Elua went about their business at a more leisurely pace, gathering in small knots to chat with friends.

  “Home.” Lydia sighed with pleasure.

  “Home,” Florette agreed.

  The coach station was on a street near Elua’s Square. The moment we descended from the carriage, a handful of young men appeared to offer their services as porters. Me, they regarded uncertainly, but they flirted shamelessly with the ladies. I watched Florette engage in shrewd negotiations with a likely pair.

  “Do you know where you’re bound, dear?” She cast a disapproving eye over me. I had my satchel over one shoulder and my bow and quiver over the other. “Have you kin here? You never did say, did you? Have you lodgings?”

  “You’d be welcome to stay with us for a time,” Lydia added.

  Florette pursed her lips, then gave a firm nod. “It’s no trouble.”

  I smiled at them both. “You’re very kind. But I’ve lodgings arranged and I’ve a fancy to stretch my legs and see a bit of the City.”

  They gave me the address of the townhouse they shared—it belonged to Lydia, Florette having lost hers to her dead husband’s creditors—and made me promise to call on them if I’d need of aught.

  “You take care of yourself, dear.” Lydia patted my cheek. “Remember us!”

  “I will,” I promised.

  As maddening as they’d been, I watched them toddle away with a certain sense of fondness. I turned to find Theo leaning against the stable doorway, watching me.

  “You were right
,” I said. “They weren’t so bad.”

  “They would have felt differently if they knew what you are,” he said quietly. “Do you really have lodging arranged?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve an address.”

  He hesitated. “I’d be pleased to escort you there.”

  “No,” I said slowly. “I think not. You made your choice.”

  “Forgive me.” Theo stepped forward and brushed his lips against my brow in an awkward kiss. He gave me a rueful smile. “Somehow, I suspect I’ll tell my grandchildren about this encounter one day, Moirin of the Maghuin Dhonn. Whatever it is you’re bound for, I’m sorry I wasn’t bold enough to play a greater role in the journey.”

  “So am I,” I said.

  Theo bowed, exacting and formal. “Blessed Elua hold and keep you, lady.”

  “And you.” With that, I left.

  NINETEEN

  I hadn’t lied to the ladies; I truly did have a fancy to see the City.

  Or more rightly, I had a fancy to see the great oak tree in Elua’s Square, scarce glimpsed from the window of the coach. It grew in the very heart of the City and was said to have been planted by Blessed Elua himself.

  It was old.

  Very old.

  The thoughts of trees grow slower and more ponderous with age. This was the oldest I’d ever encountered. Even at a pace away, its thoughts were silent. I stood beneath the vast green canopy and laid my hand on its bark.

  “Hello,” I said softly.

  It was a long time before I felt the tree respond. Slow, so slow! And yet it had a tremendous awareness, greater than any I’d ever encountered. The oak tree remembered centuries. It was only a blink of time ago that Prince Imriel had scrambled into its branches, digging out a hidden gemstone. It remembered when there was no City, only a tiny village in a lush river valley.

  It remembered Elua.

  It remembered how he had cupped an acorn in the palm of his hand and smiled, turning to one of his Companions. And the Companion had smiled in reply and taken Elua’s hands in his and blown softly on the seed.