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

by Jacqueline Carey

  I wiped my eyes. “I hope it is a beautiful one with a happy ending.”

  “So do I,” Snow Tiger murmured.

  And then the dragon carried us back to the village. He flew low over the battlefield where the Imperial armies were preparing to break camp. Everywhere, men turned their faces to the sky, lit with joy for the sheer beauty and majesty of the dragon in flight.

  In the village square, we bade farewell to the dragon for the last time. I put my arms around his sinuous neck, pressing my cheek to the smooth, silvery scales.

  “Be well, treasured friend,” I whispered. “Guard your pearl carefully.”

  I will. He spoke in my thoughts, pouring all his incomprehensibly vast affection into me. Do not fear, Moirin. All will be well in time.

  “Thank you,” I said, adding, “What does time mean to a dragon?”

  The dragon only laughed deep in his chest.

  I withdrew to let the princess say her farewell to him in privacy. Whatever was said, their voices were inaudible—a feat I hadn’t reckoned the dragon capable of achieving. She stood for a moment in the tender embrace of his coils, then walked away toward where I was waiting with Ten Tigers Dai and an escort of patient guards.

  The dragon launched himself in glory, undulating against the blue sky. We stood and watched his gleaming figure dwindle, watched until he had settled himself atop the distant peaks of White Jade Mountain, blending into the snow-covered landscape.

  Snow Tiger sighed. I reached out to take her hand, squeezing it. She returned the pressure gratefully. “He is where he belongs.”

  “Aye,” I agreed. “Home.”

  Home.

  It was a lovely word that made my heart ache. I wasn’t sure what it meant to me anymore. What was home? The cave in Alba where I had grown up, warmed by my mother’s reassuring presence? The City of Elua, where I had found my serene, wonderful father and an unexpected place of honor as the Queen’s companion?

  I didn’t know.

  None of it seemed to fit so long as one infuriating peasant-boy was wandering around Ch’in with half my diadh-anam inside him. And while I didn’t know what time meant to a dragon, I had a feeling it was going to be a very long time before I was able to figure out what home meant to me.

  “Try not to think about it.” Reading my silence, the princess gave me a quick glance. “We have a long journey to Shuntian, and there will be much for you to do along the way.”

  “I know.” I had agreed to serve as the Imperial swallower-of-memories for as long as was necessary. “It’s all right. Bao’s travelling in the same direction, more or less.”

  “Do you know where he’s bound?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think he knows himself, my lady. Away from me. That’s all that matters.”

  “He’ll be back,” Ten Tigers Dai said unexpectedly. He flushed under my gaze. “He will, I am sure of it.”

  I hoped he was right. “We’ll see.”

  On the morrow, we departed. Everything was so very different on this journey, it seemed strange and unreal to me. I had crossed war-torn Ch’in in disguise with a quartet of stick-fighters, a sage, and a dragon-possessed princess. Now I was part of the Imperial entourage travelling in peacetime.

  Kang was gone, recovering at the monastery. Tortoise was gone, torn apart by the Divine Thunder. Master Lo was gone, sacrificing himself that his magpie might live. Bao… Bao was gone, wandering somewhere ahead of us, his lead growing thanks to our slow progress. The dragon was gone, left behind to happily dream of clouds and rain atop his beloved White Jade Mountain.

  That was good, at least.

  I reminded myself of it every time I felt alone and lost. Much that was different was good. In the eyes of the world, Snow Tiger had fled Shuntian as a demon-haunted abomination, feared and reviled. Now she was a heroine. The tales stretched before us, tales of how she had fought to protect the commonfolk, slaying an entire company of Lord Jiang’s men. Tales of how she had descended from the sky in a dragon’s claw and put an end to a war.

  The people loved her for it. Everywhere we went, we were cheered, and the princess more than anyone. Time and again, I saw the Emperor’s face soften, beaming with a father’s pride. No one doubted anymore that he had lost the Mandate of Heaven, and no one questioned his choice of heir.

