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

by Jacqueline Carey

  “Why?” I murmured aloud, sitting on the balcony. “It’s because he loves another, isn’t it? And not just any other, but the Queen of Terre d’Ange, who just happens to also be an adept of the Night Court.”

  There was no reply.

  I sighed and rested my brow on the rail of the balcony, gazing at the garden below. The happy plants were sparkling with dew. Raphael de Mereliot, the Queen’s lover. Mayhap, my destiny. Why couldn’t it have been someone simple and uncomplicated like Theo the coach-driver? I’d spent the whole of my life in a small patch of forest. I suspected a lifetime of learning to catch fish with my bare hands, skin rabbits, and gather burdock root hadn’t exactly prepared me for the intrigues of the D’Angeline Court.

  There was a knock at the door. “Moirin?”

  Already, even muffled, his voice was familiar. “Aye!” I called, rising from my chair. “Come in.”

  Raphael entered, another man in tow. The newcomer was tall and lanky, but he moved with loose-limbed elegance. When he saw me, he stopped short and narrowed his eyes. “So this is what you’re hiding, eh?”

  “Hiding?” Raphael’s tone was nonchalant. “That’s an interesting term, Messire Vallon.” He winked at me. “May I present my lady Moirin mac Fainche of the Maghuin Dhonn, a descendant of Alais de la Courcel?”

  The tall man paled. “Do you jest?”

  Raphael smiled. “Not in the least. Moirin, this is Messire Benoit Vallon of Atelier Favrielle.”

  “Well met, messire,” I said politely. He merely nodded in reply, steepled his fingers, and pressed them to his lips, studying me.

  “So?” Raphael clapped him on the shoulder. “Will you take the commission?”

  “Her majesty would be furious with us,” Benoit Vallon said absently.

  “Her majesty is already furious with you for refusing her,” Raphael informed him. “And with me. Will you take the commission?”

  He didn’t look away from me. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  “Excellent.” Raphael smiled at me, grey eyes sparkling like sunlight on the sea. “Then I’ll leave you to it, shall I?”

  The couturier flapped a hand at him. “By all means, go.”

  As soon as Raphael had withdrawn, Benoit Vallon prowled around me in a circle, looking without touching. I turned my head and craned my neck, trying to track his progress. “Good bones,” he mused aloud. “Youth’s dewy freshness… How old are you?”

  I hazarded a guess. “Sixteen? No, seventeen by now.”

  “Seventeen.” He blew out his breath. “That’ll set Jehanne’s teeth on edge, bear-witch or no.” He lifted a length of my hair in one hand, letting it spill over his fingers. “Fine and glossy and healthy. Has it ever been cut?”

  I shook my head.

  “We’ll trim the ends and celebrate its abundance.” Benoit took a step backward. “Strip.”

  “Strip?” I echoed.

  He grimaced, his face saturnine and mobile. “How else do you expect me to appraise you?” I stripped. “Ah.” Benoit Vallon nodded in approval. “You’ve collarbones to die for, my dear.”

  “I do?” I looked down at myself.

  “Oh, yes.” He traced them with an impersonal touch. “This hollow? And this? Exquisite. Beauty and allure don’t always lie in the obvious. Any tuppenny tailor can stitch together a gown to showcase your breasts. It takes an artist to see and highlight the body’s more subtle charms.” He twirled one finger in the air. “Turn for me.”

  I rotated obediently.

  Benoit studied me with hooded eyes. “Slender and supple… I daresay you’ve led a more active life than most peers, eh?”

  “I daresay,” I agreed. “Messire Vallon, why did you suggest that Raphael’s been hiding me?”

  “Mmm.” He turned away to rummage in his bag. “Quite apart from the fact that he swore me to secrecy about this visit? And like a fool, I agreed to it. Stand still, I’m going to take your measurements.”

  I stood without moving while he measured every part of me with a cloth tape. “He’s only being discreet for my sake.”

  “Discreet!” Benoit snorted. “All it took was one witness, child. The entire City of Elua knows that Raphael de Mereliot’s carriage struck a young woman in the street, and that he whisked her away to his town-house, where he’s been hiding her ever since.” He jotted some numbers on a piece of paper. “And he’s being almighty close-mouthed about it, and it’s piqued the Queen’s curiosity somewhat fierce.” He lifted my left arm and made one final measurement. “Is it true he turned her away yesterday evening?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I murmured.

