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

by Jacqueline Carey

  He gave me a long look that made me shiver inside and answered in a low voice. “To see your beauty clad in a manner befitting it? It would please anyone in their right mind.”

  I flushed. “Then I thank you for your assistance.”

  “May I ask what you intend in the City of Elua?” Raphael inquired. “’Tis clear you’d only just arrived. Are you here to seek out your father?”

  What was I to tell him? In this elegant, sunlit room, the stone doorway and the Maghuin Dhonn seemed very far away, and talk of a mysterious destiny would sound like a girl’s folly. And after all, finding my father was the first step, since I hadn’t the faintest idea what else to do. So I simply said, “Yes.”

  “What’s his name?” he asked.

  I sighed. “As to that, I cannot say. Only that he is a Priest of Naamah and he attended the coronation of Lord Tiernan of the Dalriada. But he told my mother she might ask after him at the Temple of Naamah here in the City that’s dedicated to star-crossed lovers. Do you know it?”

  “Oh, yes.” Raphael nodded. “And I’ll make an inquiry at Court. It ought to be easy enough to find out who was sent as a delegate to the coronation. Like as not, he or she will be able to provide a name. It’s unlikely more than one of Naamah’s priests was in the entourage.”

  I thanked him for what felt like the hundredth time. “My lord, why are you going to such trouble?” I added. The words his friend had spoken in the street came back to me. “Surely you don’t extend such kindness to every and any half-breed street urchin.”

  He looked sideways at me. “You heard that? No, no, I don’t; although I’d like to think I’d be solicitous of anyone who came to harm through my own fault, or the fault of those in my employ.” Raphael frowned. “Although when you’re feeling stronger, I’d like to ask you a few questions about the incident.”

  “Oh, it was entirely my fault,” I said hastily. The memory of Theo’s rejection was all too fresh in my mind. I didn’t want to frighten away this beautiful man whose touch felt like sunlight. “I was careless.”

  “We’ll see.” He rose. “I’ll see that your clothing is returned to you, then find out what I may learn at Court.”

  “Thank you,” I said for the hundred and first time.

  “You’re welcome.” Raphael hesitated. “I’ll own freely, I’m putting myself out in part because you’re a descendant of House Courcel and I’ve reason to wish to be in their good graces. But you intrigue me in your own right. A Priest of Naamah and one of the Maghuin Dhonn…” He shook his head. “What a pairing.”

  “You’re not afraid to say it aloud,” I observed.

  “What’s that?”

  “Maghuin Dhonn,” I said.

  “No.” He leveled a steady gaze at me. “There’s a great deal that I’m not afraid of. And there’s a great deal I’d like to discuss with you when you’re willing.”

  I echoed his words back to him. “We’ll see.”

  Raphael de Mereliot ran an efficient household. My clothing arrived very shortly after he left, clean and dry and still warm from being pressed with a hot iron. And, to be honest, quite threadbare. Still, I put on the green gown that Aislinn had given me, which was the best of the lot. I felt less of an invalid in proper attire.

  I also felt stifled for the first time since Raphael had brought me here. I opened the door to my bedchamber and toyed with the idea of exploring my surroundings. My head and ribs advised against it. So instead I went onto the balcony. There was a little table and two chairs of some kind of metal filigree and it overlooked an inner courtyard with a lush garden. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. The air smelled of herbs—some familiar, like comfrey and catmint, some new, like basil and rosemary and lavender. There were others I didn’t know. Almost all of the plants were happy and content, although here and there I sensed a discordant note.

  Tomorrow, I thought, I would explore.

  How long I sat there, I couldn’t say. Hours, I suppose. The balcony faced west. I watched the sky turn red and thought about home. I wondered where my mother was and if she was permitting herself to be happy with Oengus.

  I hoped so.

  I wondered what she would think of Raphael de Mereliot. I wondered what I thought of him.

  The Queen’s favorite courtier.

  Her lover, by all accounts. I wondered what the good ladies Florette and Lydia would make of my presence in his home. No doubt they would be beside themselves with scandalous delight. I’d have to visit them.