  They did not know how dark the memories she carried were, nor how much she still ached at the dragon’s absence. I knew. More than ever, I sympathized with her sense of loss. And all the cheers in the world could not erase the memory of blood-soaked horror. Still, they helped, and I was glad to see it. I was glad to see her unbend her dignity to smile in genuine gladness and gratitude, glad to see the healing sword-cut on her face fade from an angry red to a faint pink as we travelled.

  Like her memories, it would never be gone altogether, but it was better. And she was learning to live with it.

  Everywhere that there was rumor of Lord Jiang or Black Sleeve’s followers laboring on the weapons of the Divine Thunder, we made camp and took quarters. Again and again, the offer went out: In return for offering their memories freely, men would be rewarded with Imperial favor and money.

  Once again, I kept no count of the memories I swallowed. We visited smithies and workshops. Most of the time, the alchemists, engineers, and laborers who had built the weapons came forward of their own accord. They brought intricate sketches of the weapons, formulas for fire-powder recorded on paper. Those we burned.

  I breathed in their memories and swallowed them. Memories of complicated formulas of sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter, memories of acrid bronze fumes, memories of complicated spiral grooves.

  They did not all come forward willingly. Some were betrayed by folk eager to bask in Heaven’s favor. Those were dragged from their hiding places and offered a choice between surrender and execution.

  I hated those.

  But I did it, I did it all. And all the while, my diadh-anam shone steadily inside me, an unerring compass promising that I had not chosen unwisely.

  Calling insistently to its other half, too.

  I learned to ignore the call as best I could, concentrating on the task at hand, using the lessons Master Lo had taught me. I wondered if Bao was doing the same.

  The bulk of the Imperial army dispersed, sent to the various posts from which they had been summoned. With the core that remained, we travelled up the river in ships drawn by teams of oxen, stopping along the way to root out more of Lord Jiang and Black Sleeve’s accomplices. Traces of their memories remained inside me, tingeing my thoughts with the taste of smoke and metal.

  I wished I could be rid of it.

  It sparked an uncomfortable thought in me. When this was over, I would be the last person in the world with detailed knowledge of how the weapons of the Divine Thunder were built and wielded. Gods knew, I would take it to my grave. But I did not know if the Emperor trusted me enough to believe it.

  I kept my fear to myself, but it made me uncomfortable and withdrawn, and Snow Tiger noticed it. She didn’t press me, but she watched me with such a look of troubled concern that I broke down and confessed my fear to her.

  “No, of course not!” The princess’ eyes widened with horror. “My father would never do such a thing to you.”

  “He would have done it to six hundred soldiers,” I reminded her.

  “Six hundred soldiers who took up arms against the Throne of Heaven. Six hundred soldiers who were not sent by strange gods to the aid of Ch’in.” Her expression turned fierce. “Even if the thought crossed his mind, I would not allow it. I will not let anyone harm you, Moirin.”

  It made me smile, hearing an echo of the dragon’s words in her voice. She recognized it and smiled too, a little sadly.

  “I suspect he would come roaring all the way from White Jade Mountain if anyone in Ch’in raised a hand to you,” she said. “So do not think it.”

  I believed her.

  Although it seemed as though our journey and my immense, impossible task wou
ld never end, in time it did. We crossed into territory that had never left Imperial control, and there were no more rumors of accomplices. I was content to watch the river unfurl beneath us, the green landscape slide past. Bao was right, I had come to love this country.

  I wished he would come back.

  But he didn’t.

  EIGHTY-NINE

  We returned to Shuntian in triumph.

  There was a week’s worth of celebrating, of parades and fêtes and displays of pageantry beyond my imagining. The streets were thronged with revelers. Even in the Celestial City, the mood of orderly decorum gave way to one of joy.

  If Bao had been there, I would have loved every minute of it. Even in his absence, I took pleasure in it.

  Out of curiosity, I went to the quarters that we had rented with Master Lo, now occupied by a nice young family. The wife told me that Bao had been there some weeks earlier. He had retrieved the snowdrop bulbs that Master Lo had reluctantly left behind to dry.

