I nodded. “To be sure.”
There was a banquet table laden with food. The glittering peers fought for places, but they made way for the Dauphin. Thierry filled a plate for me himself. We sat and ate, then danced until the deep sound of a bronze tocsin being beaten made the air shiver.
Everything went still.
A lone voice cried the hour. We were at the very cusp of the Longest Night of the year. All the lamps were extinguished with ruthless efficiency. I caught my breath at the sudden darkness, breathed in and out, and summoned the twilight without thinking. The hall shimmered in my vision.
I wondered what my mother was doing at that very moment.
I wondered where my father was.
There was a false mountain before which the musicians played. It split apart as they moved away from it. A crone hobbled out, leaning on a twisted staff. Someone pounded on the great doors of the hall; someone flung the doors open wide. A horse-drawn carriage entered, hooves clopping on the marble floors.
A youth in gilded armor leapt from the carriage and pointed a gilded spear at the crone.
She straightened and flung off her mask and rags, revealing herself to be young and beautiful.
I let go the twilight.
All the light of the mortal world returned in a rush of lighted wicks. Folks cheered and the Sun Prince and his Queen departed in their chariot. In their wake came a new influx—adepts of the Night Court. Tumblers and jugglers preceded them, throwing somersaults, green and gold ribbons in their hair. Four strapping young men followed them, carrying a palanquin. They knelt to Jehanne, imploring her to come with them.
“They do this every year,” Thierry murmured to me. “The Night Court loves her. She’s one of their own.”
Jehanne laughed and refused them prettily.
King Daniel whispered to her.
I was attuned to Jehanne; I saw her eyes widen. I watched their hushed exchange. She flung her arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses.
The King beckoned me over. “I thought you might enjoy the chance to see the Night Court in all its decadent splendor. Would you like to accompany the Queen?”
My eyes widened. “Truly?”
He laughed and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Truly. Tonight marks a threshold. There may never be another like it.”
I glanced at Thierry. One of the tumblers threw a standing somersault and came up holding an ivory token. “The Dauphin is welcome, of course,” he said.
“Elua, no!” Thierry backed away. “Under the circumstances, I think not. I’ve an idea what transpires in the Night Court on the Longest Night. Moirin, I am pleased to have escorted you tonight, but for better or for worse, Jehanne is my step-mother, and there are limits to what I am willing to witness. Go.”
“You’re sure?” I felt guilty.
“Entirely.” He waved a dismissive hand at me. “Go.”
So I went.
We were carried through the Palace on the palanquin and then rode through the streets of the City of Elua in an open carriage drawn by a team of matched horses, two black and two white. Outriders from the Queen’s Guard and the Night Court flanked the carriage. The adepts tucked warm fur blankets around us and sang as they rode, voices rising up into the starry sky. Everywhere, the City was ablaze with light. As word ran ahead of us, folk turned out into the streets to see us pass, calling out greetings and blowing kisses, then whispering to one another about the delicious scandal of it all. I thought they would be surprised to learn it had been his majesty’s idea.
“How will this fête differ from the one at the Palace?” I asked Jehanne.
“All the adepts of the Night Court will be at Cereus House,” she said. “It’s the one night a year that they take no patrons and are free to consort with one another in any manner they wish. It’s a beautiful sight.” She took my hand beneath the furs. “And by the time we arrive, it will be halfway to an orgy.”
I eyed her.
“No, I’m not jesting.” Jehanne squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry, I do have a measure of decorum to maintain.”
It truly was a beautiful sight. In a realm of folk renowned for their beauty, hundreds of the loveliest were assembled beneath one roof, clad as fauns and sprites, gods and goddesses, demons and angels, warriors and harem girls. Men and women. All were fair-skinned, but there the resemblance ended. Every one of them was lovely in their own way.
None was as beautiful as Jehanne.
They made a path for the palanquin as we entered the great hall, though not a wide one. They pressed close, whispering compliments, stroking the skin of our arms. Naamah’s presence was palpable, and I could feel the blood beat harder in my veins.
