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

by Jacqueline Carey

  I rode forward alone.

  The priest had hair the color of oak leaves, long and shining. He lifted his head and smiled as I drew near. It was a beautiful smile, calm and serene, like a gift. Everything about him was like a gift. And his eyes were very, very green. As green as grass, as green as rushes.

  “Moirin, daughter of Fainche?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  His beautiful smile deepened. “I believe I’m your father.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  At that moment, nothing in the world could have felt better than my father’s embrace.

  I didn’t plan to throw myself at the man—after all, we were strangers to one another. But he had appeared like an answered prayer, and the look of simple gladness on his face as I dismounted undid me. I flung my arms around his neck. He didn’t flinch or falter, only held me in his arms. I buried my face against the shoulder of his robe for a long moment, then gathered myself and pulled away.

  I wiped my eyes. “Phanuel Demarre?”

  “Indeed.” He studied my face with wonder, then gave himself an unselfconscious shake and laughed softly. “I’m sorry. I came as soon as I heard the news. I always wondered, but it’s somewhat altogether else to see you in the flesh.”

  He introduced me to Rogier Courcel, the Duc de Barthelme, who bowed in the saddle.

  “Well met, my lady,” he said politely.

  The rest of the hunting party arrived. Behind the polite exchange of greetings the whispers went around, but there was no malice in them. Both Raphael and Thierry looked genuinely happy for me. Lianne Tremaine wore an odd, absent look as though she were jotting notes in her head lest the scene play out one day in some epic verse.

  Even Jehanne was different in my father’s presence. “Your daughter’s caused quite the stir, Brother Phanuel,” she commented.

  My father smiled and laid one hand on my shoulder. “So I’ve heard.”

  “Surely not the latest.” Something in his smile softened her tone. “Not an hour ago, she saved the Dauphin’s life.”

  He glanced at me. “Oh?”

  In the oddest way, it reminded me of my mother. “It was only a viper,” I said. “They’re not always fatal. I’ll tell you all about it if you’d like.”

  “I would,” he said solemnly. “I would like to hear every last little detail of your life, Moirin, from your birth to whatever uproar you’ve been causing. But I don’t wish to interrupt.” He shrugged and spread his hands with self-deprecating grace. “As I said, I came as soon as I heard.”

  “Oh, go,” Prince Thierry said in his good-natured way. “Balm House can wait. Would you prefer to ride, Brother Phanuel? No doubt we can find a mount to spare.”

  My father shook his head. “I like to walk.”

  “Walking’s nice,” I agreed.

  “Well, then, so be it.” Thierry gestured for a servant to take my filly’s reins. “I’ll see her delivered to Lord de Mereliot’s stables.”

  Raphael…

  I’d promised yesterday that I would show him what I’d learned at Cereus House later today. I gave him a guilty look, but his grey eyes were gentle and warm. No stormclouds.

  “This is what you came to find,” he reminded me. “Go and enjoy one another’s company. My household will be open to you day or night.”

  I looked shyly at my father.

  He tilted his head, sunlight spinning the shining length of his oak-brown hair, and reached out one hand. “Shall we?”

  I clasped his hand. “Aye.”

  We walked.

  We talked.

  I wanted first to hear the story of my conception. I suppose it might have been strange for some, but my father was a Priest of Naamah and he had no compunctions in discussing such matters. He told me about how he’d first glimpsed my mother at Lord Tiernan’s coronation, hovering near the doors of the Hall of Innisclan.

  “Such an eldritch little thing she was!” he marveled. “Such dark, wild eyes! I knew right away she must be of the Maghuin Dhonn. No one else mortal could have looked so uncanny in that place.”

  “Did it scare you?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “It drew me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” he said softly. “Only that it did, and that Naamah smiled on it. You’ve a look of your mother, you know.”

  I smiled wryly. “Here they say I’ve a look of you.”

  “Both,” my father acknowledged. “For I knew you in an instant.”