  “You may put your clothes on.” He put away the measuring tape and pulled a case of colored sticks from his bag. “Very good. Now sit for me; I’m going to capture your palette.”

  I perched on the footstool, my chin in my hands, while Benoit rubbed his colored sticks on the paper.

  “See here.” He showed me. “Black for your hair, and this warm gold is your skin tone. A shocking jolt of green for the eyes. This will help me choose fabrics that will flatter your coloring. Autumnal hues will suit you best—bronzes, coppers, russets, and greens. Stay away from bright, vivid colors. If you must wear color, favor deep jewel tones. Never wear stark white; wear ivory instead. Do you understand?”

  “I do,” I said.

  Benoit wasn’t finished. “Now, selecting fabric will be of paramount importance, because I plan to keep my design simple.” He gestured at me. “We want to play up that fascinating contrast.”

  I glanced down at myself again. “Oh?”

  “You’ve got good bones,” he said impatiently. “Very elegant lines. At the same time, there’s somewhat… oh, a bit savage about your face. Wild and exotic. It’s a face one might expect to see peering out of an enchanted forest.”

  “I see.”

  He gave me a doubtful look. “I’m not so sure of that. But I do, and that’s what’s important. Let me see your hands.” He took them in his, examined them, and clucked his tongue in disapproval. “Name of Elua! What have you been doing?”

  “Living,” I said dryly.

  “Your nails are a disgrace and you have calluses.” Benoit uttered the word as though it disgusted him. He took a deep breath. “Don’t worry. We’ll have someone tend to your nails before you’re seen in public. And I’ll have a cream sent over. You’re to slather your hands every night and sleep in cotton gloves.”

  I made a face. “Is that really necessary?”

  “If it’s your intention to be presented at Court without becoming a laughingstock, yes.” Benoit Vallon gave me a shrewd look. “Is it?”

  I shrugged. “To be sure, I don’t wish to disgrace my lord Raphael.”

  “My lady.” Benoit squeezed my hands, still holding them despite their apparent hideousness. His tone turned serious. “If you’d hear a word of advice, I’d counsel you strongly. Do not think to come between my lord de Mereliot and the Queen. Whatever game they’re playing, don’t let him make you a pawn in it.”

  “He’s not!” I protested. “He’s shown me nothing but kindness.”

  “It suits his ends,” he warned me. “Raphael de Mereliot knows full well that the City’s already a-twitter over the secret he’s hiding. He’s not a bad fellow, but every man has an angel and a devil inside him. You fell into his hands like a gift sent straight from Heaven. He means to use you for all it’s worth.”

  I pulled my hands away. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe as you will.” Benoit Vallon gathered his things, then gave me a crisp bow. “I’ll return in a few days for your first fitting.”

  That evening, Raphael took me for a stroll in his garden. It was better, so much better, than sitting on the balcony. I took off my shoes and reveled in the feeling of tender grass beneath my bare feet. Raphael smiled indulgently and let me wander. I tasted the air, letting it play over my tongue, and listened for the one discordant note amid the complacent choir.

  “This one.”
I followed the note unerringly to a graceful little tree in a beautiful blue and white pot, its leaves drooping and yellow. “He’s unhappy. What is he?”

  “A plum tree from Ch’in.” Raphael patted the pot. “A gift from Master Lo Feng. The fruit stimulates the bowels. But I’m afraid it’s not going to make it through the winter.”

  I stroked the plum tree’s branches, closing my eyes and concentrating. It whimpered through my thoughts, roots coiled in a tight ball.

  “It’s all right,” I whispered. “This is a good place. You’ll see.” Opening my eyes, I blew softly on it.

  The little tree quivered. The tight ball of roots eased a bit, the limp leaves brightening.

  “It looks… better.” Raphael stared at me. “What did you do?”

  I was drained. “It’s part of my gift. I can’t do much, only help a little. He’s lonely and drawing into himself.”

  “Lonely,” he echoed.

  I tapped the pot. “Take him out of this and plant him. He’ll be happier in shared soil, I promise. Raphael, are you using me in your quarrel with the Queen?”

