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

by Jacqueline Carey

  “I’ve no idea,” I said honestly to the latter. “He’s quite angry.”

  “Because she crooked her finger at you and you came running.” Florette shook her own finger at me. “Naughty girl!”

  “That’s not true!” Lydia defended me stoutly. “Our Moirin’s a good girl.”

  I let them think what they liked since it pleased them so. Out of an obscure sense of loyalty to Raphael, I didn’t wish to tell anyone that he was using me in a self-serving manner that may well have been killing me by degrees. And it only added to Jehanne’s reputation to let them believe that she’d stolen me from him so easily. That, I knew she relished.

  Whatever the good ladies believed, they both embraced me when I left, tears in their eyes.

  Lydia patted my cheek. “Take care of yourself, child.”

  I did.

  Still, for all its potted glory and luxuriant plant growth, my bed-chamber was a lonely place during those weeks. And I was forced to admit that there were certain disadvantages to having pledged my loyalty to Jehanne.

  When I returned from an excursion to find two of her guards posted outside my quarters, I was very, very glad.

  “Her majesty… ?” I inquired.

  One of the guards winked at me. The other inclined his head. “Her majesty awaits you.”

  I entered my quarters.

  Jehanne, unclothed, reclined in my bed. “I’m perishing weary of wondering if this time, the act of love has got me with child,” she said without preamble. “So not a word on the topic, all right?”

  I smiled. “As my lady wishes.”

  It was a blessed release after weeks of celibacy, a state to which I was unaccustomed and unsuited. Jehanne more than repaid the debt of pleasure left standing between us since the Longest Night. Afterward, I lay in a happy daze, trying to guess what topic of discussion might please her.

  As it happened, Jehanne had ideas of her own. “Tell me, were you close to your mother?”

  I nodded. “Very.”

  “What’s it like?” she asked. “What’s she like?”

  I frowned, thinking. Trying to describe my mother to Jehanne de la Courcel felt like trying to explain the earth to the moon. They were so very far apart. “My mother is… my mother. For a long time, she was all I knew. I was ten years old before I understood that we were separate and unalike.”

  “What else?” Jehanne asked.

  “She’s very stubborn,” I said. “She can be infernally close-mouthed. She likes solitude and wild places.”

  “Like you.”

  “Oh…” I ran my hand over the graceful curve of her hip. “I’m not so very good with solitude anymore.”

  Jehanne smiled. “You missed me?”

  “I missed you,” I admitted.

  “Good.” She kissed me. “Tell me more.”

  I thought about it. “There is a ritual all the folk of the Maghuin Dhonn undergo at adulthood,” I said slowly. I’d never spoken about it to Jehanne. “To determine whether or not She accepts us as Her own. Not all are chosen. And I was fearful that She would not claim me, because I was half-D’Angeline.” Jehanne listened, her blue-grey eyes grave. “Before I passed through the stone doorway, my mother embraced me,” I said. “She told me that whatever happened, I was her daughter and the joy of her life, now and always. She made me promise never to forget it.” I shrugged. “That’s my mother.”

  She was silent a moment. “That’s lovely.”

  “I take it it wasn’t the same for you,” I said softly.

  “No.” Jehanne shook her head. “Not at all.” I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. All she had ever said was that her parents had both been adepts of Cereus House. I knew from Court gossip that her parents were alive and well, that the King had bestowed an estate and minor titles on them as a wedding gift, and that Jehanne had essentially banned them from the Court. “I take it you passed the rite successfully?” she asked at length. “The Maghuin Dhonn accepted you?”

  “Aye.” I smiled. “That She did.”

  “Aye, aye, aye.” Jehanne tickled my cheek with a lock of my hair, her mood shifting. “Moirin, do you really worship a bear?”

  “Yes and no.” I had to think about this, too. “We don’t worship in the way D’Angelines do. But we’re Hers.” I touched my chest. “The spark of Her spirit lives inside us.”

  She scowled. “I don’t want to hear about your cursed diadh-anam.”

  “You asked,” I said mildly. “I answered with the only truth I know.”