  For some reason, that gave me a pang of hurt and jealousy. I wondered what in the world he meant to do with them.

  Nothing, mayhap. Mayhap they were just one last souvenir of his beloved mentor, whom I had helped to die.

  When I thought of it that way, I could better understand why Bao needed to be away from me. But it didn’t lessen the yearning of my diadh-anam inside me.

  I knew where he was, of course. I always knew. He was somewhere northwest of Shuntian, no longer on the move. Whatever he was doing, my stubborn peasant-boy had decided to stay put for a while. So I stayed where I was, and waited for him to come to me. Like me, he knew perfectly well where I was.

  Apart from Bao’s absence, it was a pleasant time. I was an Imperial favorite, the noble heir’s attendant, the jade-eyed witch who had become Ch’in’s lucky talisman. Emperor Zhu showered me with gifts. I had beautiful robes of embroidered silk to wear, strings of pearls, the finest jade jewelry.

  And although I wasn’t serving as a royal companion in the D’Angeline way, Snow Tiger liked having me near her. She took it on herself to further civilize me, teaching me the rudiments of Ch’in writing, laughing at my feeble attempts to memorize and replicate even a handful of the myriad characters. I didn’t mind. She read poetry aloud to me, tracing the characters with one finger, showing me how the beauty and grace of the brushstrokes enhanced the beauty of the poem’s words and images.

  Mostly, we understood one another. Having proven his mettle, Ten Tigers Dai had been granted the very special privilege of being allowed to serve as her personal bodyguard and keep his manhood. When the sight of him hovering protectively behind her, staff in hand, made me melancholy, the princess understood.

  When any one of the thousand dragon effigies twined around columns or perched atop the tip-tilted rooftop corners caught her eye and made her ache with loss, I understood.

  I understood the fear that came at night, too.

  It happened less, but it still happened. When it did, it would wake me from even the soundest of sleep, and I would rise from my bed in an adjoining chamber and go to her. Sometimes she would send me away with a slight shake of her head, choosing to battle the blood-soaked memories that haunted her on her own. Other times, I stayed and held her, willing the warmth of my body to keep the memories at bay; and I daresay it comforted me as much as it did her.

  I had been in Shuntian for almost a month when I sensed that Bao was on the move once more, the twinned flame of my diadh-anam moving away.

  It hurt.

  “Stupid boy!” I muttered, my eyes stinging. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Perhaps he is going somewhere,” Snow Tiger said with calm logic. “Could you point out his direction on a map?”

  I shrugged, feeling helpless. “Mayhap.” She ordered a copy of the most recently wrought map of the Celestial Empire fetched from the archives, and we pored over it together. Once she had it oriented so that I understood where I was in relation to the insistent call of my diadhanam, I pointed. “There. That way.”

  The princess looked up at me. “He’s heading for Tatar country.”

  “Why…” I swallowed. “Oh. His father.”

  Her brows furrowed. “I thought he was an orphan.”

  “Not really.” I touched the fine-grained paper, remembering words Master Lo had spoken long ago. “Through no fault of his own, Bao is a child of violence.”

  The princess remembered, too. “Yes. When we acquired the horses, he spoke of his cursed rapist of a father being a Tatar.” The delicate furrow etched between her brows deepened. “Why would he seek to find him?”

  “I don’t know,” I murmured. “But it’s the first thing I set out to do when the Maghuin Dhonn Herself laid this destiny on me. I didn’t know what else to do. Mayhap Bao doesn’t, either.”

  We exchanged a glance.

  Snow Tiger sat on her heels, her expression grave and serious. “You do have a choice in this matter, Moirin.”

  Such simple words—and yet they opened a door in my thoughts.

  I did not have to wait.

  I could follow him.

  My diadh-anam flared wildly in agreement, making it hard to breathe. I laughed, unexpectedly unfettered and joyful. “I do, don’t I?”

  “Yes.” There was a shadow of sorrow in the princess’ smile. “And I will see to it that you are given every assistance.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “No. I think… I think that if Bao is ever to believe I chose this on my own, I must do it on my own. I cannot hunt him down with the Imperial army at my back. I must go alone.”

