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

by Jacqueline Carey

That won a brief smile from him. “I don’t mean the gown, Moirin.”

  I smiled back at him. “I know.”

  “She’s fickle,” Thierry warned me. “Fickle and vain and self-absorbed.”

  I glanced at Jehanne’s exquisite profile. “I know that, too.”

  “Well. As long as you know.” He took a bite of roasted capon, chewed and swallowed. “When all’s said and done, I’m glad someone pried you out of de Mereliot’s clutches. I just never expected it to be her.”

  I laughed. “Nor did I.”

  After that exchange, things were easier between us. It would be an exaggeration to say the balance of the evening was pleasant, but it was tolerable. There was an awkward moment when the King and Queen retired for the night, bidding us to stay and enjoy their hospitality. Everyone rose and bowed or curtsied at their departure. I hesitated, unsure if I was meant to stay or go. I’d never been a royal companion—if that was what I was—before.

  Jehanne saw the uncertainty in my face and murmured something to the King, letting go his arm. He nodded.

  I had a sudden fear that she meant to ask me to join them. “Your majesty, I hope you don’t expect—”

  “Elua, no!” Jehanne glanced at Thierry. “Moirin, you’re my guest. Stay as long as you wish. Enjoy yourself.” She reached up to cup the back of my neck and kissed me before the entire Court, then whispered in my ear, “Only remember, I don’t like to share.”

  I understood. It was unfair and unreasonable—but mayhap also for my own good. I agreed to it without a second thought. “I’ll see you on the morrow?”

  She nodded, eyes sparkling. “If you behave.”

  I watched them depart the dining hall together—the King and Queen of Terre d’Ange, her hand resting in the crook of his arm. My royal mistress and her royal husband, leaving to share the royal bed-chamber, the ghost of his lost love between them.

  Thierry passed me a flagon of brandy. “Here. It helps.”

  I sighed, poured, and drank.

  It helped.

  But despite everything, the days that followed were a good time. I was content to be Jehanne’s companion. It was a refuge. Her mercurial moods didn’t trouble me. She liked talking to me. I liked to listen to her and I never tired of looking at her. I took a great deal of pleasure in pleasing her; and she took a great deal of delight in introducing me to new pleasures.

  “Such a sweet bottom begging to be plumbed.” Jehanne’s voice, cooing. Already, I hovered on the precipice. Her hands, cupping my buttocks. “You’re still a virgin there?”

  “Aye,” I gasped.

  She smiled. “Not for long.”

  “I don’t think—” My back arched and I grabbed at the bedsheets. “Oh!”

  Jehanne de la Courcel was very, very skilled in Naamah’s arts.

  In that first month, I saw Raphael only once. I’d resumed my lessons with Master Lo Feng and I encountered Raphael in the halls of the Academy. He was walking and talking with Claire Fourcay.

  I had to own, my heart quickened at the sight of him.

  He stopped dead, his jaw clenching.

  “Raphael,” I pleaded. “Can we not be civil with one another?”

  He swept past me without a word, Claire hurrying in his wake. None of the members of the Circle were speaking to me save Lianne Tremaine. I didn’t care about the others, but Raphael’s anger troubled me.

  “You feel guilty,” Jehanne said later. “That’s why you don’t want to talk about Raphael de Mereliot and his occult schemes.”

  I wrapped my arms around my knees. “I promised I wouldn’t. It would feel like betraying him twice over.”

  “He was intent on using you toward his own ends,” she observed. “You don’t think that’s a betrayal of sorts?”

  I shrugged. “I consented. And he meant well.”

  She studied my face. “Do you miss him?”

  “Do you?” I countered.

  “Some days.” Jehanne pulled me against her, sinking her hands into my hair and kissing me until the image of Raphael’s face blurred in my memory. “Not today.” Her grey-blue eyes gazed intently into mine. “Tell me one thing. Are they likely to succeed in whatever they’re attempting?”

  “No,” I murmured. “Not without me.”

  She kissed me some more. “Good.”

  Winter deepened. Snow fell, churned to slush in the streets of the City by horses’ hooves and carriage wheels. Preparations began for the Midwinter Masque to take place on the Longest Night. My father had promised to return by then, but there was no word of him.