At the far end of the hall there was a reclining couch on a dais. Our bearers lowered the palanquin and escorted Jehanne onto it. Someone fetched a cushioned stool for me.
I sat and leaned against the couch. “Is this always here for you?”
“No.” Jehanne toyed with tendrils of hair coming loose at the nape of my neck. “It’s the Dowayne’s couch, but the Dowayne has retired for the night. Watch.”
I watched.
I watched and drank joie brought by attentive adepts in training as the members of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers danced with one another. I watched as they approached the dais to salute Jehanne, kissing her hands in tribute. She received it with delight, stroking their hair, stroking their faces.
Some kissed me, curious and wondering. I wanted them, I wanted every last one of them. Most of all, I wanted Jehanne.
As the night wore on, the adepts began pairing off in twos and threes. The lamps burned lower. The shadows were filled with writhing sighs. The tributes had tapered off and the joie burned in my blood. I glanced at Jehanne, sensing Naamah’s gift rising in her in answer to mine.
She looked back at me beneath her lashes. “This damned royal decorum is a nuisance, isn’t it?”
“A chamber?” I suggested.
Jehanne shook her head, ruefully amused. “We’re far too late. There’s not a private place to be found in Cereus House tonight, my lovely. Not even for the Queen of Terre d’Ange.”
“There’s one.” I looked around to make sure no one was watching at the moment, then took her hands. “Close your eyes.”
She obeyed.
I found the earth’s pulse beneath the sighs and murmurs. I steadied myself and breathed it in. Breathed in Jehanne’s scent, the memory of pine trees. Elua’s Oak. The tread of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself shaking the earth. A bamboo grove yearning upward beneath the ceiling of a glass heaven.
I breathed out twilight, letting it settle over us both, embracing us. We were alone together in a world half a step away. “Now.”
“Oh!” Jehanne whispered, opening her eyes. “I’d forgotten how lovely it was. They can’t see us?”
I slid into her arms. “No.”
She kissed my throat, placed a line of kisses down the skin laid bare by my plunging decolletage. “Not this?”
I shook my head. “No, my lady.”
“This?” Jehanne eased the silk of my gown aside. A jolt of desire shot through me as her warm, wet mouth closed around my nipple and tugged on it with lips and tongue.
My grip on the twilight wavered.
“Ahh…” I pulled away from her with an effort. “No. But I need to concentrate.”
She smiled. “On what?”
I pushed up her skirts. “You.”
Jehanne’s smile deepened. “Then do.”
I was a far, far more skilled lover than I’d been when Jehanne had first seduced me at Cereus House—and yet no less ardent. I’d wanted her all night. My mask and headpiece got in the way, tangling with her skirts. I took off the mask, disentangled the headpiece and put it aside, shaking my hair loose impatiently. Her fingers slid through my hair, telling me without words to slow down.
I listened.
There are many different ways to perform the languisement on a woman. I teased the soft pet
als of her nether-lips with the tip of my tongue until I felt her fingers tighten in my hair. Then I licked her with quick, delicate strokes like a cat lapping cream. Not until I felt her hips begin to thrust involuntarily did I worship her in earnest, working my tongue as deep inside her as it would go.
It went on for a long time. Lost in Jehanne and the twilight, I took her to the edge many times, until I could sense in the tension of her thighs that once more would be one time too many, and sweet urgency would give way to frustration. I ran my tongue around the swollen bud of Naamah’s Pearl, sucked it into my mouth, and took her over the edge.
Jehanne shuddered, hands clenched in my hair, her hips rising to meet my mouth. “Blessed Elua have mercy!”
Afterward, I licked her gently, letting the last spasms subside.
“Moirin.” Her fingers stirred in my hair.
I breathed, slow and deep. I was content. I rested my cheek against the soft skin of her thigh. I smiled up at her. “Enough?”
“Mm-hmm.” She looked languorous and a bit disheveled. “Not very fair to you, is it?”
I smoothed her skirts back in order, contemplated my headpiece, and decided it was a lost cause. “I don’t mind. Not tonight.”