  She inclined her head. “As you wish.”

  I frowned. “It is not that I am ungrateful, my lady.”

  “I know.” Snow Tiger lifted her head, meeting my gaze with an effort. “It is only that… that before you go, I would ask one thing from you. It has been in my thoughts that this day would come. And… I do not know if it is wrong of me to ask it. Because of this matter with Shangun Bao, because you are not sworn to her service as you have told me your father was, but…” She steeled herself, her spine straightening, her eyes soft and vulnerable. “You are her child nonetheless. I would ask for the blessing of your D’Angeline goddess of desire.”

  I stared at her, my lips parted.

  If the princess had not blushed, I would not have been certain of what she was asking of me. But she did, a tide of blood rising to kiss her throat with crimson, flushing her cheeks, even the tips of her ears. It was so unexpected, and so utterly, utterly charming, all I could do was stare at her with surprised delight.

  “I should not have asked, should I?” She scowled. “Forgive me, I do not know the protocol for such a thing. It is only that… I do not think anyone in the world needs her blessing as much as I do. And… what the dragon did when first we met, I know he intended well, but it was not helpful.” Her voice faltered, then continued, resolute and determined. “And yet you understand in part because of it. So I thought, although it is against custom, after all, it is a little late to worry about that, and you are the one person I trust… Moirin, would you please say something? Why are you smiling like that?”

  There was a fluttering burst in my belly like a thousand doves taking flight at once. I did not have to consult my diadh-anam. This was not the business of the Maghuin Dhonn. This was Naamah’s business.

  The bright lady approved—oh, so very much.

  “Yes,” I said softly. “The answer to the question you ask is yes, my lady. And I am smiling because it makes me happy.”

  “Truly?” She smiled in profound relief.

  “Truly,” I assured her. “Well and truly, I promise you.”

  The following day, as I made my preparations to travel, it lay between us unspoken. Every time I thought about it, I smiled. Every time I smiled, the princess blushed.

  If there had been aught I had desired for the journey, she would have given it to me, but I had to trust my instincts. The matter lay between Bao and me. It would be best if I lef
t quietly, without fanfare. I didn’t like being alone, but one can be alone in the midst of strangers. I had grown up in considerable solitude, and I could take care of myself.

  And the dragon had promised I would always find love on my path.

  So I sorted through the many gifts I had been given, setting aside the gorgeous robes stiff with embroidery and packing a couple of the more sensible garments. Most of the jewelry I kept, hidden in the bottom of my pack next to the crystal vial of Jehanne’s perfume and a purse of D’Angeline coins. I kept a belt knife that Snow Tiger had given me, a slender blade with an ivory hilt carved in the shape of a dragon. I had the yew-wood bow that my uncle Mabon had made for me.

  I had a horse, a virtual twin of the valiant chestnut that had carried me across the battlefield. The Emperor had made me a gift of him. Now I accepted the gift of a pack-horse and supplies.

  There was one last gift of jewelry I accepted, too—a jade medallion strung on a silk cord. It bore the image of the Imperial dragon carved on one side and the Emperor’s seal etched into the other. It signified that I was under the protection of the Son of Heaven and to be afforded every courtesy.

  “It will not help you on the far side of the Great Wall,” Snow Tiger reminded me.

  “I know.” I hesitated. “Are the Tatars truly so fearsome?”

  She frowned in thought. “They are a wild folk. Nomads. But there have been enlightened rulers among them in the past. I don’t know how you will find them.”

  “I come from a fairly wild folk myself, my lady.”

  “True.”

  It seemed like there should have been more to do to prepare for such an undertaking, but by the end of the day, I was finished.

  There was only one thing left to do, and that was ask for Naamah’s blessing.

  NINETY

  The princess was nervous, so nervous.

  After dismissing all her attendants, bidding them not to disturb us until summoned, she quivered with restless uncertainty, watching me light sticks of incense and offer a prayer to Naamah.