  He didn’t answer right away.

  My heart sank.

  “Let us say that I am not unmindful of the impact your appearance at Court will have,” Raphael said slowly. “I told you freely, I have reason to wish myself in the good graces of House Courcel.”

  “The King’s graces, aye,” I observed. “He may look kindly on the kindness you’ve extended to a wayward descendant of his house. Or mayhap he’ll simply be pleased that you’re trifling with the affections of someone other than his wife. But by all accounts, Queen Jehanne will not look kindly on your actions. So, my lord. Are you using me? If so, what do you hope to accomplish?” My voice shook a little. “Is it your hope that jealousy will drive her back into your arms?”

  “Moirin.” He leveled that storm-grey gaze at me. “If that was all I wanted, I could have had it last night.”

  “No.” I spread my hands. “Because today I am still a rustic half-breed with calluses on her hands and a threadbare dress, someone to be mocked and dismissed despite any unease my heritage may provoke. In a week’s time, with the assistance of Atelier Favrielle, I may become an exotic novelty—the first of the Maghuin Dhonn to be civilized by a D’Angeline.”

  Raphael winced. “That’s unfair.”

  “Is it?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He took my shoulders in his hands. That bedamned warmth flowed into me, rousing my own gifts, setting the doves to fluttering and honeyed heat to rising in my loins. I tried to look away from him and couldn’t. “I never claimed my intentions were pure. But whatever this is between us, it’s real. It’s not a game. I want to find out what it is, what it means. Why the gods saw fit to place you in my path. If you don’t…” Raphael released me and stepped backward with a crisp bow. “I’ll gladly see you settled in suitable lodgings and trouble you no more.”

  “Gladly?” I whispered.

  “Gladly?” His beautiful mouth twisted. “Ah, no. That’s a figure of speech. Would you hear me say it? Stay. Please, stay.”

  My diadh-anam blazed. The Maghuin Dhonn’s eyes had been sad, so sad. “Will you break my heart if I do?”

  “I don’t know,” Raphael admitted.

  I sighed. “I’ll stay.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Gorgeous,” Benoit Vallon purred in a silken voice.

  I gazed into the full-length mirror. The gown was a shimmering bronze brocade with a subtle pattern of vines. It clasped around my neck in a collar from which two beaded straps descended, leaving my shoulders bare. It fit closely to below my hips, then flared out in pleats lined with bronze silk. My hair was piled atop my head, held in place by a comb with a gilded branch. Benoit had brushed a touch of kohl on my eyelids and carmine on my lips.

  No doubt, I looked stunning. “It’s beautiful,” I agreed.

  “Walk across the room for me,” he ordered.

  The fabric swished and flowed as I walked. Even the brocade slippers fit so well I didn’t mind them.

  Benoit watched me with a smug look. “See how differently you carry yourself?” he observed. “There’s more to clothing than mere adornment. It does more than merely change how the world perceives us. It changes how we perceive ourselves.”

  I glided back toward the mirror. “So I see.”

  He laughed. “I’m glad you approve. Now, that’s meant for your debut at Court. I’ve a pair of dresses for ordinary daywear to fit on you.”

  “May I show Raphael first?” I pleaded.

  Benoit shrugged. “As you wish. I suppose my lord de Mereliot should have the honor, since he’s footing the cost.”

  Reaching for the door, I paused. Like an idiot, I’d given no thought to paying the atelier’s fee. “What? No. No, I have funds of my own. I’ve not had a chance to draw on my letter of credit yet.”

  “That,” he said, “is between you and his lordship. But according to him, he has commissioned this.”

  “Let me have a word with him.” I didn’t want to be any more beholden to Raphael than I was. I walked at a hurried glide down the hall and the great curving staircase, calling for him. One of the shy maidservants was polishing the banister. She’d gotten less wary of me in the past few days, but now she gave me a quick glance, then ducked her head.

  “He’s in the library, my lady,” she murmured. “But—”

  “My thanks.” I hurried onward.

  Outside the library, I heard voices raised in urgent whispers, only slightly less loud than the good lady Lydia when she was trying to be discreet. The door was ajar, but not closed. I could see a sliver of Raphael’s profile and his folded arms. I halted and listened.

