Naamah's Blessing (23 page)

I nodded.

“
That
will be her fate, if you do not bring her brother home.”

I sighed.

I paced the room.

“I’m scared,” I admitted at last. “Oh, Jehanne! I’ve already gone so very far, far from home.”

“I know.” She stood and wrapped her arms around me, leaned her brow against mine. “Gone and returned, my beautiful girl. Can you not do it once more?”

The memory of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself turning Her face away came to me, Her vast muzzle blotting out the stars. Behind Her oceans beckoned to me through the stone doorway, a multitude of sparkling oceans to cross.

“I will try,” I promised.

Jehanne kissed me tenderly, her lips soft and lingering on mine. “That is all I can ask of you.”

All too soon, I awoke with a gasp, cast out of my dream and into the grey dawn of reality. My
diadh-anam
continued to blaze within me. Bao was awake, staring at me with wide eyes and parted lips, and I knew he felt it, too.

“Moirin?” he said. “What passes here?”

“Thierry’s alive,” I whispered.

“How…?” Bao ran one hand over his disheveled hair, which stuck out in every direction. “Jehanne.” I nodded. He cast an unerring glance toward the west. “And we’re meant to go and fetch him, I suppose.”

I swallowed hard, fighting tears. “So it seems.”

“Gods, Moirin!” he grumbled, clambering out of bed with a yawn. “Could your destiny possibly be any more burdensome? And what is it with D’Angeline princes going missing? Didn’t you tell me a long story about another one who couldn’t manage to stay put?”

It made me laugh through my tears. “Bao…”

“It’s all right.” He pulled on a pair of breeches and came over to kiss me, strong hands gripping my shoulders. “Moirin, if it is what must be done, it is what we will do. But we can only take one step at a time, and today you’re addressing the members of Parliament.”

“What’s the point?” I said dully. “Jehanne told me I’m bound to fail.”

“Does Jehanne know everything?” he asked. “Did she tell you exactly
where
to find Prince Thierry, and why in the world he and his party never returned?”

“No,” I admitted. “She said there are rules. That she only knows what she’s allowed to know.”

“Well, then.” Bao gave me a little shake. “Even if you do fail, it may be that the attempt is important. And anyway, you have to try. It’s in Desirée’s best interest, and you’re oath-bound.”

My
diadh-anam
flickered in agreement. I smiled ruefully at Bao.
“Now you’re developing the sensibilities of the Maghuin Dhonn, my magpie.”

He let go of me and touched his bare chest with a somber look. “I have to. What would become of me if you broke your oath, Moirin?”

I didn’t answer; we both knew. The spark of my divided
diadh-anam
had restored Bao to life. I’d sworn the sacred oath of the Maghuin Dhonn. If I broke it, that spark would be extinguished in me. I would live, albeit in a hellish state of separation from all that was sacred to my people, stripped of the gifts of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, barred forever from Her presence.

But Bao… Bao would die.

The reminder gave me the strength to rise and wash and dress, to break my fast and prepare to face the members of Parliament.

I spent the morning going over what I meant to say to them. There were two branches of Parliament in Terre d’Ange, the High and Low Councils. The High Council was composed of seventy hereditary seats among the Great Houses, ten for each province in the realm, plus a vote for the monarch and his or her heir; or in the absence of an heir of age, two votes for the sitting monarch. Since Terre d’Ange lacked a monarch, there would be only seventy votes cast by the High Council.

Naturally, Duc Rogier de Barthelme’s would be one of them.

The Low Council was composed of fourteen seats from the Lesser Houses of Terre d’Ange. These too were hereditary, held by descendants of the minor lords and ladies who had formed a shadow Parliament under the aegis of Alais de la Courcel, the Queen’s younger daughter, in a desperate attempt to restore order during a time when most of the Great Houses had been driven mad by dire magic and the realm torn asunder by the threat of civil war.

If I had any allies, it would likely be in the Low Council. It was a pity there were only fourteen members.