  “You’re sure?” I asked Noémie d’Etoile at the Temple of Naamah.

  “I’m sure.” She patted my hand. “Don’t fret, Moirin. It’s not unusual for Phanuel to be gone for months at a time. Like as not, he’s solving some other lovers’ dilemma. Problems needing to be solved have a way of finding him.”

  “I wish he were here, that’s all.”

  The priestess smiled. “Of course you do. Is everything all right with you otherwise? Does being in the Queen’s service suit you?”

  “Oddly enough, it does.”

  Noémie laughed. “Not so odd. It’s in your blood, after all. By all accounts, it seems to suit her majesty. They say you’re a calming influence.”

  That I hadn’t heard. “They do?”

  She nodded. “It’s been over a month since she made a chambermaid cry. Thirty-two days and counting. That’s a new record. They’re taking wagers on how long it will last at Bryony House.”

  I had to smile. “Folk in this City really need to find new pastimes.”

  At the Academy, Master Lo Feng praised my progress in the Five Styles of Breathing and began teaching me the rudiments of herbal medicine. To the disappointment of both of us, I didn’t have a knack for it. Despite my affinity for the plants themselves, I didn’t have a head for the complex formulas he taught me—nor any talent in diagnosing ailments. Thanks to the breathing exercises, I did better at sensing the flow of energy and its blockages, but I didn’t have Raphael’s gift for manipulating it.

  Whatever I was, it wasn’t a healer.

  At least not of humans.

  Plants were another matter. Master Lo Feng was particularly intrigued by the Camaeline snowdrop, a rare white flower that grew in the mountains of Camlach province and blossomed in the snowdrifts there once a year. The flowers were pressed and their essence distilled to make joie, a liqueur that was traditionally served on the Longest Night.

  “Very tonic,” Lo Feng said in approval. “And you foolish people have not even begun to explore the properties of the bulb!”

  To that end, the King had arranged to have a shipment of living snowdrops collected in the high mountains and delivered to Master Lo Feng. I was there in the courtyard the day they arrived, delicate flowers already drooping in the burlap sack that held them.

  I touched one. It sang a frail, fading song to itself.

  Master Lo Feng watched me. “His majesty says no one has ever kept one alive. They only grow wild in the mountains.”

  “They’re pining for deep snow and thin air,” I told him.

  “Bao—”

  Bao was already in motion. He thrust his omnipresent staff over his shoulder through a loop of leather and began scooping up snow that had gathered in the corners of the courtyard. I helped. Together, we packed the sack full of snow.

  “Better?” Bao asked me.

  “Better,” I agreed. My diadh-anam pulsed in my breast. I knelt gingerly on the cold flagstones and listened to the snowdrops’ frail song. I closed my eyes and breathed the Breath of Trees Growing, feeling the energy spread throughout my body and thinking about the cycles of giving and taking that linked all living things. And then I breathed the Breath of Wind’s Sigh, drawing air up and up behind my eyes, thinking about the cold, high places where the snowdrops grew.

  I summoned the twilight, touched the flowers, and blew on them.

  Their song grew stronger and clearer.

 
; And I felt less drained than I ever had exercising my gift. I felt the rightness of it. Master Lo Feng had been right about teaching me to breathe and right in his analogy of the waterwheel. What I had given would be returned to me. I could feel the surety of it in the marrow of my bones. When I opened my eyes, my mentor was smiling his subtle smile.

  “Magic,” he said serenely. “You could keep them alive all the way to Ch’in.”

  “Oh.” I laughed. “That’s a very long way.”

  “Indeed it is,” Master Lo Feng agreed, folding his hands in his sleeves.

  I wondered if he were jesting.

  I didn’t think so.

  FORTY-FOUR

  I knew the very day that Jehanne took Raphael back.

  It was early evening when she breezed into my quarters, planning to give me a careless kiss and a promise of more time on the morrow. I was reading a treatise on the propagation of apple trees by a long-dead duc named Percy de Somerville. She plucked it out of my hands and tossed it aside, sitting on my lap and kissing me.

  I’d smelled her on Raphael dozens of times. But I knew his scent, too.

