Naamah's Blessing (7 page)

He waved a dismissive hand. “ ’Tis nothing. Please, call me Rogier. After all, we’re near-kin.”

“Rogier,” I echoed.

“You’re lodging at the Temple of Naamah in the Tsingani quarter?” he inquired. “If you wish, I’d be pleased to grant you and your husband a suite of rooms in the Palace.”

I hesitated. “My thanks. But… I think we will wait awhile. There are too many memories here, at least for me.”

“Of course.” Rogier shifted a stack of papers on his desk, which bore a considerable amount of clutter. “I do have a favor to ask in turn. If I understand rightly what Phanuel has told me, among other things, you were involved in an unpleasant business in Vralia which could have political repercussions for Terre d’Ange. I’d like to hear about it in detail.”

“Certainly,” I said. “His majesty also indicated he might wish to speak with me.”

“About
Vralia
?” The Duc looked startled.

“Ah… no.” I frowned, realizing it was unlikely that King Daniel knew aught of my misadventures yet. “He did not say.”

My father and Rogier Courcel exchanged a glance. The latter folded his hands on his desk. “Moirin, I have nothing but respect for my kinsman,” he said quietly. “But I fear Daniel de la Courcel’s days of taking an active hand in steering the realm are over. He has no heart for it. Until the Dauphin’s return, that burden falls to me, and I have accepted it. Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No, of course not,” I protested; although in truth, I wasn’t sure if it did.

“It should.” Rogier smiled ruefully. “It makes
me
uncomfortable, and a number of the members of Parliament, too.”

“You’ve done a fine job,” my father murmured. “Parliament has no cause for concern.”

The Duc raked a hand through his hair. “Even so, I will be grateful when Prince Thierry returns, and I can rejoin my wife and children in Barthelme.”

“Why do they not join you here?” Bao inquired. “Surely, there is room.”

“My wife, Claudine, maintains an… extensive… household,” Rogier replied in a dry tone. “ ’Tis not worth the toil and effort of moving it for two seasons’ time. And my boys are happy in Barthelme, where they can run wild.”

My father chuckled again. “Your eldest might feel otherwise if he were sixteen and old enough to gain admission to the Night Court.”

“He might,” Rogier admitted. “But Tristan’s two years shy of that gilded threshold.”

“Speaking of children,” I began. Both of them turned their attention to me, and I paused, trying to frame the matter politely. “In Marsilikos, we were told that the young princess Desirée was known as the Little Pearl, and was much beloved in the City of Elua. But Bao and I met with her this morning, and she seemed to me to be a rather lonely little thing.”

“To say the least,” Bao muttered.

“I’m sorry to hear it.” Rogier Courcel paused, too. “In the spring, on the occasion of her highness’ third natality, Daniel was persuaded to hold a procession throughout the City in celebration, so that the people might have a glimpse of young Desirée. It was a touching sight, the widowed King with his beautiful young daughter in his arms. To be sure, it charmed the populace.”

My father nodded. “That was when they began calling her the Little Pearl.” He gave me a quiet smile. “The City of Elua has not forgotten Jehanne de la Courcel nor the endless delight they took in gossiping about her. They took her daughter quickly to heart. But I fear it was the last time his majesty appeared in public with her.”

“A pity,” I said.

The Duc raised his brows. “Is the child being mistreated?”

“No,” I said slowly. “I would not go so far as to say that. But it was my sense that she feels unloved.”

Rogier sighed. “Your concern is admirable, Moirin. However, I must tread a fine path here. Daniel has ceded the duties of state to me during this interim. He has not abdicated the throne, nor has he given me authority over his private affairs.” His mouth twisted. “It would be different if he had seen fit to appoint…” He let the thought go unfinished, shrugging. “I fear that if I were to intervene in the matter, Parliament would rebel and declare I had overstepped my authority.”

“Mayhap you should speak to the King about your concerns,” my father suggested.

I blinked. “Me? Ah, gods! I’d rather not intrude further on his grief.”