The Hall of Parliament was an imposing chamber, a vast space of unadorned marble with a high, vaulted ceiling. The members sat in
tiered rows in a gallery that curved around the room, looking down on the speaker’s floor.

I’d been allotted a mere quarter hour in the early afternoon to address them. When I arrived, the atmosphere was calm, and I had the feeling that a consensus had already been reached. It made what I was about to do harder. Bao and my father both accompanied me, but they had to remain in the background while I walked onto the center of the speaker’s floor alone. Faces peered down from the gallery, some neutral, some curious. Only Celestine Shahrizai met my gaze with sympathy. Duc Rogier’s expression was unreadable.

“My lords and ladies…” My voice shook. I cleared my throat and took a few deep breaths. “You know me as Moirin mac Fainche of the Maghuin Dhonn, but as I stand here before you, I would remind you that I, too, am a descendant of House Courcel—a direct descendant of Alais de la Courcel. There are fourteen of you sitting here today who would not be here were it not for my great-great-grandmother’s strength and courage.”

There were nods of agreement all along the upper tiers of the gallery, where members of the Low Council sat.

It heartened me. “In Alba, her counsel is credited with ensuring peace among all her folk,” I continued. “There, she is remembered as Alais the Wise. And I stand before you in the spirit of my great-great-grandmother, who never quailed in the face of terrible truths.”

Murmurs ran around the chamber. Rogier de Barthelme frowned. It was not a tack he had expected me to take.

I took another deep breath. “It is a difficult truth I must ask you to hear today. As you know, I also stand before you as Desirée de la Courcel’s oath-sworn protector, chosen by King Daniel himself. What you do not know is that his majesty planned to replace Duc Rogier de Barthelme as the Royal Minister.”

In the shocked silence that followed, his face flushed with anger.

“Is it true?” someone from the upper tiers called.

“No,” Duc Rogier said shortly. “It’s not.”

“His grace was unaware of this turn of events.” I met his gaze. “The
day after his majesty made his decision, he received news of Prince Thierry’s return, rendering his decision moot. After that…” I spread my hands. “To our everlasting sorrow, we all know what transpired.”

There were a few moments of shouting and pandemonium before the Parliamentary adjudicator banged his gavel and called for order. “Your grace, do you wish to rebut the accusation?” he inquired.

“I don’t deem it worthy of a rebuttal,” the Duc retorted in a scathing tone. “But I would ask Lady Moirin on what grounds she bases this ridiculous accusation. Why would the King replace me?”

“Because he grew wary of your ambitions when you proposed a betrothal between your eldest son and his four-year-old daughter,” I said.

Duc Rogier laughed. “Because I proposed strengthening the alliance between our houses based on the fact that the young princess dotes on my boy? Why in the world would Daniel take offense?”

I raised my voice. “Because she’s
four years old
!”

He shrugged. “And if she were to come of age and have a change of heart, the betrothal would be annulled. This is Terre d’Ange, after all.”

It was a lie, but it was an effective one. In the gallery, even in the upper tiers where the Low Council sat, heads nodded. I’d had them—and I’d lost them.

Even so, I shook my head. “By then it would be too late. You’ve coached your son to manipulate her, to engage her affections by false means. You arranged that whole business with the Sun Prince—”

“Enough.”
The Duc de Barthelme slammed his hand down on the marble railing in front of him. “This is serious business we’re about here, Moirin mac Fainche of the Maghuin Dhonn.” His eyes blazed with righteous fury. “King Daniel indulged you long enough in memory of the inexplicable favor his late wife bestowed on you. But I think we have had enough, and more than enough, of your fanciful tales, your dragons and tumblers and blind princesses and the like; and now these absurd accusations. Your presence here has sown nothing but scandal, gossip, and discord from the day you arrived. Go home
to Alba, and spin tales for your own folk. Go back to the land Alais de la Courcel chose to make her home. Leave the governance of Terre d’Ange to D’Angelines.”

The lower galleries roared in approval, clapping their hands and stamping their feet. The upper galleries were silent.

I felt my shoulders slump in defeat.

