Naamah's Blessing (22 page)

T
erre d’Ange mourned.

Everywhere in the City of Elua, swags of black crepe were draped over doorways. The trunk of Elua’s Oak was swathed in it. Folk gathered in taverns and wineshops, in each other’s homes, offering comfort to one another. No one wanted to be alone.

Bao and I spent a great deal of time with Desirée. If the news of her brother’s death had sent her into paroxysms of grief, her father’s suicide had an even worse effect. Somewhat inside her shut down, and she was near as lifeless as a doll.

I asked my father what was to become of the realm.

“Parliament will convene after the funeral to appoint a regent until the princess gains her majority,” he said soberly. “Since Duc Rogier’s done a fine job as Royal Minister, odds are they’ll select him.”

It was what I feared. “Father, they can’t!”

He stared at me. “Why ever not?”

“Because the King was going to replace him.” I told him what I knew. When I had finished, he closed his eyes for a long time. “I’m sorry!” I whispered in anguish. “I know you care for him.”

“I do,” he murmured. “But if what you’re telling me is true… it should at least be taken into account.”

“What do we do?” I asked him.

My father sighed. “You’ll have to petition to address Parliament,
Moirin. And I warn you, they will not want to hear what you have to say, and you’ll earn his grace’s enmity in the bargain.” He ran a hand over his face. “Think well on it. Rogier may be more ambitious than I reckoned, but he’s a good man at heart.”

“Is his son?” I asked. “Because
that’s
who he’s aiming to put on the throne.
That’s
who he’d see betrothed to Desirée.”

He fell silent for a time. “I don’t know. Just… think on it.”

My
diadh-anam
flickered. “I will,” I said. “But I may not have a choice. I’m oath-bound.”

“I know.” He took my hand. “And I will stand by you, no matter what you decide.”

Three days after the King’s death, a joint funeral service for Daniel and Thierry de la Courcel was held at the great Temple of Elua. Bao and I rode in the royal carriage with Desirée, Duc Rogier, and his son.

All throughout the streets of the City, folk turned out to share their grief, weeping openly and calling out blessings on the young princess. Desirée stared straight ahead without responding, clad in a black gown that made her translucent skin look ghostly pale. A delicate crown of gold filigree sat atop her fair hair. I held her hand and whispered words of comfort to her.

Duc Rogier acknowledged the mourners with solemn nods. Young Tristan looked grave and noble, bending forward from time to time to pat Desirée’s other hand. She gazed at him with listless eyes.

I remembered how she had sparkled at the tumblers’ performance the day of the oath-swearing ceremony, how his majesty had reached out to her and helped her throw the bouquet at Antoine nó Eglantine’s feet, and I wanted to weep.

For Desirée’s sake, I didn’t.

Bao gave me a miserable glance over the top of her crowned head, understanding.

At the temple, we removed our shoes and stockings in the vestibule and proceeded into the garden sanctum. Directed by priests and
priestesses, we took our place at the base of the plinth on which the effigy of Blessed Elua stood. A seemingly endless throng of mourning peers followed us, jostling for position. Exchanging complicit nods with the royal guardsmen in attendance, Bao took a protective stance beside Desirée, leaning on his bamboo staff. Somehow, they’d gotten word of his prowess.

Once the sanctum was full and the doors to the temple had been barred, the senior Priest of Elua who had presided over the oath-swearing ceremony gave the invocation. It was earnest and heartfelt, reminding the crowd of all the tragic losses House Courcel had suffered over the years, and it reduced well nigh the entire crowd to tears—including me. Although I managed to keep from sobbing aloud, this time I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

I couldn’t help it.

When he was done, Duc Rogier spoke. “They were kin,” he said simply. “And I loved them both very much. Prince Thierry for his unfailing good nature, his boundless spirit of adventure. King Daniel for his vast, gentle heart, and his gracious manner. And today I am angry at the gods for allowing their best qualities to destroy them.”

A murmur ran through the crowd.

The priest raised one hand for silence. “The gods understand.”