  Now I smelled him on her.

  “What?” Her eyes widened when I flinched away from her. “What is it?”

  “Jehanne.” I sighed. “Raphael?”

  At first she denied it; and then she got angry and hurled various items about the chamber. A hairbrush, a jewelry box, the copy of the Trois Milles Joies that she’d given me, all the pillows on the bed. Her anger broke over the room in waves. I folded my arms and let her rampage.

  Then she wept.

  And I saw her memories surface behind my eyes. Letters from Raphael, furious letters, pleading letters. She had finally answered one. They’d arranged to meet in secret.

  Passion and tumult.

  I pushed the images away.

  I didn’t ask why. I knew. He loved her; she loved him. Both of them had admitted it freely. I let Jehanne cry, her head in my lap, her shoulders shaking. I stroked her hair. When she’d cried herself out, she pulled herself upright and wound her arms around my neck, kissing my face.

  I tried to pull away. “Jehanne…”

  Her arms tightened. “Please?” Her eyes were as bright as stars, lashes wet and spiky with tears. I thought she must be the only woman in the world who could manage to look utterly breathtaking after a crying fit. “I need you. I need you to forgive me.”

  “Not me,” I said gently. “I’m not the one bade you choose between us. It’s the King’s forgiveness you want.”

  Jehanne shook her head. “I can’t. Not like this. Please?” She kissed my throat. “You have to forgive me.”

  “Why?”

  She looked up. “Because you’re going to leave me one day, and I hate knowing it. If you want me to forgive you for it, you have to forgive me this.”

  It didn’t make sense, but it didn’t have to. It was a truth of the heart and it owed nothing to reason. Jehanne was Naamah’s child twice over, and she wasn’t lying. No matter how much passion and tumult the day had held, there was a powerful and complicated desire rising in her and I couldn’t help but respond to it.

  “I need you,” she said again, impatient.

  “I’m here,” I murmured.

  For once, there was no artistry in the act of love between us. It was fierce, urgent, and raw. There was no smile on the bright lady’s face, only a look of deep understanding. Jehanne expended passion like fury, taking violent pleasure in taking me. I gave myself over to it, holding her when she shuddered hard and cried out against me. It wasn’t until afterward, when she lay quiet in my arms, that I felt the worst of her terrible need drain away.

  “Thank you,” she whispered into the crook of my neck, breath warm on my skin. “May I stay with you tonight?”

  “Is that wise?” I asked.

  “I can’t face Daniel yet.” She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Will you tell him I’m here?”

  I stared at her. “You want me to get out of bed and go tell his majesty that you’re spending the night in my chambers?”

  “He’ll understand.” Jehanne gave me a pleading look. “He likes you.”

  I shook my head. “I must have lost my wits.”

  And yet I went.

  I found his majesty reviewing papers in the royal study. The guard on duty admitted me without delay. It was a warm, masculine room with friezes of polished wood on the walls and a roaring fire in a great fireplace. I began sweating the moment I entered.

  King Daniel, seated at a desk, lifted his head. “Moirin, well met. What is it you wish?”

  “Ah…” I shifted. “Her majesty asked me to tell you that she’ll be passing the night in my quarters.”

  “I see.” He pushed his chair back and rose. “She was with Raphael de Mereliot today, wasn’t she?”

  I didn’t answer.

  The King smiled ruefully. “It’s all right; you needn’t lie for her. Jehanne’s not as clever at subterfuge as she thinks. I know full well she was with him.” He sighed. “When she chose you over him, I thought mayhap it meant she was ready.”

  I frowned. “I beg your pardon, your majesty?”

  “She didn’t tell you?” he asked. “We agreed to certain terms before we wed. Thierry is my heir and I love him dearly, but a monarch with a sole heir is ever fearful. I want Jehanne to bear my children. She begged me to wait. We settled on a period of three years. It ends on the Longest Night. On the first day of the new year, Jehanne will light a candle to Eisheth and beseech her to open the gates of her womb.”

  “Oh,” I whispered.

  Daniel clasped his hands behind his back and stared into the fire. “She’s afraid.”

  “Of what?” I remembered Thierry accusing her of being too vain to bear children, but I thought it must be something more.