“Come here.” Jehanne cupped the back of my neck and pulled me toward her, kissing me. She regarded me with one of her unreadable looks, then shook her head. “Sometimes I forget you’re exactly what I call you, my witchling. Then you remind me, and I’m forced to confess to a certain awe.”
“I’m just me.” I looked around the twilit hall. Folk were uncoupling and stirring in various stages of undress. I had a feeling it was later than I thought. “I’d best let it go before someone takes it in their head to sit on the Dowayne’s couch.”
Jehanne’s brows rose. “That would have been interesting.”
I let the twilight slip away.
Across the hall, an adept in training dropped a tray of empty glasses and stared in shock at our sudden appearance. Heads turned. I watched Jehanne’s lips curve in a smile, delighting in the attention. And I thought that despite all her foibles, I did indeed love her quite a bit.
She glanced at me. “Why do you look so solemn?”
“You’d find it tiresome if I told you,” I said to her.
Jehanne stroked my hair. “Oh, mayhap not as much as I pretend.” A horologist called the hour and she startled. “Elua! That’s the call to usher in dawn. Come watch it with me?”
We adjourned amid a gorgeous, tired, satiated throng to Cereus House’s rooftop terrace, swept bare of snow for the occasion. The adepts made way to give Jehanne and me a place of honor at the eastern railing. Bare-armed, I shivered in the cold. Jehanne folded me into her ermine-trimmed cloak, and I breathed the Breath of Embers Glowing until I was warmer, watching the dark grey sky.
A streak of gold broke the horizon.
Bells and cheers rang out across the City; the rooftop resounded. The Longest Night was over and light had returned to the world. Beside me, Jehanne was silent.
I wanted to tell her not to be afraid; I wanted to tell her that I loved her. But I didn’t know what words would comfort her, so I settled for saying, “I’m here.”
“The world becomes a different place for me today, doesn’t it?” she mused.
“It does.”
Jehanne stole a quick look at me, her face open and vulnerable in the cold light of dawn, her voice low. “What if I’m a dreadful mother, Moirin?”
“You won’t be,” I promised her.
She sighed and rested her head on my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”
FORTY-SIX
Later that day, we journeyed to a sanctuary dedicated to Eisheth in the mountains a little over an hour’s carriage-ride away.
I was curious about the ceremony. “Does it have to be performed there?”
“No.” Jehanne leaned her head against the cushions, eyes closed. “Any temple will suffice. For lack of a temple, a sincere prayer may work. But it’s said to be most powerful when performed at the Sanctuary of the Womb, and if I’m going to do this, I’d as soon it were done properly.”
“Why is it called the Sanctuary of the Womb?” I asked.
“There’s a cavern with a hot spring.” She rubbed her temples. “Moirin, will you please not plague me with questions today?”
I fell silent.
“I’m not angry,” Jehanne added. “Just tired.”
A month ago, she would have snapped at me for annoying her with no hint of an apology. I thought that was good progress.
At the gates of the Sanctuary, her Captain of the Guard rang the bell. A priestess with a broad, pleasant face came in answer. I watched him bow and indicate the royal carriage, watched her nod and indicate an outbuilding where he and his men could wait. There were no men allowed in the Sanctuary.
The priestess smiled as Jehanne descended from the carriage. “Your majesty, we’re so very pleased by your decision.”
Jehanne inclined her head. “Thank you, Sister.”
The priestess glanced at me, her eyes widening. “You must be…”
“Moirin,” I said. “Of the Maghuin Dhonn.”
“My lovely witch.” Jehanne summoned the hint of a smile. Tired or no, she did enjoy unsettling people.
“Of course.” Eisheth’s priestess swallowed. “Well met.”
She led us into the Sanctuary. It was a simple, rustic place. In an unadorned chamber, more priestesses in blue robes came to help Jehanne undress. They took down her hair, removed her jewelry. They gave her a long white linen shift to wear. I had an uncomfortable memory of the Circle of Shalomon donning white robes in the summoning antechamber.
It passed when we went back outside. The path to the mouth of the cavern was worn smooth by thousands upon thousands of women’s feet. When we entered the cavern itself, I had a sense of homecoming. It wasn’t as snug and comforting as the cave in which I’d grown up, nor as spectacular as the hollow hill beyond which lay the stone doorway, but it felt good to me.