He regarded me somberly. “You may be the only person in the world who can do so with impunity, Moirin. I heard about this morning’s display.”

“I’ll think on it.”

“Do,” the Duc agreed, rising from his chair. “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I’ve a great deal to do, and I believe you’ve a letter to write.”

“Oh, yes.” I rose, too. “Thank you again, my lord.”

“Rogier,” he repeated with a pleasant smile. “When I’ve more time, I’ll ask you for the whole of your Vralian tale. Were you there, too?” he asked Bao.

Bao stretched out his arms, contemplating the zig-zag tattoos that marked them. “No,” he said darkly. “I wish I had been. But no.”

My father shuddered. “You’ll want to hear the whole of their tale someday,” he said to Rogier Courcel. “Trust me, it’s one to daunt the poets.”

The Lord Minister of the realm inclined his head toward us. “I look forward to it.”

With that, we were dismissed.

Since there was no word from King Daniel, Bao and I returned to
the Temple of Naamah. This journey through the streets of the City of Elua was markedly different. Word of the King’s absolution and embrace of me had spread, and the gazes that followed us were more curious than suspicious. I felt all the more grateful for his generosity, and all the more uneasy at the notion of presuming to tell him how his daughter ought to be raised.

“Why?” Bao asked when I voiced my reluctance. “Don’t you think he might be glad of it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “He’s just so terribly
sad
. I hate to add to his burden.”

He shook his head. “If he’s a man, he will bear it. You heard him this morning. He knows he’s neglected the child. If you ask me, he was very nearly begging for your assistance.”

“Do you think so?”

Bao gave me one of his rare, utterly sincere smiles. “Yes, Moirin. I do. I think the King recognizes that you have a very, very large heart, and that he hopes you will make a place for his little stormcloud of a daughter in it.”

“You, too,” I said. “You liked her, didn’t you?”

“I did,” he admitted.

At the temple, I begged paper, ink, and a pen of Noémie d’Etoile, who granted my request readily and showed me to the study, which was filled with texts dedicated to the arts of love and pleasure.

There, I did my best to concentrate on writing a letter to my mother, while Bao perused the shelves and cubbies. Although he could not yet read the western alphabet, many of the volumes were illustrated. There were at least a dozen different versions of the
Trois Milles Joies
alone.

“Have you ever read this?” Bao demanded.

“Aye, I have.” With a twinge of sorrow, I remembered how Jehanne had sent a volume to me after our first liaison at Cereus House.

“Look at this.” He showed me a print titled
The Wheel-Barrow
. “Have you ever tried it?”

“No.”

He studied it from all angles. “We should.”

“Bao, I’m writing to my
mother
!”

He flashed me an unapologetic grin. “All right, all right! Later, huh?”

I plucked the tome from his hands. “Later, yes.”

In the end, after long hours of agonizing, I made my letter a simple one. I wrote that I had returned to Terre d’Ange well and safe. I wrote that I had many adventures to tell, and that the Maghuin Dhonn Herself had done right in sending Her child so very, very far away. I wrote that I hoped to return to Alba in the spring, after Prince Thierry’s expedition came home.

I wrote that I loved her.

No matter how far I went, mother mine, I never ceased to think of you and miss you. I hope you are well, and Oengus and Mabon and all our kin, too
.

I wept a bit.

Bao looked over my shoulder. “Did you tell her about me?”

“I did.” I traced a line of text with my finger, reading the words aloud. “It may surprise you to learn I have wed. I will bring my husband, Bao, when I come. He is exceedingly insolent, boastful, and arrogant, and I love him very much. I think you will like him.”

He pursed his lips. “You think so?”

I laughed through my tears. “I do.”

I folded my letter carefully, placing it in a vellum envelope. I addressed it to my mother in care of the Lady of Clunderry, as she had bade me so very, very long ago. I lit a taper, and sealed it with a careful blot of wax, pressing the signet ring my mother had given me into the hot wax.