“Are you calling my daughter a liar, Rogier?” my father asked from the back of the chamber in a clear, carrying voice. Unbidden, he came onto the speaker’s floor to join me, elegant and graceful in his crimson robes. The guards let him pass unimpeded, reluctant to lay hands on a Priest of Naamah. “Because I will not have it.”

“This isn’t Naamah’s business, Phanuel,” Duc Rogier said curtly. “Stay out of it.”

My father ignored his command. “Do you say Moirin lies?”

The Duc locked gazes with him. “I do.”

“Well, then.” My father inclined his head. “I fear this concludes the long friendship between us.”

Duc Rogier’s jaw tightened visibly. “You would do that, Phanuel?” There was genuine pain mixed with the anger in his voice. “You would throw away our history, everything we have been to one another, for the sake of a daughter you barely know?” He gestured at me. “A daughter gotten on a single night’s pleasure with a half-wild Alban bear-witch?”

“You don’t need to do this,” I whispered.

My father turned to me, gazing at me with his green eyes so very like my own. “I do.” He turned back to face the gallery. “Yes, Rogier, I would. Because I didn’t need to know Moirin long to come to love her. Because I know that she did not lie here today. And I would remind you, and all here assembled, that it was Naamah herself that called me to Moirin’s mother.”

There was a hushed silence in the chamber.

Spreading his arms, my father continued. “You say it is not Naamah’s business you do here; but who are you to say? Can you discern the will of the gods? As surely as Naamah called me to Moirin’s mother, it was Naamah who led Moirin to Queen Jehanne, whose
daughter she seeks to protect here today, in obedience to her oath. So, my lords and ladies, I bid you think on
that
as you make your decision.”

All eighty-four voices of the members of Parliament spoke at once, repeating and discussing my father’s words.

Belatedly, the adjudicator banged his gavel and called the proceedings to order. “My lords, my ladies!” He gave me a stony look. “Lady Moirin, your allotted time has come to an end. Have you any final words?”

I did not think I could surpass my father’s comments. “No, messire. I do not.”

The adjudicator banged his gavel again. “Then you are dismissed.”

TWENTY-SIX

T
he debate I had sparked in Parliament, fueled by my father’s words, raged on for two more days.

In the end, it was closer than it might have been, but not close enough. When at last the two branches agreed to vote on the confirmation of Duc Rogier de Barthelme as the Regent of Terre d’Ange, almost a full third of the members voted against it.

Almost.

All fourteen members of the Low Council voted against it; and seventeen members of the High Council joined them. But it wasn’t enough. By a quorum of two-thirds of his peers, Rogier de Barthelme was appointed Regent.

“You did your best,” Bao consoled me. “And your father was splendid.”

I sighed. “Aye, but now we’ve a new dilemma.”

Bao glanced westward. “Terra Nova?”

I nodded. “It’s not as though there’s a ship on which we can book passage. I don’t have the first idea about how to get one to take us there. Do you?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I know who does. And I think he will be very interested in what you have to say.”

“Do you think he’ll believe it?” I asked. “Because apparently, my credibility is questionable.”

Bao shrugged. “We can but try, Moirin.”

Somewhat to my surprise, Balthasar Shahrizai
did
believe me. He heard me out as I told of Jehanne’s appearances in my dreams, and the last one in which she had revealed that Prince Thierry was alive. When I had finished, he paced our parlor like a captive panther, lean and restless, his blue-black braids swinging. “You’re sure?” he asked, echoing my question to Jehanne. “You’re
sure
?”

My
diadh-anam
flared. “Quite sure, my lord.”

“I know it may seem strange,” Bao added. “But I would willingly wager my life on it.”

Balthasar paused and tapped his lips in thought. “Money’s no object,” he said absently. “House Shahrizai is swimming in it. I’ve no doubt I can persuade my great-aunt Celestine to back a second expedition, and I daresay there are others who would be willing to support it, especially on the rumor that Thierry lives. But it would require a letter of decree from our blasted Regent to authorize it.” He gave me a deep look. “I suspect it best if you stay far, far away from that process, Moirin.”