  It was true. I stole glances at him as we walked through the royal hunting grounds and I told him of my childhood and youth in Alba. After two weeks in the City of Elua, I was far more familiar with my own appearance than I’d ever been in my life. The line of his jaw and throat—I’d inherited those. His full, generous lips, too, although I was quite certain my smile didn’t have the same calm beauty. I looked at our clasped hands. Like mine, his fingers were long and tapered. They squeezed mine in warm sympathy when I told him about Cillian.

  We paused in a glade where he showed me a spring half-hidden beneath browning ferns. The water was cold and good. My father perched on a low, rocky ledge, his robes spilling around him.

  “Is that why you left?” he asked. “Cillian’s death?”

  I touched the dying fronds with the tip of one finger. Already, the plants were half-asleep, dwindling into their roots. “No. Do you sense plants? What they’re feeling?”

  “Sense them?” He knit his brows. “How?”

  “Like these.” The brown fronds rustled when I stroked them. “They’re going to sleep for the winter.”

  “I can see that they are,” he said. “That’s not what you mean, is it?”

  “No.” I blew a few dry spores from the back of my hand. “I thought mayhap it was a gift of Anael’s line. You’re of his lineage as well as Naamah’s, are you not?”

  My father looked surprised. “How did you know?”

  “The priestess at the temple told me,” I admitted. “But I’ve seen him in my thoughts, too. When I was little, I called him the man with the seedling.”

  “Naamah, too?”

  I nodded. “The bright lady. The first time I saw her was the first time I remember Oengus coming to visit, and he and my mother went into the woods to make love.”

  “Oengus?” he inquired, then waved away the question. “No mind, that’s not important. Is that why you came, then? Did the gods of Terre d’Ange call to you?”

  “No.” I shifted restlessly. “It’s not that they didn’t, but…” I decided to simply ask. “Do I have a destiny?”

  My father blinked. “I imagine so.”

  “But you don’t know what it is?” I pressed.

  “It’s not given to any of us to know our destinies,” he said gently. “Is that why you left Alba?”

  I sighed. “Aye. There’s a sacred rite among my folk where the charge was laid upon me. I want to tell you about it. I do, truly. But I’ve never spoken of it to anyone save the Maghuin Dhonn.”

  “Then wait. If and when you’re ready, I’m glad to listen.” He smiled. “You might tell me of your adventures in the City. Folk are saying you’ve a miraculous gift for healing and you’ve stolen Raphael de Mereliot from the Queen.”

  I made a face. “Did he look stolen?”

  “Not particularly.”

  Once I began talking, the story poured out of me. How Raphael’s carriage had struck me in the street, how he’d taken me in and cared for me. How my diadh-anam had responded to him. How I’d let him use me as a pawn in his quarrel with the Queen; and then how we had combined my gift with his skill to save a man’s life at the King’s fête.

  Even though I could see he had questions, my father listened without comment, letting the torrent flow. He didn’t speak until I paused to draw breath.

  “A complicated matter,” he murmured.

  “It gets worse,” I said miserably. I told him how the King’s Poet had convinced me to schedule an assignation at Cereus House, how I had go
ne and found Queen Jehanne there waiting for me. “I thought she meant to confront me. Instead…” My face grew hot. “Well, she was there for another reason.”

  My father’s green eyes widened. “You didn’t.”

  I nodded.

  He looked away, looked fixedly at the ground.

  “I’m sorry!” Shame deepened my flush. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, should I? It’s just that there’s no one I can trust. And now I’ve lied to Raphael about it and he’ll hate me when he finds out, and Jehanne’s just waiting for the right moment to humiliate me with it.” My father couldn’t even bring himself to look at me, and I hated myself for disappointing him before we’d even met. “I know it was a foolish thing to do!” I said in a desperate tone. “I’m sorry! It was very, very stupid to let myself be seduced by someone who wishes me ill, no matter how nice she smells!”

  His shoulders shook.

  A new suspicion dawned. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Not quite.” My father lifted his head. His face was red with the effort of suppressing his laughter, and there were tears of helpless mirth in his eyes. “Name of Elua! You’ve done a remarkable job of getting yourself entangled in a very large mess in a very short time.”

