Naamah's Blessing (11 page)

Bao shook his head. “Not that kind. The kind you balance
on
.” He held his hands apart, then widened them. “So high to so high, with a small platform on one end.”

The adept looked no less confused. “How does one use them?”

“I will try to show you.” Bao unlashed his staff from across his back. “This is not right for it,” he said. “Too high, no platform. And I have not done it for a long time. But I will try to show you what I mean.” Planting the butt end of his staff at an angle, he grasped the top and vaulted into the air. How he did it, I couldn’t say, but he managed to stop the vault at its apex.

The staff stood upright, wavering and bending. With careful precision, Bao kept his right hand atop it, extending his other limbs in a graceful pose in mid-air.

A soft murmur of interest ran through the theater.

After the space of a few heartbeats, he overbalanced and dropped back to the floor. “Like so. If you had a proper pole, you could do this.” Setting down his staff, he went into a handstand, then assumed the same pose as before. From there, Bao levered himself to a horizontal position, still balancing on one hand.

The adepts applauded.

“It is to show strength and grace.” He got to his feet, dusting chaff from his hands. “A slower kind of art, I think.”

“I like it,” Antoine said. “What other kinds of tumbling artistry do you not see practiced here, messire?”

Bao smiled at him. “I am not sure I should give away all my secrets for free.”

The second of Eglantine House returned his smile. “Mayhap we might come to an… arrangement.”

“Oh, indeed.” Bao tilted his head. “I think the young princess Desirée would very much enjoy seeing tumblers. Mayhap Eglantine House’s troupe could arrange a special performance in honor of the occasion the King announced today?”

Antoine raised his brows. “Thus implying our support?”

Bao shrugged. “I am a stranger here. Is it customary for a troupe to question an invitation to perform for royalty?”

“No.” The other laughed. “No, it is not. Can you guarantee this royal invitation? I’m not aware that his majesty has a fondness for the art.”

“I can,” I said promptly. “I cannot promise that his majesty himself will attend it, but I am sure he will issue the invitation if I ask him.”

“It would have to be a performance appropriate for the occasion,” Antoine nó Eglantine mused. “No japes, no foolery. It would be an interesting challenge.” He glanced around at his tumblers, who had abandoned their practice and gathered close to overhear the conversation. “What do you say?” he asked them. “Should Eglantine House stage a performance to celebrate Lady Moirin’s appointment as Princess Desirée’s oath-sworn protector?”

There were nods all around.

“Who better, Antoine?” a blond fellow demanded. “This is Jehanne de la Courcel’s daughter we’re speaking of! The Night Court should be represented at the ceremony.”

“You’re right,” he said thoughtfully. “We should be there.”

“Do we have a bargain?” Bao inquired.

Antoine grinned and thrust out one slender, callused hand. “I will have to confirm it with my Dowayne,” he said. “But if you can teach us further novelties, and Lady Moirin can deliver a royal invitation, I say we have a bargain, messire.”

Bao clasped his hand. “Then we do.”

TWELVE

T
umblers.” Daniel de la Courcel looked blank and uncomprehending.

“Aye, my lord.” I cleared my throat. “It will be a delightful spectacle. I am confident it will please your daughter.”

“It’s… undignified.”

“She’s not yet four years old,” I murmured.

He drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. “
This
is how you would mark a solemn occasion?”

“A joyous occasion,” I reminded him.

Daniel shook his head, dubious. “Moirin—”

“My lord.” I leaned forward, nervous sweat prickling my skin. Mayhap I had boasted too quickly of my ability to deliver a royal invitation. “Believe me, I take my oath very, very seriously. If you know aught of the history of the Maghuin Dhonn, you must know we do not swear oaths lightly or in vain.”

“ ’Tis not a question of doubting your oath, Moirin,” the King said. “ ’Tis a question of propriety.”

“Eglantine House is mindful of the need for propriety.” I breathed slowly and evenly to settle my nerves. “And Bao is teaching them Ch’in tumbling arts based on strength and grace.”