“I hope they do.” Duc Rogier Courcel de Barthelme turned to glance at Blessed Elua’s effigy. “While I am not a member of House Courcel proper, I am descended from it. I bear the Courcel name, as do all the members of House Barthelme.” He bowed in Desirée’s direction. There were tears in his eyes, but the line of his jaw was set and firm. “I was your brother’s oath-sworn protector, young majesty, not yours. But I swear to you today, I will do all in my power to keep further sorrow from touching House Courcel.”

“As will I!” Tristan called in a ringing voice. “I promise, Desirée!”

It was well received—and it made me angry.

The worst part of it was that I
didn’t
doubt the Duc’s grief was sincere.
But it was still a piece of theater. He was willing to use his grief and the plight of a royal orphan to further his own ends.

At least it dried my tears.

“Moirin, don’t glower,” Bao murmured to me. “You can’t afford to lose sympathy.”

I gritted my teeth. “I am trying!”

Desirée tugged at my hand. “What’s wrong, Moirin? Are you angry at the gods, too?”

It was the first spark of life I’d seen from her since her father’s death. I knelt and hugged her. She felt oh, so very fragile in my arms. “Today, yes, dear heart. Today I am hurt and angry. But it’s all right. It’s all right to feel such things. Everyone does. You heard the priest, didn’t you? The gods understand sorrow—and anger, too.”

She put her arms around my neck, nestling her face against my throat. “Why do they send so much of it?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

Bao crouched beside us. “It is their way of teaching us to be strong,” he said to her. “It is a hard way, but it is the only way. And you
are
strong, aren’t you?”

The young princess gave him a faint smile. “Strong like a dragon?”

He nodded. “Exactly.”

After the funeral service was concluded, there was another procession through the streets of the City of Elua, ending in a reception at the Palace. Sister Gemma reclaimed Desirée and restored her to the nursery. I watched the politicking that took place, feeling uneasy at it.

Life ended, but politics continued.

When the delegation from House Shahrizai approached us, I felt chagrin added to my grief. They, too, would suffer from the way the politics of this tragedy played out. “I’m so sorry, my lady,” I said to Celestine Shahrizai. My voice sounded hollow. “I fear your generosity toward us proved a bad investment.”

The matriarch of the House gave my elbow a hard squeeze—hard enough to hurt, yet strangely bracing for it. “Do not blame yourself
for the vagaries of fate, young one, nor fear our generosity will be withdrawn. We knew the risk we took.”

“It’s not your fault,” Balthasar added. With his blue-black hair and ivory skin, he looked well in mourning garb, but his eyes were rimmed with red and there were dark shadows beneath them. His mouth twisted bitterly. “I should have been there. I should have gone with Thierry.”

“There’s nothing you could have done,” his cousin Josephine murmured.

Balthasar turned his grief-haunted gaze on her. “We’ll never know, will we?” His gaze shifted onto Rogier Courcel, deep in conference with the Comte de Thibideau, with a handful of other peers respectfully waiting their turn to speak with him. “And gods damn Daniel de la Courcel for putting us in this situation!”

The other Shahrizai hushed him hastily. I glanced around, but it didn’t seem anyone had noticed.

“I’m going to go get drunk,” Balthasar announced. “Who’s with me?”

Bao and I declined. I had to address the Parliament tomorrow, my petition to do so having been reluctantly granted, and I would need my wits about me. As the reception thinned, we took our leave, returning home through the somber, silent streets of the City of Elua. Our house steward, Guillaume Norbert, greeted us with weary gravity and asked if there was aught that we required.

All I wanted was to sleep, and wake to find this was all a terrible dream. I thanked him for his kindness and retired to the bedchamber. I undressed and crawled into bed. Bao moved around the chamber quietly, snuffing the lamps.

“It will get better, Moirin,” he murmured, joining me in our bed. “Day by day, bit by bit. It will get easier to bear.”

“It’s just so
unfair
!” My voice broke on the last word.

“I know.” Bao held me and breathed the Breath of Ocean’s Rolling Waves, deep and soothing. “I know.”