A young, obliging priest offered to carry it to the Palace for me.

Off it went.

Bao cocked his head at me, waiting.

“Oh, fine,” I said. “Let’s try it.”

EIGHT

T
he Wheel-Barrow
was a vigorous position, requiring a certain athleticism on the part of both participants. I wasn’t sure if I cared to repeat it, but it was an interesting experiment, and it tired me enough so that I slept soundly and late.

I awoke to find that the King’s absolution of me had further repercussions. Noémie d’Etoile presented Bao and me with a stack of engraved cards printed on thick, expensive paper.

“What are these?” I asked in bewilderment.

“Calling cards,” Noémie said. “It’s become quite the fashion in the past few years. These were left by all the people who came to pay you a visit this morning.”

I flipped through the cards, glancing at the names engraved on them. “But I don’t even know these people!”

She smiled. “Well, it seems they wish to make your acquaintance.”

“Do I have to meet
all
of them?” I asked in dismay.

“ ’Tis your choice,” Noémie said. “No doubt most of them seek to curry favor since the King’s embraced you and your father has a certain amount of influence with the Lord Minister. Are there none you would call a friend from your time here in the City before?”

“Prince Thierry was the closest thing to a friend I had here,” I said absently. “And he’s on the far side of the world.”

“Didn’t you bed him?” Bao commented.

“Only the once! And we made our peace with it. There’s no one—” I turned over another card. “Oh.”

“Someone you know?”

“Aye.” I gazed at Lianne Tremaine’s name, surrounded by a printed wreath of delicate blossoms. “She was the King’s Poet once—the youngest ever appointed. And she was a member of the Circle of Shalomon.”

“The demon-summoners?” Bao asked.

I nodded, glancing at Noémie. “You must have known.”

“I did.” Her expression remained serene. “People make mistakes, Moirin. Sometimes they learn from them. I believe Lianne Tremaine has done so. She’s fallen far from her days of glory.” Leaning over, she tapped the card. “Those are eglantine blossoms. Since the King dismissed her from her post, she’s taken a position at Eglantine House.”

It surprised me. “As a Servant of Naamah?”

“No, no.” Noémie shook her head. “As a tutor to their young poets, although it’s also true that many patrons commission her to write poems on their behalf. Whatever else may be true, her talent is undeniable.”

Bao examined the card. “You should see her, Moirin.”

“Why?” My memories of Lianne Tremaine weren’t particularly fond ones.

He gave me one of his shrewd looks. “You and she, you made the same mistake.”

“I didn’t
want
to!” I protested.

Bao shrugged. “But you did it. Maybe you can learn from each other. Maybe she knows something about that idiot Lord Raphael that can help you figure out what unfinished business you have together.”

“You have an irksome habit of being right,” I observed. “My lady Noémie, was there any word from his majesty?”

“No,” she said. “Were you expecting it?”

“I’m not sure what I expected,” I admitted.

“Let’s go call on the little princess,” Bao suggested. “Afterward,
you can decide what you want to do about this.” He flicked Lianne Tremaine’s card with one finger. “
And
the King.”

“Do you think we should return so soon?” I asked.

He nodded. “We promised her. Soon never comes soon enough to a young child. And I think that one has been disappointed many, many times before. Let her see that we mean to keep our promise.”

I smiled at him. “You’re uncommonly sensitive when it comes to children, my bad boy. All right, then. Let’s go.”

Once again, Bao was right.

Upon presenting ourselves at the royal nursery, we were confronted by the stony-faced nursemaid Nathalie Simon. “You’re interrupting her highness’ morning lesson,” she informed us.

“Do you mean to forbid us entry?” I inquired.

Bao favored her with one of his most charming smiles. “We’ll be only a minute, my lady.”

Grudgingly, she admitted us.

Desirée and her tutor were seated in undersized chairs in a sunlit corner of the chamber, heads bowed over a slate of sliding alphabet blocks. I paused, listening to the sound of her childish voice chanting the alphabet.