“He is?” He sounded startled. “I thought he was Master Lo’s apprentice, not a tumbler.”

“Bao has been many things.” My hands fell into a reassuring
mudra
. “My lord, I am not sure your choice can provoke any more controversy than it has. I have been advised that at such times, it is the Priests and Servants of Naamah and the commonfolk who will side with love’s cause. That is who I seek to woo, who I seek to charm with this gesture.”

Daniel de la Courcel’s brow furrowed. “I did not realize there was such considered thought behind the notion,” he admitted. “And there is merit to the idea of a performance celebrating your accomplishments in Ch’in.”

With an effort, I kept my voice serene. “Will you countenance the performance, my lord?”

He picked up a piece of stationery emblazoned with the insignia of House Courcel. “With reservations, yes. I suppose I must trust you, having made my choice.”

I watched him dip a pen in ink and write. “It is not too late to change your mind, my lord.”

“My heart tells me I have chosen rightly.” His pen skated across the page. “And… mayhap
you
are right, too. This should be a joyous occasion.” Pausing, the King glanced at me, making an effort to smile through the deep wells of sorrow in his eyes. “Jehanne wouldn’t have hesitated to hire the tumblers of Eglantine House for such an occasion, would she? She would have delighted in the scandal it provoked.”

“Aye, she would,” I said softly.

“So be it.” He inked the royal seal and stamped the page. “I will have the invitation sent forthwith.”

Relief flooded me. If the King had refused, my standing with the Night Court would surely have fallen. “My thanks, your majesty.”

“You are welcome.” Daniel wiped the seal with a clean cloth. “I fear… I fear my grief has been an anchor weighing down the entire realm. It is good to be reminded that there is cause for joy in the world.”

Reaching across the desk, I laid my hand over his. “I know.”

He squeezed my hand in reply. “I daresay you do.”

Dismissed from the King’s presence, I made my way through the Palace to the nursery, where Bao was concluding his second lesson with the young princess. I made it a point to meet the gaze of everyone I passed, smiling pleasantly and inclining my head in greeting. Some smiled broadly and openly in response—most notably the vast array of Palace servants and guards.

The response from peers was mixed.

Some smiled with mask-like politeness; some did not. A few offered genuine smiles.

Some looked away, snubbing me pointedly.

It had taken only a day for the news to spread throughout the City of Elua and for the City to become divided over it. A part of me yearned to flee from the scrutiny, back to the Alban wilderness of my childhood, or even the wide-open expanses of the Tatar steppe. To the valley kingdom of Bhaktipur, where my golden lady, the Rani Amrita, ruled with a gentle hand, presiding over an adoring populace.

None of these things were possible; and there was a child’s happiness at stake.

Jehanne’s daughter.

In the nursery, I greeted her brightly. “So, dear heart! Did you and Bao study well today?”

“Moirin!” Desirée flung herself toward me, and I scooped her into my arms, hoisting her onto one hip. “Yes, we did.”

“They did,” her tutor agreed.

The senior nursemaid Nathalie Simon gave a huff of disapproval.

I ignored her, inhaling the scent of the child’s hair. She smelled of lavender soap and innocence. “Well done.”

Bao rose from his cross-legged pose. “Did his majesty approve?”

I nodded. “He did.”

“We should ask her highness before we proceed,” he said gravely. “My lady Desirée, you understand that Moirin will take a sacred oath to protect you?”

“Yes, Bao.” She squirmed impatiently in my arms, and I set her down. “That means
you
will, too. Doesn’t it?”

“It does.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Would you like to have tumblers at the ceremony?” Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he turned a flip. “Performing tricks?”

Her blue-grey eyes grew wide. “Oh, yes!”

“It will be a very serious occasion,” Bao cautioned her. “Mayhap a bit frightening. Tell me, highness. Do you fear loud noises? Thunder?”

Desirée looked indignant. “I am not a baby!”