  “Oh, fine.” Jehanne coiled herself around me and fixed me with an intense gaze. “But for now, you’re mine, too, Moirin mac Fainche. And I don’t think I’m done with you today. Any objections?”

  I laughed and kissed her. “None at all.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  After those first few weeks, the situation returned to whatever normalcy it had first possessed. Jehanne came to my chambers more often. And bit by bit, she talked more candidly to me.

  I learned what I had already known—that her mother nearly died in bearing her. And I learned what I hadn’t known—that her mother had ever resented her for it.

  “She never wanted children,” she murmured. “She did it only to please my father.”

  “What of your father?” I asked. Fathers were much on my mind.

  “Oh, he doted on me.” Jehanne gave a wistful smile. “She resented me for that, too. But he doted on her, too. And when it came to taking sides, he always took hers, no matter how unfair it was.”

  “That’s not in his majesty’s nature,” I observed. I’d seen enough of King Daniel to know he was a very fair-minded man, and a good father to Thierry. Despite his lingering resentment of Jehanne, Thierry adored his father.

  “No.” She frowned in thought. “It’s not, is it?”

  “No. And you’re not your mother, Jehanne.”

  She shuddered. “Elua, let’s hope not!” She changed the subject. “Any word of your father?”

  I shook my head. “None.”

  Jehanne pursed her lips. “He was bound for Azzalle, wasn’t he? Negotiating on behalf of the Trevalion boy and his lover?” I nodded. “It’s been too long. I’ll ask Daniel to send a scouting party in search of him.”

  I kissed her effusively. “Thank you!”

  King Daniel agreed readily and a scouting party was dispatched. A month later, they returned to report that Brother Phanuel Demarre had indeed negotiated a successful truce between House Trevalion and the d’Argent family and departed months ago for the City of Elua. They’d sought to trace his path to no avail.

  I was worried.

  And Jehanne was pregnant.

  I knew it before anyone else did. Her scent changed. Not the perfume that she wore, the delightful concoction that the head of the Perfumers’ Guild had sworn to take to his grave. Her scent, the one that underlay it. The one that made it so intoxicating. The first time we were together after it happened, I buried my face in the curve of her neck and breathed in the scent of her bare skin. It was no less intoxicating, only different, like the faint strains of a new note being introduced into a musical symphony.

  I lifted my head, eyes sparkling. “Jehanne…”

  “What?”

  I took her hands. “Close your eyes.”

  In the twilight, I could see it. She shone so brightly there, bright and beautiful, a favorite of the gods. Naamah’s kiss on her brow.

  And a second spark, faint as a distant promise. Centered below her belly.

  I laughed aloud and let the twilight go. “My lady, I could be wrong. I’m no physician. But I do believe you’re with child.”

  “Truly?” Jehanne’s expression was torn between dismay and delight.

  I nodded. “Truly.”

  It took the royal chirurgeon another month to confirm it, but she did. The Queen of Terre d’Ange was with child. And quite to her own surprise, Jehanne settled on being pleased at the prospect.

  In the early days of spring, once th
e chirurgeon deemed it safe, the announcement was made and a fête held to celebrate it. I watched Jehanne receive tribute-gifts from the peers of the realm. A brightness clung to her that one could see even in mortal daylight. For once, she was unfailingly gracious and pleasant without uttering a single barb. Even folk who thought they disliked Jehanne fell a little bit in love with her that day, and I don’t think she found it one bit tiresome.

  A hand descended on my shoulder as I watched her. I glanced up to see King Daniel.

  “She’s happy,” he said softly.

  “She is,” I agreed. “And you?”

  “Elua! Do you jest?” Daniel de la Courcel smiled, appealing lines bracketing his mouth. “I do believe Jehanne was more ready than she knew. Ready to be a mother. Ready, mayhap, to be a different sort of Queen.” He glanced down at me. “You’ve been a good companion to her, Moirin. Thank you.”

  “I—”

  That was all I got out before a commotion broke out near the entrance to the salon. There was a babble of voices and a moment of confusion, then members of the Royal Guard formed a cordon. Hurrying between them in the swirling crimson robes of Naamah’s Order was a familiar figure, her face pale and stark.