We descended a series of well-worn granite stairs. Candles tucked into rocky niches lit the way.
I smelled water and minerals.
There was a crude stone rim around the spring-fed pool—ancient work, Tiberian or older. The milky-white water steamed gently in the cold air. On the far side was an effigy of Eisheth kneeling, her hands cupped. Votive candles flickered around her, flickered in the cavern walls.
Jehanne took a deep breath.
“I’m here, my lady,” I murmured.
She nodded.
Two blue-robed priestesses knelt and took the hem of her white shift, raising it. They stripped it from her. Naked, Jehanne shivered. The priestess who had admitted us approached her, a flagon of oil in her hands. Her pleasant face looked grave.
“May Eisheth grant your prayer’s wisdom,” she said softly, anointing her fingers and touching them to Jehanne’s brow. She tipped the flagon, touched Jehanne’s breast-bone. “May Eisheth’s love fill your heart.” Once more, lower. Anointing the junction of her thighs, her nether-lips. Places I’d kissed and caressed only last night. After this, it would all be different. “May Eisheth hear your prayer and fill your womb.”
Jehanne shivered harder.
I didn’t know if it were fear or the cold air.
The priestess gripped her shoulders. “Immerse yourself in the womb of the earth.”
She hesitated, then stepped gracefully over the stone rim and sank into the warm, mineral-rich water—sank and submerged. Her pale hair floated on the surface. Milky water streamed from her as she rose. Wisps of steam rose from her skin. She looked like a young goddess newly minted at some divine forge.
“Well done,” the head priestess said gently. She handed Jehanne a thick wax taper. “Now light it at the altar and make your prayer. Place the candle in Eisheth’s hands.”
Jehanne waded through the thigh-deep water. She bowed her head before the effigy. Her fair skin glimmered in the candle-lit cavern, the beaut
iful lines of her marque bisected by her wet hair.
She lit the taper. “Blessed Eisheth hear my prayer,” she said in a rush, dripping wax into the effigy’s cupped hands. She planted the taper firmly in the melted wax. “Open the gates of my womb.”
The lit taper held and burned brightly.
Everyone sighed.
It was done.
In the weeks that followed the ceremony, Jehanne withdrew from me. She wasn’t cold and distant; I received regular invitations to dinners and other functions, and she made it clear she still considered me her royal companion. But she paid no visits to my bedchamber.
I understood. Whether or not she had committed wholeheartedly to the notion of getting with child, she had committed to it, and set about doing it with considerable determination. There was precious little I could do to assist in the process, and I sensed she didn’t want the sort of distraction I provided just now. So I kept myself busy. I continued my lessons with Master Lo Feng and tended to his snowdrops. I paid regular visits to the Temple of Naamah to badger Noémie for news of my father, of which there was none.
I visited other temples, hoping to get a better sense of Blessed Elua and his Companions. Some were proud and fierce, like Azza and Camael. Some were a mystery to me, like Kushiel, the administrator of atonement’s cruel mercy. Grave, thoughtful Shemhazai appealed to me, and I liked best of all gentle Anael, the Good Steward, and Blessed Elua himself, whose arms were spread wide in benediction.
I accepted various invitations from Prince Thierry with gratitude, nurturing the unlikely familial bond between us.
I borrowed books from the royal library. When the marble walls of the Palace felt too oppressive, I rode Blossom on private excursions into the countryside. I didn’t mind the cold air. I practiced the Five Styles of Breathing.
To their everlasting scandal and delight, I paid a visit to the good ladies Florette and Lydia. They plied me with tea and pastries, scolded me for not telling them that I was a scion of House Courcel.
“And a bear-witch in the bargain!” Lydia added in a louder tone than she intended.
I smiled into my teacup when they asked me in hushed—well, Florette’s was hushed—whispers if this or that was true of Jehanne and if I ever intended to reconcile with Raphael de Mereliot.
Kushiel 03 - [Moirin 01] - Naamah's Kiss Page 36