  “—done playing nursemaid!” another man’s voice was saying. It was vaguely familiar. “Damn it, Raphael! The Circle can’t function without you!”

  “They could if they chose,” Raphael said in a laconic tone.

  “No, they sodding well can’t! You’re the only one with the focus. And we were close, so close! I felt it!”

  The maid’s footsteps pattered behind me. “My lady! I tried to tell you!”

  Raphael turned his head and spotted me through the gap in the door. In two strides, he flung the door open. “Moirin?”

  I sighed. “Aye.”

  “Name of Elua!” the other breathed. “That’s our wayward half-breed?”

  “It is.” There was approval and a considerable amount of heat in Raphael’s gaze. “Moirin, do you remember Denis de Toluard? He helped me tend to you and escort you home after you were struck in the street.”

  “Oh, yes.” That was why his voice had sounded familiar. I’d gotten sick on him. “My thanks, my lord. And, um, I’m sorry about your breeches.”

  Denis de Toluard flushed. He had curly, dark brown hair and blue eyes and I would have thought him very pretty before I met Raphael. He gathered himself, executed a bow, and took my hand to kiss it. I was glad I’d listened to Benoit and used the cream. “I pray you forgive me, my lady. I was ghastly rude in your hour of need.”

  “Oh?” I raised my brows. “Luckily, wayward half-breeds aren’t known for holding grudges.”

  Denis turned a deeper shade of red.

  Raphael grinned. “Is this the gown for the debut? It’s splendid.” He touched the comb with the gilded branch. “And this is the perfect finishing touch. On anyone else, it would be too much.” He turned to Denis. “Mind, you’re not to breathe a word of this.”

  “No, no.” The other shook his head. “I’ll not ruin your surprise.” He gave me an ardent, flustered glance. “You’re looking hale as well as beautiful, my lady. Are you quite recovered? Will you be making your debut soon?”

  Now him, I could have had by crooking one finger; I knew it as surely as I knew my name. Pity. “Soon, yes,” I agreed. “I believe Raphael has an event in mind.”

  Now Denis turned pale. “You’re not!”

  “I am,” Raphael said calmly. “What better way to celebrate his m
ajesty’s natality than to introduce him to long-lost kin?”

  His companion made a strangled sound. “Jehanne is going to kill you!”

  A muscle twitched in Raphael’s jaw. “Jehanne,” he said with icy precision, “would expect nothing less of me. Don’t believe every piece of gossip you hear. You do not know her nearly as well as you think, my friend.”

  “Do you know,” I said to no one in particular, “I would truly have been grateful for a far less complicated destiny, if that’s what this is.” Both men looked blankly at me. “No mind.” I waved my words away. “Raphael, I wanted you to see the gown. But you’re not to pay for it. I’ve a letter of credit.”

  “I know.” He gave me that unexpectedly boyish grin. “I rifled through your belongings, remember?”

  “Aye, but—”

  “Moirin, let me do this.” He toyed with my gown’s straps, unobtrusively stroking the skin beneath them. “It helps assuage my conscience for having caused you injury in the first place. Please?”

  I couldn’t think straight when he touched me. “Oh, fine. Since that’s the case, I’m glad you like it.”

  He kissed me. “Very much. Are you keeping Messire Vallon waiting? I wouldn’t advise it.”

  “All right.” I pulled away from him with an effort. “I’ll leave you to your mysterious plotting, then, shall I?”

  Denis choked.

  Raphael merely looked amused. “My dear, if you don’t want me to think you sly and uncanny, you’ve really got to stop eavesdropping.” He made a shooing gesture. “Now go! If you earn the enmity of Atelier Favrielle, you’ll live to regret it.”

  I went.

  Benoit Vallon was packing his things and looking almighty disgruntled when I returned. It took a good deal of profuse apologizing on my part before he relented and began to unpack them.

  “You’re young and foreign,” he said grudgingly, beginning to help me out of the wonderful bronze gown. “It’s his lordship ought to know better.”

  “He’s engaged in mysterious plotting,” I informed him.

  “Oh?” Benoit’s hands went still on the clasp of my collar. “He’s a name for meddling in matters he oughtn’t,” he muttered. “And I don’t mean just their majesties’ private affairs.”