  I heaved a sigh. “I know.”

  “All right, all right.” He collected himself, dabbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. “The Queen approached you in the role of an adept?” he asked. I nodded. “Then she won’t use it against you,” he said firmly. “She’ll let you think she will, but she won’t. She can’t. Not without being censured by Naamah’s Order for dishonoring her vow. And believe me, Jehanne de la Courcel does not want that to happen.”

  It gave me hope. “You’re sure?”

  “Very sure.” My father gave me one of his lovely smiles. “Jehanne takes great pleasure in being the Queen of Terre d’Ange and great pride in being the foremost courtesan of her day. She won’t risk losing her status as the latter.”

  “You’re sure,” I said again.

  “Yes.” He stroked my hair. “Moirin, you’re descended from a long line of priests and priestesses who have served Naamah with honor and distinction. Your great-great-grandmother was the first royal companion. And her mother was the first to welcome Phèdre nó Delaunay herself to Naamah’s temple. You’re not to be ashamed for doing what comes naturally to one of our blood. I won’t allow it.”

  I leaned against him. “No?”

  My father kissed my temple. “No.”

  We sat for a time in companionable silence. I could feel the warmth of his body through the fine silk robes, the steady rise and fall of his ribcage as he breathed. There was nothing more in it. He was my father; I was his daughter. The half-hidden spring burbled at our feet. The oak trees that dotted the landscape blazed with vivid hues of gold and russet and crimson, flaunting their majesty before it was time to surrender to winter’s sleep and sink deep into their roots. The dark green pine trees hoarded their needles and gloated.

  “The sacred rite I spoke of before is a rite of passage,” I said at length. “I underwent it after Cillian was killed. And I saw Her.”

  He looked at me. “Her?”

  I swallowed. “The Maghuin Dhonn Herself.”

  “You saw a bear?”

  “Not just any bear.” I wanted him to understand. “Her. I passed through the stone doorway and waited. Waited and waited. It was beautiful there. Bright and dark all at once. When She came, She blotted out the stars. Then She shaped Herself to a mortal scale. She gazed on me and breathed on me and acknowledged me as one of Her own. I would have stayed there forever if She’d let me and followed Her to the ends of the earth.”

  My father’s voice was grave. “But she didn’t.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “She turned away from me. Stone and sea! Her eyes. She looked so very, very sad. And in the doorway…”

  “Yes?”

  “I saw the sea.” I shivered. “Sunlight on the waves, gulls crying. All I knew was that I was meant to go. That I couldn’t stay in Alba. And I didn’t know where else to go but here. I hoped you might tell me why.”

  “I wish I could.” He was quiet a moment. “You said your… diadhanam… recognized Raphael de Mereliot. Is he the only one?”

  I started to say yes, then remembered. “No. There was one other. Master Lo Feng, the Ch’in physician. He’s Raphael’s mentor.”

  “Ch’in, eh?” My father looked startled, but he shrugged. “Well, mayhap Raphael was only the bridge meant to guide you to him.”

  “Mayhap.” I wasn’t sure how I liked the idea.

  My father looked sidelong at me. “You’re not ready to surrender the notion of Raphael de Mereliot, are you?”

  “No.” I put one hand on my chest. “It is a very strong feeling. And it hasn’t gone away. We are bound together somehow.”

  “And Jehanne?”

  “Ohhh…” My cheeks turned warm. “No, that had nothing to do with my diadh-anam.”

  “That’s good.” He smiled a little. “At least it makes matters a bit less complicated.”

  I sighed. “It was still foolish.”

  My father gazed into the distance. “There’s no folly in desire. Jehanne is very beautiful. She may not be an exemplary ruler, but she was always an outstanding courtesan.” He smiled again. “And she does smell very nice.”

  “Mm-hmm.” I tried not to remember.