  Sunset turned to dusk. Twilight rose from the garden beneath me, hundreds of herbs and shrubs exhaling wistfully at the passing of the sun. It was profoundly comforting. I drew the essence of the D’Angeline twilight deep into my lungs and breathed it out, letting it surround me like a cloud.

  “Moirin?”

  Alarmed, I let it go and rose with alacrity.

  Raphael stood just beyond the open balcony doors, staring at me with parted lips. “You were… sparkling.”

  “Oh?” I said weakly. “Was I?”

  “You were. I called your name at the door,” he added. “You didn’t answer.”

  “I was thinking.”

  He fixed me with his intent gaze. “And sparkling.”

  I sighed. “It’s because you were watching, my lord. And because I was careless once more and didn’t hear you or sense your presence. Tame places do that to me. If you hadn’t already been watching, you wouldn’t have seen me.”

  “Like Nevil,” he said.

  “Nevil?” I repeated.

  “My driver.” Raphael’s gaze was unflinching. “He swears the street where we struck you was empty. And I have never, ever known him to lie. He didn’t, did he?”

  “No,” I murmured. “He did not. Tell me, my lord, have I surpassed the limit of strangeness any man might be expected to endure?”

  “Not even close, Moirin of the Maghuin Dhonn.” With an unexpectedly wolfish grin, Raphael reached me in a few swift strides. He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me, warmth radiating from his hands. It felt glorious. Our tongues and our gifts entangled, healing and desire intertwined in an intricate dance. He lifted his head, grey eyes gleaming. “Ah, Elua! Not even close, my lady. I like your strangeness.”

  I felt dizzy. “Why?”

  Raphael stroked the line of my jaw with his thumbs. “Do you feel well enough to dine with me?”

  “I do.”

  He let go my face and extended his arm. “Then come, and let us talk.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  How is it done?” Raphael asked.

  I explained to him how one summoned the twilight, drawing it in and breathing it out. He listened intently.

  “Is it a discipline of long practice?” he asked when I had finished.

  “No.” I shook my head. “It takes a good deal more concentration to do it in a tame place unless there’s green, growing life present. Like your garden or Elua’s Oak. Do you know, it remembers being planted?” I added. “I’ve never met a tree so old or with such self-awareness before.”

  He blinked. “You speak with trees?”

  “With that one, aye. Mostly, their thoughts are simpler. Not thoughts, exactly, but awareness.”

  “And how is that done?” Raphael asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, I just do. It’s a small gift, but it’s my own. My lord, why are you so curious?”

  “Call me Raphael.” He gestured to the chef to carve the roast standing beside the table. “Because unlike many in Terre d’Ange, I believe magic is a tool we shouldn’t fear to put to good use. But from my studies, I’ve come to find that the incidence of pure, inherent magic in human beings is exceedingly rare. In most documented cases, it’s acquired only by dint of intense study and discipline or great sacrifice. Or both.” He poured sauce from a pitcher over the slice of beef the chef had laid on my plate. “The Maghuin Dhonn are a fascinating exception.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the chef shudder. “Well, we are a very old people.�
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  Raphael gave me a curious glance. “You think of yourself as one of them?”

  “I am one of them,” I said firmly. “No matter where I am or how far I go, I carry the spark of my diadh-anam inside me.”

  His eyes gleamed in the candlelight. “Are the old stories true? Can you take on the shape of a bear?”

  I cut a piece of roast and chewed thoughtfully. “No,” I said at last. “The old stories are true, aye. But we lost that gift generations ago, when Berlik broke the oath he swore on behalf of all the Maghuin Dhonn. He was the last to wield it.” I put down my fork. “We are also a dwindling folk, my lord Raphael. What magic left to us is small and insignificant, meant to protect and conceal us. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  “On the contrary.” He reached out and held one hand several inches above mine. “Can you feel that?”

  The air between us vibrated. I nodded.