Comforted by his warmth and worn out by sorrow, I fell into
sleep as though it were a bottomless pit from which I never wished to emerge.

I slept, and dreamed.

I dreamed I was back in the Palace, standing in the hallway outside the door to the enchanted bower Jehanne had had made for me.

I took a deep breath before I opened the door.

Jehanne was there, seated on the edge of my bed beneath the green fronds of the great fern. As ever, the fern-shadows painted delicate traceries on her fair skin; but this time, she was fully clothed. She lifted her head as I entered the room, and her blue-grey eyes were bright with tears.

She knew.

A choked sound escaped me. I crossed the room and fell to my knees before her, burying my face in her lap. My shoulders shook with sobs, the sobs of profound grief that I’d not yet loosed. Jehanne held me, stroking my hair until the worst of the storm had passed. It was a long time before I could look up at her.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

“I know,” she said sadly. There was a depth of knowledge and wisdom in her beautiful face that she’d only begun to acquire in life. “So am I. And I am angry, too, my beautiful girl. But Daniel had borne all that he could, and I forgive him for it.” She stroked my cheeks, wiping away the tracks of my tears. “This was one blow too many.”

I repeated what I knew was a child’s futile protest. “It’s not
fair
!”

“No, it’s not,” Jehanne agreed. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a purpose in it.” Her hand lingered against my cheek, cupping it with affection. The sorrow in her star-bright eyes reminded me of the sorrow in the gaze of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself when She had laid a destiny on me. “It’s coming time, Moirin.”

Even in a dream, I felt cold. “Time for what?”

“You.”

I swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

Jehanne bent her silver-gilt head toward me as though she meant to kiss me or whisper a secret in my ear. I could smell her glorious, intoxicating scent wrapped around me, feel her soft breath on my cheek.

“Thierry is alive,” she said to me.

TWENTY-FIVE

T
hierry is alive
.

For the second time in my life, I jerked away from my lady Jehanne’s touch. I found myself on my feet without knowing how I’d gotten there. She sat without moving on the edge of the bed. I stared at her, aghast.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
I shouted at her. “Gods, Jehanne! I could have kept your husband from killing himself! I could have kept your daughter from becoming an orphaned political pawn!”

She shook her head with regret. “I couldn’t.”

“
Why
?” I demanded.

“There are rules, Moirin,” Jehanne said in a gentle tone. “I don’t always understand them, but there are. I wasn’t allowed to know until now. It was his fate. Desirée’s depends on you now.”

I paced the room in a fury. “Thierry’s alive? You’re sure? You’re
sure
?” She nodded. I fetched up before her, flinging my arms wide. “So what am
I
to do about it?”

“You’re to cross the sea to Terra Nova, find Thierry, and bring him back,” Jehanne said simply.

Tears of frustration stung my eyes. “That’s all?”

“Yes and no.” Her exquisite face was grave. “I don’t know, Moirin. Not all of it. Only what I’m allowed to. But this business with Raphael… that’s where it’s meant to be concluded.”

That caught me up short, my
diadh-anam
blazing like a bonfire in my chest.

Raphael de Mereliot.

He had vanished along with Prince Thierry and the rest of the expedition, and my destiny was bound up with his. It always had been, and it remained unfinished. Of course he was alive, too. In my grief, I hadn’t even thought of it. I sighed and sat beside Jehanne on the bed. “I swore an oath to protect your daughter, my lady,” I murmured. “Would you have me forsworn?”

“Never.” Jehanne laced her fingers with mine, raising one hand to kiss it. “But you can’t do it from here.”

“I can try!” I protested. “Better here than afar!”

“You’ll fail,” she said with candor. “Moirin, you’re a bear-witch of the Maghuin Dhonn. You’ve done well, so very well, to court favor among certain quarters of Terre d’Ange.” She hugged my hand to her breast. “But it’s not going to be enough. There are too many forces arrayed against you, too many folk eager to resent you. If you stay, you will try and fail, and Desirée…” Her voice faltered. “You saw how she’s been since her father’s death? With the spark of life crushed out in her?”