  He laughed. “There’s a reason for it. They say his majesty had a special fragrance concocted in her honor as a patron-gift when he was courting her. No one else is allowed to wear it and the head of the Perfumers’ Guild has sworn to take the formula to his grave.”

  “Terre d’Ange is a strange place,” I mused.

  “Says my strange child.” My father rose with easy grace, scarlet robes flowing. He gave me his hand and helped me to my feet. “Would that I had better counsel for you, Moirin,” he said soberly. “You come from a culture that is foreign to me. I cannot speak to the will of the Maghuin Dhonn, and I’ve had no practice in being a father. But I am very pleased to find myself one, and honored to have you in my life. Whatever the purpose drew your mother and I together, I hope you find it.”

  I searched his face. “You’re not disappointed in me?”

  “Name of Elua, no!” He let go my hand and touched my cheek. His smile curved his lips and lit his eyes. “You’re a wonderment.”

  I had a father.

  I liked him very, very much.

  THIRTY-THREE

  I passed the night in the Temple of Naamah that had been built in honor of my great-great-grandmother.

  In the City, I’d seen how my father was loved.

  Even folk who didn’t know him, loved him.

  We walked through the marketplace together. Amid the clamor of vendors hawking their wares, a little silence followed him. Men and women lifted their heads and gazed after him, abandoning their tasks. He gave them his gentle smile like a gift.

  They smiled back.

  In the Tsingani quarter where the temple was located, the same sallow-faced woman I’d seen on my first visit was once again hanging laundry on her balcony. She gazed down at my father in his red silk robes, her hands going still and her face softening. He lifted his head, smiling at her. For a moment, she was beautiful.

  When I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, I saw his gifts coiling around him, green and gold shimmers in the air, warm and embracing, like a blessing made visible. The heritage of Naamah and Anael.

  “Your gifts are lovely,” I murmured.

  His brows quirked. “You see them?”

  I nodded.

  “Strange child.” He kissed my forehead. “Would that I could see through your eyes.”

  “So do I,” I whispered.

  At the temple, Noémie d’Etoile welcomed us gladly. We ate and drank and talked until the small hours of the night. There was a young couple seeking refuge there—a sweet young lass and a stalwart lad from a prestigious family in Camlach
who opposed their union. Before we dispatched them to their bed, my father gave them good counsel and promised to travel to Camlach to speak to the lad’s family on their behalf. Although I understood it was in keeping with his priest’s oath, it saddened me to think of his leaving so soon.

  “Will you come back?” I asked him in the morning.

  “Of course,” he said promptly. “Do you think you might manage to avoid further entangling yourself until I do?”

  “I can try.”

  He laughed. “Seek out the Ch’in physician you mentioned. If he’s truly linked to whatever destiny awaits you, mayhap he’ll have some wisdom to impart.”

  “I’ll do that,” I agreed.

  I accompanied him as he performed the morning’s rite to honor Naamah, pouring out offerings of wine and honey and invoking her aid in removing obstacles from the course of troubled lovers. Noémie watched with approval.

  “It’s always such a pleasure to have Phanuel here,” she said softly. “Do you suppose you might follow in his footsteps and enter Naamah’s Service?”

  I gazed at the marble effigy’s sunlit face, tranquil and beautiful. “As an adept or a priestess?”

  “Either path would be open to you,” Noémie said. “The path of the adept holds the promise of wealth and prestige. The rewards of the path of priesthood are deeper and more profound.”

  I thought about the mantle of grace that lay over my father, the smiles of pleasure that trailed in his wake. I thought I understood. But when I tried to envision myself doing the same, my diadh-anam flickered with alarm. The majestic face of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself rose before me, and I remembered the vast sense of joy and pride I’d felt when She claimed me as Her own. It could be lost, all lost.

  When I blinked, the vision faded, but the feelings lingered.

  “No,” I said with regret. “That I am Naamah’s in part, I do not doubt. I’ve long felt her presence in my life. But I am first and always a child of the Maghuin Dhonn, and I cannot swear an oath to serve another.”

  “A pity,” Noémie murmured.