“Do you fear… dragons?” Dropping to a squat and hunkering on his thighs, Bao glared at her and uttered a menacing roar. “There may be dragons there.”

She let loose a peal of screaming laughter, the sound high and piercing enough that I winced. The tutor Aimée Girard glanced at me in sympathy as Bao and the young princess roared at one another.

“Fly me, Bao!” Desirée extended her arms to him. “Fly me like a dragon!”

He obliged, plucking her up under the arms and tossing her skyward, catching her effortlessly.

I daresay her shrieks of delight rattled the rafters of the Palace. “Bao…”

“Enough.”
The word fell like a hammer. The senior nursemaid drew herself up with dignity. “It is clear to me that his majesty is deranged with grief, to allow such persons to attend his daughter,” she said grimly. “For that, I am sorry. But I will not be party to it. As of this moment, I resign my post.” Her gimlet gaze settled on me. “I daresay my days were numbered anyway.”

I made no reply, letting her sweep out of the chamber.

In the silence, Bao lowered the princess to her feet.

Aimée Girard sighed.

“Who will take care of me if Nurse is gone?” Desirée asked in a plaintive voice, promptly bursting into wailing tears of abandonment.

Bao shot me a helpless look.

“Hush, dear heart.” I sank to the floor on my knees, taking her into my arms again. “You have Paulette still, and we will find a new nurse.”

It was to no avail. She wriggled out of my embrace and hurled herself into a full-blown tantrum, red-faced and squalling, beating her fists and heels on the floor and sobbing for her nurse. The harried junior nursemaid, Paulette, tried in vain to comfort her.

“You see how it is, my lady,” she said to me, weariness and defeat in her tone. “Madame Nathalie was stern with the child, but I fear she needs a firm hand.”

I shook my head. “It’s not her fault. Bao overexcited her, and all children find sudden change to be upsetting.” I remembered Jehanne hurling things around my chamber and weeping in a fit of temper. “She’s too far gone for comforting. Ignore her, and it will pass.”

It wasn’t long before the storm passed, sobs abating to sniffles. Like her mother, Desirée was contrite in the aftermath of anger. “I’m sorry, Moirin,” she whispered while I wiped her tear-stained face with a kerchief. “Will Nurse come back now?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Because I was bad?” Her earnest eyes were the hue of rain-washed lilacs.

“No!” I stroked her hair. “No, dear heart. It’s not your fault at all.” I chose my words carefully, mindful that she was a precocious child, but a very young one, too. I wanted to be truthful with her, but I didn’t want to teach her acrimony, either. “It’s frightening when things change all of a sudden, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

“Well, it is the same for grown-ups. We’re scared, too. Change can be a good thing, a happy thing. But sometimes when we’re scared, we don’t wait long enough to find out.” I handed her the kerchief. “Here, blow your nose.”

She obeyed. “Why was Nurse scared?”

“Because you are growing older, and there have been changes in
your
life, which means changes in
her
life, too.”

“She didn’t want Bao to study with me,” Desirée said. “She didn’t like him. Or you.”

“Perceptive child,” the tutor Aimée murmured.

I silenced her with a look. “Now, that’s not true. Nurse didn’t wait long enough to know for sure if she liked us or not. That’s why it’s important to be patient. Sometimes we think we know things about people that turn out to be all wrong. Did I tell you about the winter I spent with the Tatars?”

She shook her head.

I spun a tale of that long winter; how I had ventured into Tatar territory believing them to be a ferocious and dangerous folk; how I had avoided them until a blizzard drove me to seek sanctuary among them; how I found them to be kind and generous, defying all my expectations. I described the felt huts called
gers
, the warm, salty tea we drank, the layers and layers of thick clothing we wore, the numbers and rhyming game the children taught me.

Worn out by her tantrum, Desirée fell asleep in my lap, listening to the sound of my voice. Her tutor took the opportunity to steal quietly from the nursery with a hushed promise to return on the morrow.