  Noémie d’Etoile.

  My heart sank as my worst fears came home to roost.

  “Moirin!” She gasped my name and caught my hands. “Your father—”

  I wanted to cover my ears. “Is he—?”

  “No.” Noémie shuddered. “But he’s ill, gravely ill. He’s lain ill all winter.” Tears shone in her warm hazel eyes. “I’m so sorry, child! I was sure it was just Phanuel’s usual wandering.”

  My mind reeled. “How ill?”

  “Very.” Her hands tightened on mine. “They say you’ve a gift?”

  The salon had gone quiet, watching and listening. On the dais, Jehanne had risen to her feet and was making her way toward us. I couldn’t get my thoughts in order. “I… no. Not alone.”

  “Hold,” King Daniel said in a deep, firm voice. “Sister, tell the tale from beginning to end.”

  It braced her. Noémie d’Etoile caught her breath and told her tale. When the snows had melted, another wandering priest of the order had visited a remote hamlet in Namarre, a village so small it hadn’t a name, pursuing the rumor of a woodcutter’s daughter, a young woman of extraordinary beauty and a possible recruit to Naamah’s Service.

  He had found her.

  She was tending to my father. In the depths of winter, not long before the Longest Night, my father had wandered into the village, fevered and delirious. The woodcutter’s family had taken him in. They had hoped he would rally come spring, but instead his condition had worsened.

  Now…

  “Brother Ramiel recognized him,” Noémie whispered. “He dispatched the nearest reputable physician, then came straightaway to the temple. Moirin… it’s an affliction of the lungs. He’s having difficulty breathing. Brother Ramiel was not hopeful.”

  My father, my lovely, gentle father who trailed grace in his wake.

  I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.

  Raphael.

  I needed Raphael.

  I said the words aloud. “I need Raphael de Mereliot.”

  And then Jehanne was there, her hands gripping my upper arms with that unexpected strength. “Go to him,” she said, soft and urgent. “Beg if you need to. Raphael owes you. Remind him. Tell him I’ll beg, too.” Her gaze was steady. “Do whatever is needful.”

  I went, stumbling, accompanied by an escort of guards dispatched by the King.

  At Raphael’s townhouse, the maid Daphne answered my knock. She regarded me with open hostility. “What do you want?”

  I stood shivering on the doorstep. “I need to speak to Raphael, Daphne. Is he here?” She didn’t answer. “Please? It’s very urgent. Will you at least tell him I’m here?”

  “Wait here.” She closed the door in my face.

  I waited.

  For long moments, I thought he meant to turn me away. I wrapped my cloak tight around me, trying to quell my shivering. I couldn’t concentrate well enough to breathe properly. I wouldn’t leave, though. If Raphael refused to see me, I’d damn well lay on his doorstep until he relented.

  But at length Raphael came to the door, his eyes bloodshot, the smell of alcohol on him. He regarded me and my guards with profound distaste. “To what do I owe the honor of a visit from the royal bedwarmer?”

  “May I speak to you?” I asked humbly. “It’s about my father. He’s very ill.”

  His jaw tightened. With a curt nod, he beckoned me inside. “You and you alone. The guards stay outside.”

  In the marble foyer, I poured out my tale. Raphael listened with folded arms. I finished by pleading for his aid.

  “You humiliated me, Moirin,” he said when I was done, slow and deliberate. “You made me the laughingstock of the City. And now you beg me to ride posthaste all the way to Namarre to assist you?”

  “I do.” I dropped to my knees. “Raphael, please! I did a great many services for you, too. I helped you save the life of someone dear to you. Can you not find it in your heart to do the same for me?”

  “In exchange for what?” His tone was neutral.

  I swallowed. “What do you wish?”

  A cruel edge crept into his voice. “Would you forsake Jehanne?”

  I thought of her steady gaze. Do whatever is needful, she had said. I bowed my head, my heart aching at the thought of betraying her. “Is that your price?”