  “Her mother nearly died giving birth to her,” Daniel said. “And, too, I suspect Jehanne is afraid of herself.” His mouth quirked. “She brought joy into my life when it was empty of all meaning. For that alone, I’m willing to forgive her any betrayal save one: Bearing another man’s child.”

  “Oh,” I repeated.

  He gave me a wry look. “You can see why I was pleased she chose you over him.”

  “Aye.” I had the urge to comfort him. “Your majesty… I do believe the Queen is distraught over her own actions. She wants your forgiveness.”

  King Daniel’s clasped hands tightened. “Yet she confessed to you.”

  “She’s afraid to face you,” I said. “And she didn’t confess. I accused her.”

  His lips quirked again. “That must have gone over well.”

  “She threw things,” I admitted. “But afterward, she wept and said she wanted your forgiveness.” It wasn’t exactly true, but I thought it was true enough. And he didn’t need to know about the other part.

  He gazed at the dancing fire. “You may tell her she has it.”

  “I will,” I promised. “Thank you.”

  Daniel gave me a sharp look. “Tell her also that I’ll be less forgiving after the Longest Night. If she consorts with Raphael de Mereliot while we’re trying to get with child, I will dissolve our vows and set her aside.”

  I bowed my head. “Aye, your majesty.”

  His face softened. “They say you’re good for her. I do believe it. Few folk would have had the courage to accuse her, and fewer still to come here to speak to me in person.” He cocked his head. “I’m curious. I have men assigned to keep watch over de Mereliot. How did you know Jehanne had been with him?”

  “Ohh…” I shrugged. “I know his scent.”

  The King blinked. “His scent.”

  I nodded.

  “Elua have mercy!” He laughed shortly. “My wife and her bear-witch.” He waved a dismissive hand at me. “Go, go to her. Take care of her. Tell her I’ll see her on the morrow.”

  I headed for the door, grateful.

  “Moirin.” King Daniel’s voice halted me. I turned. He picked up a sheaf of papers
from his desk and let them fall, scattering. “These are petitions,” he said. “Petitions from various members of Parliament urging me to send an embassy to Terra Nova. You’re an outsider. Objective. And yet you’re a descendant of House Courcel. I know Thierry’s spoken to you. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

  I hesitated. “I don’t know, your majesty. I’m a child of the Maghuin Dhonn. I would have been content to spend my life in a cave if She hadn’t willed otherwise. But since you ask, I will say that I think the peers of Terre d’Ange could use a better pastime than wagering on how many days will pass before the Queen makes a chambermaid cry.”

  He stirred the strewn papers with his fingertips. “Thirty-seven days and counting. Thank you for your honesty.” He tilted his head at the door. “Now go.”

  I went.

  In my chamber, I found Jehanne lying on her belly on my bed, still unclad, reading the treatise on apple propagation. She glanced up when I entered. I’d never seen her naked by lamplight before. In the dusky plant shadows, she looked like a creature spun of gossamer and starlight.

  “Well?” she asked.

  I closed the door softly behind me. “He was having Raphael watched. He knows, Jehanne.”

  She turned pale—or more pale. “Is he furious?”

  “No.” I sat on the bed. “He said you have his forgiveness. But he also said to tell you that if you consort with Raphael de Mereliot while you’re trying to get with child, he’ll set you aside. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Jehanne shrugged and didn’t answer.

  I traced the lines of her marque idly. Her skin was as fine and silken as a child’s. “His majesty thinks you’re afraid.”

  “He knows me well,” she murmured. “I wish I were stronger. I’m not a very good Queen, am I?”

  I drew my finger down the lovely curve of her spine. “You are the scandal and delight of the realm, my lady. Did I ever tell you about the good ladies Florette and Lydia with whom I shared a coach?”

  “No.” She smiled a little. “Tell me.”

  I told her the whole tale, how I’d slept in the stables and bedded the coach-driver Theo, how I’d had to listen to the good ladies’ eternal gossip as they rehashed every detail of Jehanne’s exploits with gleeful relish. How I’d escaped it to ride beside Theo, only to be driven back into the coach to endure further gossip after the bandits attacked us.