  “Energy.” Raphael took his hand away. “It is the essence of all things. It flows through us and around us. With great practice, one can learn to control and manipulate it.” He applied himself to his dinner, continuing to talk between bites. “I studied traditional medicine at the Academy in Marsilikos, but in the past year, we’ve been honored to have a great teacher from Ch’in at the Academy here, Master Lo Feng. It is a wondrous opportunity, for his folk almost never venture this far abroad, and they admit few foreigners to their country. Did you know that the Ch’in have a very different view of the healing arts?”

  “No,” I said.

  “They do.” He pointed his fork at me. “And under his tutelage, I’ve learned there is far more to healing than meets the eyes. After months of practice, I’ve learned the rudiments of controlling my own energy and using it to help heal others. But you—” He shook his head. “What you’re capable of, you do without even thinking.”

  “Aye, but it’s not the same thing,” I said. “What I do is a gift of the Maghuin Dhonn.”

  Raphael shrugged. “Mayhap it has applications you’ve never dreamed. We could explore them, you and I.” He smiled at me. “Mayhap it was destiny that placed you in that very street at that very moment.”

  My diadh-anam pulsed in my breast as though in agreement. “That,” I said, “may be a more real possibility than you know.”

  He resumed eating. “When you’re feeling stronger, I’d love to have you meet him. Master Lo Feng, that is.”

  “Why not?” I agreed. I’d never met anyone from Ch’in.

  “And of course I’ll introduce you at Court…” Raphael started. “Oh! Name of Elua, I’m an idiot. Your father.”

  My heart quickened. “You found him?”

  He nodded. “I think so, or at least his name. I’m sorry, Moirin. It went clean out of my head when I saw you… sparkling.” Somewhere in the background, there was a commotion and raised voices. Raphael frowned and beckoned to a manservant standing by with a jug of wine. “Gerard, go see what that is.”

  Gerard set down his jug and bowed, exiting the dining hall. Raphael watched him go, still frowning.

  “My father?” I prompted him.

  “One moment,” he said absently.

  Gerard returned and bent down low, murmuring in his lord’s ear. Raphael looked at once grim and oddly satisfied. “I’ll speak to him.” He dabbed his lips with a linen cloth. “Forgive me,” he said to me. “I’ll be back straightaway.”

  Curiosity got the better of me without even trying. I waited all of three heartbeats before following him. As soon as I’d slipped past the watching eyes of the servants in the dining room, I used the memory of Elua’s Oak to focus my thoughts, and managed to call the twilight without too much effort. I trailed behind Raphael as he made his way to a large marble foyer I vaguely remembered from my dazed arrival.

  There were three D’Angeline men awaiting him clad in some manner of livery. I couldn’t make out the color in the twilight, but their doublets bore the emblem of a swan worked in a crest. All of them wore swords.

  Their captain inclined his head. “My lord de Mereliot,” he said in a curt voice. “Pray tell me your doorman misspoke.”

  Raphael folded his arms. “He did not.”

  The captain took a step toward him, one hand hovering above his sword-hilt. I wished I had my bow. “Then I would hear it from your lips, my lord,” he said with acid politeness. “So I might assure her majesty there was no mistake. Is it your intention to deny the Queen of Terre d’Ange entry?”

  “Is it a crime?” Raphael gave a pointed glance at the captain’s sword. “The last I recall, the Queen was not an Empress, and D’Angeline citizens still enjoyed certain rights. Or is there a state of emergency? Are the Skaldi on our doorstep? Does her majesty require refuge?”

  The other man’s face darkened. “Just answer, damn you!”

  “Very well.” He executed a crisp bow. “Yes. It is unequivocally my intention to deny the Queen of Terre d’Ange entry to my private domicile. Does that suffice?”

  “You play a foolish game, my lord,” the captain muttered.

  “I?” A muscle along Raphael’s jawline twitched. “Jehanne has seen fit to punish me for three weeks for missing a single, insignificant engagement. She was angry—well and good. I made my apology, but she didn’t see fit to accept it. It was a foolish game. She carried it too far and now I am angry. You may tell her you heard it from my own lips.”

  Unexpectedly, the captain sighed. “Oh, fine. She’ll be hell to live with.”

  Raphael smiled. “I know.”