  “No.” Raphael grabbed my chin and forced it upward. “You were always more use to me out of bed than in it, Moirin. My price is this: When we are finished in Namarre, you will assist the Circle with one last summoning. You will swear to do this and to speak to no one of our bargain. Do you agree?”

  I hesitated, then nodded. “I agree.”

  He let go my chin. “Swear it. Swear it by the oath of your people, the oath the magician Berlik swore.”

  I took a deep breath. “I swear by stone and sea and sky, and all that they encompass, that I will assist the Circle with one last summoning and speak to no one of our bargain. I swear it by the sacred troth that binds me to my diadh-anam.”

  “Good.” Raphael shouted for his footman Jean-Michel, who came at a run. “Pack a pair of saddlebags and see that my medical kit’s in order,” he said brusquely. “I’m riding to Namarre.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  With Brother Ramiel for a guide and an escort of four royal guardsmen and a footman, Raphael de Mereliot and I rode to Namarre.

  It was a horribly uncomfortable journey.

  For the first few days, Raphael didn’t deign to speak to me. Brother Ramiel made some effort to soothe the troubled waters between us, but he didn’t have my father’s gift and Raphael’s determined silence soon quelled him. I’d come to be friendly with a number of the Queen’s guards, but these were the King’s men and strangers to me.

  We pushed the horses as hard as we dared, and I was grateful for the times when a swift pace made conversation impossible. When we slowed to a walk, the silence was deafening.

  All around us, the world was awakening from winter’s sleep, the last snows melting, trees beginning to bud. Any other time, I would have taken joy in it. Now all that burgeoning life seemed a cruel reminder that I didn’t know if we’d find my father alive or dead.

  On the fourth day, Raphael’s shell of silence cracked.

  “I don’t understand it,” he announced out of nowhere. “You have a gift, Moirin. A gift no one else in the world possesses. Gods! You have the potential to do great things.” He turned his frustrated gaze on me. “Why in the name of Blessed buggering Elua would you give it up to become Jehanne’s lap-dog?”

  The others kneed their mounts and jogged a discreet distance ahead of us.

  “I didn’t,” I said softly. “Raphael, whatever gift I possess, it was never what you wanted it to be. It’s not endless. I’m not endless. Using it as I was on your behalf was killi
ng me slowly.”

  His nostrils flared. “And yet you’re willing to use it on your father’s behalf.”

  “Aye,” I said. “Call me selfish if you will. I only just met him. I don’t want to lose him.”

  “How nice for you to be given that choice,” Raphael said bitterly.

  I closed my eyes, remembering. The cold water, the uplifting arms, the ragged voice. “I’m sorry.”

  He lowered his voice. “One success in the Circle’s endeavor could save a thousand fathers’ lives.”

  “So you say.” I felt weary.

  “Oh, the prospects are real.” Raphael rubbed his nose. “I’ve proof of it. The goddamned ants are coming out of hibernation.”

  I wanted to say that it was a trick, that the spirits they summoned were ancient and clever, and it was always going to be a trick. But in the back of my mind, I heard the black-maned lion Marbas’ soundless roar, and the topaz gem he had placed in my thoughts winked. The charm to reveal hidden things, a gift unasked for. So I kept my thoughts to myself and said only, “I gave you my oath. I’ll do as you wish.”

  “Good.”

  “Raphael…” I wished there were some way I could reach him. “Why does it matter so much? Why do you want it so badly?”

  He didn’t answer for a moment. “If you have to ask, you’ll never understand.”

  “I might if you told me,” I said.

  Raphael glanced at me, then looked away, his mouth hardening. “Practice your lap-dog skills elsewhere, Queen’s confidante. I told you once before to stay out of my head. I’m telling you again.”

  “It might be good for you to speak of it,” I murmured.

  “Gods!” He raised his gaze skyward. “Why in Blessed Elua’s name did destiny place you in my path if not for somewhat truly worthwhile? It makes no sense!”

  My diadh-anam pulsed inside me, faint but insistent. “I’d like to know that myself.”

  “Well, you’ll not find the answer in Jehanne’s bed,” he said in a cruel tone.