  The men in livery took their leave. I turned to steal back to the dining hall and found my way blocked by a gauntlet of curious servants who had come to see the confrontation. With a sigh of my own, I turned back to Raphael and let go the twilight. The silvery candle flames turned golden and the foyer took on a warm, pinkish hue. Behind me, a shocked murmur arose. Raphael regarded me.

  “Moirin.” He didn’t sound surprised.

  “Aye.” I shrugged in apology.

  “Sly and uncanny, is it? Ah, well, I suppose I’d have done the same in your shoes.” Raphael extended his arm. “Shall we finish our dinner? I believe I was on the verge of imparting some rather important information to you.”

  I took his arm gratefully, happy that he wasn’t angry at me. He rearranged my hand, showing me how to rest my fingertips lightly on his forearm. Members of his household stared and whispered. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my hair, feel the warmth of his body inches from mine. It set the doves to fluttering in my belly.

  The Queen’s favorite courtier, her lover.

  “Do you love her?” I murmured without looking at him.

  “Yes,” he said in a low voice. I did look up, then, gazing into his storm-grey eyes. Raphael caressed my cheek. “But it doesn’t mean she’s my destiny, does it? And after all, this is Terre d’Ange. I’m not bound to love one and one alone.”

  There before his entire household, he kissed me again, and this time it was slow and languorous and deliberate. Once again—I could feel the heat and rising energy coiling between us. But when I wound my arms around his neck, Raphael laughed deep in his chest and peeled me off him.

  “Ah, no.” He settled my hand on his arm. “You’ve healing to do, my lady. Come.”

  Over cold meat and mashed tubers, congealed sauce, and a salad of limp greens, he told me that he’d learned that Duc Gautier de Barthelme, who was in fact a descendant of House Courcel, had attended Lord Tiernan’s coronation, and that if there was a Priest of Naamah in attendance, it was almost surely Phanuel Demarre, the companion of his youth.

  “It’s an old custom,” Raphael explained. “To assign a priest- or priestess-in-training to a scion of the royal family. Often, lasting friendships are formed.”

  I toyed with a forkful of tubers. “Do you know where he is?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I reckon your mother’s right about the Temple. On the morrow, I can—”

  “No.”

  “No?” he echoed.r />
  I stirred my mashed tubers, thinking of the bright lady’s smile and the mystery that had called my unknown father to my unlikely mother. “What if he’s there? To the best of my knowledge, he’s no idea I even exist. I think it’s something I ought to do myself.”

  “As you wish.” Raphael inclined his head. “But not yet. I’d rather you gave that rib at least a week to heal.”

  “A week?” I said in dismay.

  He laughed. “Given my druthers, I’d say four, mayhap six. Can you grant me a mere week? If you can, I’ll promise you a consultation on the morrow with Benoit Vallon of Atelier Favrielle right here at home. In a week’s time, he ought to be able to whip together at least one ensemble befitting you.”

  My spirits rose. “Truly?”

  “Do you consent to my terms?” Raphael countered. “A week’s time to rest and recover?” I nodded. “Then yes, truly.”

  After dinner, he escorted me back to my guest-chamber and bade me good night. He kissed me, but it was a gentle kiss.

  “I do feel much better,” I said without a hint of subtlety.

  Raphael shook his head, looking amused. “You won’t if you don’t take your ease as I ordered.” He kissed me again, then turned me around and gave me a tiny shove. “Go on to bed with you.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. “And in a week’s time?”

  “We’ll see,” he promised, and closed the door.

  TWENTY-THREE

  I fell asleep thinking about Raphael de Mereliot. When I woke up, the first thing I thought about was Raphael de Mereliot.

  Stone and sea, I wanted him! And it was a kind of wanting unlike any I’d known before, deeper and harder, an ache I felt in the very marrow of my bones. I remembered my mother saying Cillian was doomed the minute he laid eyes on me. Suddenly, I understood it. I was doomed the minute Raphael laid his hands on me, infusing my battered body with that glorious golden warmth.

  And if I hadn’t been, that first kiss had sealed it.

  My diadh-anam agreed. And yet when I thought about the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, all I could see was the sorrow and regret in Her eyes.